I remeber how much I hated it in high school when girls would chat non stop about their dads. “My dad this and that” I didnt have much to say since he was taken from us when we were very young and therefore my memory of him is minimal.
I remember him being very generous. During the agricultural show,he let us have as much ice cream as we wanted and even go for as many rides as we could handle. I was a daddy’s girl and an ice cream gal my height phobia (which I kinda had to tackle while painting the other week…ladders my friend ladders!) meant that I could not go on any rides whatsoever. The other good thing I remember about my dad is that he started giving me my driving lessons very early in life, he had to otherwise I’d yell the car down hehehe I’d sit on his lap whilst he was driving and as long as my hands were somewhere on the wheel I was happy!(huge baby smile here)
The bad memories are that he used to drink alot becoming violent as a result. I tend to think that if he hadnt passed on prolly he’d have gotten us killed through drink driving. We did once have a major accident just because he wanted to prove to us all that he wasnt that drunk. There must have been like 20 of us (all family) in the mini bus. He was begged not to drive, I dont remember much about the accident but I remember crying out loud at kenyatta hospital coz I was left in a room alone, then a dead man was wheeled in and left there. My screams must have woken the dead. That guy was either a lynch or accident victim. He had lots of dry blood all over his body.
I honestly dont like the month of August very much, I sometimes forget the anniversary of his death (I prefer to forget just like I do my birthday and my friends’ and families’) until afew days after the 1st of Aug. It’s easier when I remember after the date on which we assume he died than before. The one coming up, well I remembered before. This is very a difficult moment for me, its going to be 23year since he passed on, died by the gun through his chest. On fateful day I remember him coming out of the house shouting for us to get back indoors and to stay clear of the windows, then he left…that was it! We never saw him alive again and my mum then a young mother and his brothers had to go through the hospitals and morgues to find his body then smuggle everyone to the village for his burial. (travelling was tricky then with a ban on movement) Then she lost everthing my dad owned to greedy family.
My worst memory of the whole coup period was seeing a man’s body being hurled from the top of a building cause of lack of resources or cops being lazy. That image will never escape my mind and the sound it made when it landed on the earth below. Hope thats not what happened to my dad, I prefer to think he was shot and fell in a ditch somewhere.
I laughed and played through most of the funeral, I was too young to understand. Then my big sis came and asked me why I was jolly yet our dad was in a casket! brethren from then, my tears dried up the following day. I was offered money to shut up, I took it only to open the flood gates/and mouth after pocketing the notes (I never loved coins)
I have a great mum!
I miss my dad!