When a friend dies, you take a look at your life. It is more like the beginning of the year, with the new resolutions. You promise yourself things and you try to live them until the next time.
When you get to over 40, life becomes urgent. Someone said the urgency may come out as a midlife crisis. Suddenly, your body does not do all the things you want it to at the speed you are accustomed to, but you want to live life. You look back in regret at all the missed opportunities, all the time wasted, all the flat stomach years and you say to yourself no more regrets. It is at times like these that I remember a lot of my father’s lessons, which many times were wrapped in sarcasm and jokes.
I remember once my sister, thinking she was thrifty, mentioned to my dad that she would be walking a certain distance to campus so that she could save all of Sh20 a day. You would think he would have lauded her for trying to save some money.
He instead asked her how many Sh20 she would need to change her life and how long she would need. That just changed everything. He was of the opinion that if you were going to inconvenience yourself for gain, it better be worth it. Quickly.
My daughter the other day decided she was a prescatrian. I thought it was some Christian sect at first. She had decided no animal flesh except fish. (It lasted a whole night!)
It reminded me of when I decided I was going to become a vegetarian because I wanted to live longer (also because I wanted something to make me feel ‘special’. I suspect it was the same thing with my daughter)
I announced this very happily to my father who said I better just eat meat. I could be hit by a bus the next day and I had denied myself the pleasure of flesh! I have never looked back.
One of my best ones, and I see it now, well except for the “I went to Alliance brigade” (By the way my father went to that Alliance, I found out while reading his eulogy).
So there was once I wanted to go for some extra classes and I prepared a speech for my dad. As you have noticed by now, he was a tough guy to convince. So I told him I needed these extra classes so that I could do better in school (really it was because my friends were going to them) .
The old man said at some point, no one will care if I went to school, what I got in that school or what school I went to. They would only care about what I brought to the table. Who I was at that time.
Although some of my father’s responses to many of our thoughts and almost decisions were not really conventional, they built character. Often we would end up arguing and I think it expanded our argument skills and vocabulary. Now, as I am growing older, and death is so much a part of life (it has always been but the reality hits you harder when parents are dying, age mates are dying, pandemics) I think I understand his message.
Live life now. Work smarter not harder. It is what you are now that matters not what you were as a teenager (Alliance guys are you hearing me?) Do not match to anyone’s beat. Just because everyone expects a certain answer or way of living does not mean it is right for you. Treat yourself. A fulfilled life does not have to be one of struggle.
A friend who has since transitioned was asked what he would do if someone gave him Sh500, he said, “Eat lunch!” We expected the, “I will buy a tray of eggs and unga, cook chapati mayai by the road side. Make Sh1,000 and keep doing it until I save the world from hunger” type of speech. This one also had some answers, sometimes, just eat lunch. Rest in Peace Benja
