dead men no tales
Posted by Social Matters , Thursday, June 13, 2013 12:42 AM
Dead
men…a thousand tales
A few weeks ago, I was going
cruising through Thika Super Highway, random thoughts criss-crossing through my
mind, when the matatu I was in drove past by a man involved in a hit and run.
Mostly I would rather look the other way because such sightings scare me a lot.
But it was all too sudden since it was in the middle lane of a busy highway, my
eyes saw his body involuntarily (am
assuming he was dead because if he was alive, people would have rushed him to
the hospital) I recoiled and called on God loudly, while looking away
immediately, though my fellow passengers kept on looking until we drove past
the scene of no more sighting. I was
distressed because he was only a few meters from the fly over. I asked myself:
-
·
If
he only knew he was going to be hit by a vehicle, I thought he would have used
the fly over, but for most of us, crossing the super highway with vehicles
moving at a very high speed seems the most logic thing for us to do. I wished
he had used the fly over.
Right before my eyes there a man
lying on his side, his hands on his face, he had an official trouser, bright
coloured shirt and a tie, it was a bit dark so I couldn’t see the exact
colours. I pondered a lot in my heart, the random thoughts suddenly gained
meaning. I wondered: -
·
Who
would inform his family that their relative was dead, I imagined a wife
preparing a meal for her husband and waiting through the night, for her husband
never to come home.
·
Or
if they were in upcountry, they would be lucky, if they ever found out one of
them was dead. It would involve visiting endless hospitals, mortuaries and
police stations.
I
remembered my disappointment when my cousin did not turn up for a cousin’s home
in early 2011, I was excited that he was coming back home after a long time
away. But when I called my sister from Lodwar, he did not come, my heart sunk.
What had made him change his mind? I was looking forward to seeing him again,
because he was like my eldest cousin and very mature, and even though I was
much younger he treated me like an adult. I even thought he could one day lead
our cousins group, but he never showed up. End of April is when his severely
decomposed body was found at the City Mortuary just about to be buried with
other unclaimed bodies, as if he did not have people that loved him. I was
crushed, his clothing was the only thing that could identify him, and he had
been dead from late January or early February, dead for months, murdered in
broad daylight, picked by the police and dropped to the City Mortuary.
·
But
we were lucky, many families who live apart or in different counties at times
do not have the joy of burying their loved ones. On that day I wondered about
the families who rarely kept in touch, only to wake up one day to the grim news
that they were never coming back and were buried a long time ago.
·
I
thought about the families that had no idea where their kinsmen live in the big
city, or the wife who had gone about a month without speaking with their
husband. It would sadly take them a month or two to realize that something was
wrong.
·
It
reminded me of the man/woman who rarely tells their loved ones exactly where
they are going, and when the unexpected happens they have no idea where to
start looking.
·
My
heart was crushed, it reminded me that life is short, that man could have been
anyone, we all left for work that morning, all dressed up, we crossed one too
many roads, then there is that time when that motorcycle or vehicle almost but
didn’t hit you. That evening as I drove to Nairobi, I experienced a lot of
difficulties crossing the roads, convicted that I took it for granted. I hoped
that his loved ones found him on time, and for the other lessons they are
pretty obvious.
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