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| Kawele Kasovo's grandchildren escort her in this final journey. Today is grandma's first anniversary since she died. Photo/MUSYOKA NGUI |
A year ago
today, you left us. We still remember you. The mwing’athiko seats in your
compound are still around.
On the day
of your demise, I was home. I remember the dawn departure. Upon getting the WhatsApp
updates, since I was home alone, I let the goat kids go and drink their mothers’
milk, despite my fond love for tea. I rode the bike to hospital and found
people in whispers.
Despite all that rude shock, we were able to disabuse
the notion of grief and mourning. As Sovoline,
we were the lead organizers of your final journey.
We chose blue for your grandchildren and white for children.
There was no black since we were not mourning. The branded T-Shirts joined our wardrobes.
Initially, we took them and arranged them in one
wardrobe and about two weeks after your death, no one wore them. After enough
time to accept the reality and move on, everyone went to the hanger and removed
their size and either packed it or wore and returned to work.
Grandma, things have changed since you went to be with
the Lord. The world changed. Due to Coronavirus that befell the Earth at the
turn of this year, people no longer meet often. In fact, public gatherings for
nonessential events are not allowed.
But during your funeral, we ate, drank and partied. We
didn’t mourn. As tradition dictates, after the ceremony, wazees remained all night
to keep vigil.
I have never seen so many close relations in a long
time. During your last journey, I reconnected with my primary school teachers and colleagues.
But one fact remains, we will never forget you.
The annual get-togethers and other family events will
go on. You were so many things to very many
people. To some, you were a parent, a daughter, a sister and a friend. But to us
Sovoline, you were a grandmother, a partner in crime, a teacher and the best
friend.