These days, I walk around holding my intestines in my hand.
That's a direct translation to ' kūnyitīrīra Mara na ngundi.'
It means that I am living in fear of the next bad news.
Mostly deaths.
Sometimes serious illness
And once in a while the fact that I cannot find the other sock in a pair.
We buried my friend yesterday. Between two tall trees that end in an eternal shade.
Her skin will no longer burn from the UV rays that kept her indoors.
Eventually, she will blossom.
My friend Juliet suffered pain. But she knew the skill of pain management.
She lived to the full between one painkiller injection and the next.
She once told me
'If it wasn't these painkillers, I would have ground my teeth to powder by now.'
Pain management is an expensive affair as well.
She was a writer and spoke about her condition every day.
Not to be pitied, but to help others living with lupus to be understood by society.
We would be in the hospital at 11.00p.m, doctors and nurses and the reception and most times the watchman, trying to find a vein in her hands and arms and sometimes feet. The Watchman who I think also did some lab work always found a vein after slapping the poor woman's inner arms several times.
The injection in the feet was the most painful. She would bear the pain of the needle, the pain of the needle wound and the pain from Lupus.
I believe the last few years when she was totally dependent on the painkillers, her body took every kind of beating, but at least she could have a few minutes to talk to her mother, read and write.
Juliet was one of those people who will be having the worst day of your life but would still text me to say- Hi Gathoni just checking on you-
When I grieved and got disappointed and nearly went to the bottom of human emotions and remained there, she said, 'maybe you should speak to someone.'
She then would stay up with me at strange times in the night and listen to me talking about things that didn't make sense.
I appreciate her for that.
I am also a big cowardly chicken, she understood that.
When we were writing her story, for the eulogy, I kept thinking, would Juliet say we used common language? Did we misspell anything? Does this story reflect the life of a writer/ editor/ literature lover?
I told my friend about it and she asked?
' Is that what you are going to ask us when you get resurrected?'
'You need to tell us what to write in yours so you can proofread right now.'
She has dark humour. It's the best.
She is the one that asked me after telling her my mother was dead, ' does the man know her baby mama is dead?'
And make laugh inappropriately, to the chagrin of my
'Proper' aunties.
I told her I am determined to watch Armageddon live.
But just Incase I said, she should put a reminder to plant thorns and aloe vera on my grave.
And tell them to write :
Here lies a woman bitter of soul and thorny of countenance.
I got distracted at the gravesite. It was a very calming walk.
It somehow blows up the bubble you have been floating on. The bubble that. Tells you you are special.
You are not special.
People born in 1935 die, people born in 1964 die, and tiny people born in 2014 die.
It's peaceful in the graveyard.
After many deaths and eulogies in my adult life, I've come to know that no one can really write your story.
When we finished Juliet's story, her friend asked me, do you think we should add her mother and brother's name?
He mentioned to me later that it seemed kinda off to have the names of her Animal family and nothing on her human family.
It had not occurred to me.
And I thought that is exactly the kind of discussion I and Juliet would have. How dressing up made her grumpy.
I knew a woman at Umoja 1 market, who shocked my aunt for telling her she had just come from the studio to have a portrait picture of her done. Mbica ya Kīrengo.
One that would be good enough to use at her funeral.
I was maybe 12 and thought that was a very good idea.
But we don't like to think about such things.
I think it's a good idea to have a folder of good pictures, perhaps in the top drawer in your cabinet where people can easily access it after you clock out.
And a list of phrases that best describe you.
- Grumpy until fed.
- Did not like people very much
- Friend to many, close to a few
- Read the newspaper
- Was gluten-free
- Never tried a single diet
- Very unfit
- Was once summoned to the chief's office for starting a fight.
- Tried prospecting for gold.
Things that describe you beyond your primary school and high school education.
'Sneaked in roasted maize to class in class six and got suspended for a week.'
'Almost drowned in the neighbour's fish pond at 9 years old.'
The Bible mentions that in the last days there will be itua nda, news that cut your stomach in half.
