Last Sato I left Nairobi for home, but before reaching there, I wanted to stop at a certain town to see a friend. I arrived at my friend’s house and called mom to let her know I was on my way home. But before I could pass my message, she interrupted informing me that she had called earlier that day but she couldn’t reach me as my phone was off. So I chose to listen to her first.
“I was calling to inform you that your dad is very sick.” I quickly made my conclusion…the oldman is dying. If mama decides it is necessary for me to know, then maybe they’ve already buried his body. She knows anything concerning him to my ears is noise. She knows I disowned him, but my siblings have their dad. I don’t know mine… my dad can never behave like the old man at home. I do not take after him in any aspect… not any of my siblings follows his ways.
Mama’s message offended me deeply. In fact it made me abort my journey home. I can’t understand why she had to tell me… he’s well, sick, dead…buried. They’re all synonyms.
What the hell!!! Mama just had to interrupt while I was calling to let her know I had started my journey to her… ati, " your dad is very sick… I tried calling to in inform you in the morning but your phone was off." This doesn’t shake me… it is her husband who’s sick, my dad is very strong, healthy, nay he’s immortal.
Now if you’re reading this to envisage me as being savage or you’re just wondering when I claim I’d be happier without the old man than when we both live, read on.
Mzee went drinking overnight. On his way back, he staggered into a ditch from which he was unable to raise himself. It rained heavily that night so that the ditch and he were inundated. School kids spotted him lying in an almost flooded ditch on one side of the muddy road. He was unconscious.
This is what mom had to say as the cause of his illness. I would not listen if it was being said by anyone but mama… but I couldn’t let her narrate to the end. I was forced to hung up before she could finish. Ni ju mi nikisikia story ya pombe, I get angry and urge to pee increases exponentially and I can easily kojolea myself. I hate pombe and my old man in equal measures. Love for pombe ruined our family… hunger is overwhelming at home and someone is suffocating in flooded ditches after drinking a whole night. I’d rather choose to be orphaned if such is the ‘dad’.