When I heard the story of the Ngong’ plane crash earlier
yesterday, I was quite shocked. Perhaps it was because it was an
unexpected occurrence. That is how death works. A cold master, a hunter out on a prowl
out in a creek where there is a plethora of prey. Even when we think we expect
it, we are left aghast in its wake. Some fear it, others convince themselves
that they can face it. Fact is we all revere it. It is what makes you, me and
people like Kim Jong’ Il stand on level ground, the only difference- time. A few people however
commented that it wasn’t such a huge loss. Considering role models like the late
Wangari Maathai and the late Michuki, I very much concur. But first, I would
like to talk about how my late grandfather knew one George Muthengi Kinuthia Saitoti.
My grandfather was born in the late nineteenth century. A short
bio of him- he was a son of the soil, raised an orphan, nurtured by hardship
and matured in life. He had lived through the birth and making of this country
and been under all the three regimes. He was a humble man, not well traveled
albeit he was revered amongst his equals. I did not know him much as a person, but I got to
spend quite some time with the man during his last days. I liked his opinions
though. They were seldom well informed (I don’t blame him), but I found them
rather interesting.
In the current government for instance, he knew three personalities-
Kibaki, Raila and Saitoti (or Toitoti as he used to call him). The first two
were familiar to him due to their positions in government, and their tribal
affiliations. The man was born in the era of Gikuyu and Mumbi and the half a dozen
or so clans so again: I don’t blame him. Toitoti- well let’s just say it was
one familiar name and face. This, of course, is from the time Toitoti took the
lime light on KBC radio news as ‘Makamu wa Rais’, always taking the second
headline (as per traditions at the time). Anyhow, the television era didn’t make
much sense to my grandfather.
Once in a while as we were sitted in the living room
watching nine o’clock news; my grandfather would wonder how Toitoti could appear
twice on national television within a period of two hours. He couldn’t conceive the idea of that being even possible. He would ask me whether this guy had any
idea that normal people would be hanging around their families at that time of day in readiness to retire rather than moving around hell knows where with
throngs of people tagging along. He concluded that this Tiototi fellow (and the
others around him) were indeed quite peculiar.
Another time, while Toitoti was being questioned vehemently
by the first lady over the laxity of his ministry in managing disasters such as
the Sachangwan fire, my grandfather could not help but notice Toitoti’s face on
telly. In the background of his portrait was the footage from the scene of the
fire, flames and all. My grandfather kept wondering whether he was burning for
real. His worries were however allayed when footage of Toitoti making comments over
the same was played later. The mzee could not however let it slide just yet. He
went on to remark, as he watched, that it was no wonder he was smelling smoke in the ambience.
My grandfather aside (God rest his soul), my deep
condolences go to the families of all the bereaved. Those who passed on had
people who depended on them. I especially feel for the relatives of the
young pilots and the security detail. The late Orwa Ojode was still young in
the rings of leadership, his passing was untimely. Perhaps there was still
some potential in him to take the country places.
Lastly, I do understand that ours is a setting where we are obliged
by culture to exalt the deceased by sometimes unrealistic proportions. However, the
media’s protracted story about the late Saitoti’s impact in this country and
the gap his sudden absence creates leaves a lot to be desired. The truth always
stands astute. As we come to terms with his demise, perhaps it is good for all
to introspect on how we would want to be remembered once the inevitable
happens. As far as I am concerned, I know I am nothing close to a saint. But if
I live my whole life like a turd, and without apologies or regrets; I hope someone at my funeral will have the honesty
and the balls to throw a roll of cheap toilet paper in my pit right after my
casket.
A moment of silence for the departed.........(May they R.I.P)................well put in your writing,is the realization each of us must have, that we should leave our mark in life now, as we never know what tomorrow holds...
ReplyDelete*I see where you got your humor from:) He was a great man*
True that, Carpe diem. About grandp's, he wasn't even trying... LOL!
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