It was a A week of great Blessings, A week of great trials A week of great lessons.

When you are working on your dreams things will happen to you that will catch you off-guard. For two consecutive days Thursday and Friday  of that week, from around 9 pm to 11 pm, I sat down at the same spot I am seated as I write this stared at one spot on the ceiling and cried a stream, tears trickling down my cheeks un- interrupted like a busted water pipe.

I had organized a motivational  event  for teenagers dubbed  “TeenNaweza”   everything was going very well, Alhamdulillah,  [all praise to God]  great speakers confirmed, kids registering in large numbers, that we were worried if we can manage such large numbers in these covid times everything was going like it should, like a needle into a garment, until, a week to the event.

Sunday

Exactly 6 days to the event, I escort my wife upcountry to visit her family. Since the next day I have to be at work, I travel back as from 7pm usually the journey is only 2 and half hours I presume I  will be in Nairobi by 9:30 pm and beat the 10 pm  curfew time.

I reach Nairobi at 10 pm, people are still walking and some shops still open I walk  ki Unaweza until I meet nyaunyo (whip) swinging police officers, no stories, you get close enough you get a whipping of a lifetime, they don’t care where the whip lands on your body, they derive pleasure from cries of grown men, I hear cries from people in front of me.

In my mind a giant split screen start to play, on one side is images I have watched of people injured even maimed by police, a swollen eye, an open wounded blood dripping forehead, a cracked skull, a broken arm. On the other part of the screen is interesting, I see Usain Bolt passing me a relay baton giving instructions in his Jamaican accent “  cum pon let’s go”  which is Jamaican  for mguu niponye [ run].

I understand right away for in the ghetto we are partly Kenyan and partly Jamaican. I sprint towards safety, listening to one thing only, my heartbeat, its sending messages about the weight someone lost and I found, and how I need to return it urgently, but I hear something else I was not expecting, a crack was that a bottle I stepped on ? No that was me, my left foot answers as it tries to lift itself from the ground. Ouuuch that hurt, just like that I have twisted my ankle. I keep on walking a few steps a boda [motor bike]  comes and I jump on it. I get home and apply Robb  just like we grew up seeing our parents do, don’t worry about it, it will be better in the morning.

Monday

I wake up to a pain I have not felt in a very long  time. I can barely walk, I have deadlines at work I have an event am planning I am all alone in the house I have to prepare breakfast prepare to go to work. Mwanaume ni kujikaza  [ man was born to suffer]  I say.  I  go out walking with a limp towards a friends car, who came to pick me up. I go to a friend who is a masseur, I know the rubbing (kukanda) will be very painful but I  convince myself to endure the pain and will be better tomorrow or at least by Saturday the day of my event. But I was wrong the rubbing/ massage is more painful than I anticipated at some point I just hold tears but the sweat I can’t hold my whole body is perspiring. The long week of pain has just started but what can I do ? Do I even know what tomorrow brings? No, I just hope it will be better.

Tuesday

I wake up with a pain a hundred times more than yesterday my feet is also swollen it looks like unsliced bread.  I still have to go to work I have to prepare and still I am  home alone. I don’t want to tell my wife who I know will be very worried and I want kumalizana na hii uchungu ki mwanaume ( want to deal with the pain like a man)  she keeps asking are you okay, its like she has a distant eye  ? I reply never better .  In the evening the pain pushes me to tell  her, but I downplay the situation I just tell her ni kitu kidogo tu (its nothing much)  she hears none of it, and true to my fears she is extremely worried, “tafadhali enda hosii na usiniambie ni kitu kidogo” ( please go to the hospital and don’t tell me its nothing) “okay” I say, just to kill the conversation but deep down I know am not going anywhere.    But the pain waaaaaah!! I decide it will be a good idea if I go to the hospital but am  not sure if this is something a hospital can help I decide to call a friend who is a coach they deal with this everyday. He says “no don’t go to the hospital, can you get ice blocks? You should have iced it from the first day you shouldn’t have rubbed or massaged, I’m sending you a contact of a physio go see him tomorrow in shaa Allah” regret is a grandchild, the swahilians say. I wish I knew, I say to myself.

Wednesday

After icing it the previous night, today the swelling has subsided but still very painful, I can barely walk plus I was advised to tie a bandage, which plus walking with a limp I look like I have just survived a fatal accident. Remember the plans for the event are still on, kids have already registered, schedules have been planned but the leg has other ideas. Also today I had planned to visit the venue with my mentor /friend sh Abu Najma. He calls “ mguu ikoje, utamake? ( how is the leg, will you make it?) “ inauma but ntajikaza bro”amidst the pain I struggle, take an uber and get to arboretum, I find him already there, from a distance he just stares at me struggling to walk, only short steps, stop, rest a bit, walk with one leg raised and the bandage on my foot makes it look like I have just survived a fatal accident. After salaams, he just say one thing “kweli Unaweza”  In the middle of a very important convo with the sheikh my phone rings, I reluctantly remove it from my pocket, with the look of who has the audacity to interrupt this convo, oooh its my wife, “my flower” I call her. In her voice I can detect anxiety, “ your daughter is unwell since yesterday she doesn’t want to eat she is unresponsive she is not playing, that’s not a good sign you know how playful Hayaa is ”  that  deflated me completely, “ my daughter, my love my sunshine my Hayaa. I send her cash for medication.In the evening I get another call from my flower“ Hayaa anaendele vizuri, but Mimi naskia tumbo inaniuma sana”  ( your daughter is doing much better but I have a stomach ache)Not very good news for someone 3 months expectant. Not to cause panic I ask “did you eat something that might be the cause? Maybe try drinking hot water if it might help” since its at night we agree if symptoms persist she will seek medical advice next day. We sleep hoping for the best.

Thursday

Murphy’s law States that “Anything that can go wrong will go wrong”. I think its not true, it should be, anything that can go wrong will go  extremely wrong or very very wrong. My foot is a bit better today  though still painful I walk with a limp and bandage still on but that’s the least of my worries, I’m worried about my wife’s health was it just a minor ache or something is wrong? We are about to find out in a few. She goes to the hospital, the doctor refers her for an ultrasound. The result must have shocked her that she needed time to breath and gather courage to inform me of the situation. When she got the courage;“ nimeambiwa mtoto alikufia kwa tumbo , 3 weeks ago”  ( the baby died 3 weeks ago)how do you receive such information with a hurting foot?  When your wife is over 300 kilometers away from you, you are all alone in the house, and you have a very important event in a day? I just sat down in a corner of the house and just cried a river. Its said “ the sorrow which has no vent in tears, may make other organs weep ”to be honest all my organs, the whole of my body was weeping. I wish my  tears could wash all that away, but since they didn’t, I still had to face the reality. What next ? it will have to be flushed out. With the doctors striking, the few private ones working   will charge an arm and a leg. Now this is an emergency I had used all the cash I had on other issues. Where will I get the cash? I decide to channel all my grief to Allah I pray 2 rakaats (units of prayer) “ only You we worship only You we seek for help” afterwards I sit down and start contemplating my next move, I send a few friends  text messages they comfort me with their words but still money is needed. lol. One of the friends is a brother  I love so  much, in our conversation I could feel his empathy,

Him : “so what’s the plan ?

Me:  the foetus has to be flushed out, and she be cleansed.

Him: cost?

Me: I give an estimate of the amount

Him: silence

Its now 9:00pm I don’t have the cash, I don’t know where it will come from all I have is faith, all I know is Allah will provide a way. Meanwhile I have a zoom meeting with my team organizing the TeenNaweza 2020 I join in and talk and laugh and plan like everything is alright on God’s green earth.

Friday

Its 8:00am my ife is on her way to the hospital. Do I have the money? No. Do I know where I will get it ? No. But money is the least of my worries, what’s giving me a headache is I am in Nairobi and my wife is in Kitui, she will go through this procedure in my absence. Will she be alright ? My event can I just abandon it, delegate to someone? How will that turn out, will be a successful event? Its tough coz this involves peoples kids and money you have to guarantee their safety and make sure the kids get value for their money.

What do I do? I am  worried. Nitaweza kweli ?Then my wife sends me a text:“Najua ungeweza ungekam more so uko uliko unatushugulikia and I appreciate Ntakuwa Sawa biidhnillah   Focus kwa event ikue Unaweza “I’m trying to be strong, trying to calm  myself “don’t worry Hassan everything will be alright”.

Have you ever had one of those days maybe it’s an exam, a driving test, a wedding you try to pretend everything is alright but deep down in your gut, weeee! I am on my way to a school I was to speak alongside other speakers I had invited, but I can’t concentrate my wife is in my mind and she is on her way to the hospital  am not taking anything less than the best healthcare around but where is the money? the calls keep coming in from people around her updating me of the progress each second but what they want to hear is “nitume kwa number gani?” ( to which number  should I send ) but where is the money ?

I start to panic a lil bit . I call a few friends who I know can help, they listen attentively and promise to call back in a few. My mum is also calling everyone on her phonebook lakini wapi .  Then my phones beeps, a message, I wish its Mpesa as I hurriedly check, my wish comes true its Mpesa, you remember I told you about a brother who asked, how much is the cost ? He sent me 30,000 Ksh I just teared up. Alhamdulillah ( all praise to Allah) indeed Allah works in ways only He knows. I wish I could thank the brother enough.  With that my wife can begin treatment the rest I will get am sure. Now its time to make sure everything needed for the event is in place. But there is still some worry about the event especially with corvid regulations and risks but it has to be done. I juggle between calls to plan for the event and calls following up with my wife in the Hospital.

8:00pm I am still in town running up and down in town making that Kenyan last minute purchase but to be honest what is running up and down is my blood and my thoughts am nervous, or anxious I don’t know which, will the event be successful?

My sisters Ayan &Naseeb are very helpful in planning the event, my sister Ustadha Maryam offers to cook lunch free of charge On the other side my wife regains consciousness and demands I be called she wants to release me of my worry and she succeeds, Alhamdulillah

Saturday 

The event is amazing, the speakers over deliver, the food is beyond yummy the games beyond fun words can’t describe, the feeling I had as I saw those young people being impacted greatly. From the event I was able too get a little something that helped to clear some bills.   Mine is just to give thanks. Alhamdulillah.  A special thanks to my 2 sisters Ayan and Naseeb without whom the event won’t have been as it was, I don’t know how to repay you.  the parents, kids, speakers and all the volunteers and Myself.

I finish the event and take the first shuttle I can to go visit my wife it leaves a few minutes past 7pm I reach Kitui after curfew time I take a motorbike and in front of us is a cop with a very long stick caning everything on  sight….And certainly.

We shall test you with something of fear, hunger, loss of wealth, lives and fruits, but give glad tidings to As-Sabirun (the patient)”.  (2:155)

The Messenger of Allah صلى الله عليه وسلم said, “How wonderful is the case of a believer; there is good for him in everything. If prosperity attends him, he expresses gratitude to Allah and that is good for him; and if adversity befalls him, he endures it patiently and that is better for him”.[Muslim].

The world breaks everyone but some are stronger in the broken places.

I choose to face my problems with grace, for if you don’t face them with grace they will stay on your face

Unaweza.

In the middle of a conversation, a colleague told me I am very proud of you, of course, it felt good, but I wanted to place the feeling on the right shelf so I asked why? She said “you travelled to check on your sick father even though he wasn’t in your life” and then she asked “aren’t you bitter, how did you come to terms with letting him in?”

Half a conversation with my father

The questions were a key to a room I had left locked for a long time. It thrust me black to the first time I sat down with my father in an attempt to have a conversation and ask tough questions.
When two men are involved, a drink is always a good idea for my father and I it was chai rangi (black tea) and mahamri. We sat in a local kibandaski [street eatery] facing each other, a wooden frame playing the role of a table, separating us. surrounded by the warm south coast air.  He sat on a plastic chair while I sat upon layers of anger that I had stored for years in a plastic bag to preserve so that when I decide to unleash it would have warm stench.

The mahamri once bitten twice chai, the teeth were sharper today and so were my eyes, senses and intuition I wanted to unearth the truth detect any lies and read non-verbal communication and body language this was no friendly tete a tete this was a grilling the likeness of which they pretend to have at integrity house while grilling corrupt politicians.

Looking at him, I could see the horses of old age were fast racing towards him and he was too slow to get away. Looked at his face and then looked into my mind for the image of myself stored there, when they say the fruit does not fall far from the tree I wondered what the person would have said had he seen us, for us there is no tree and definitely no fruit falling. we look nothing alike.
I looked at his hand as he took a puff of his preferred poison (cigarette) I saw veins intertwined like cables crossing each other in a server room. I followed those veins and each of them took me to painful road I had crossed in my life.

The first one took me all the way, to how life had squeezed me like a towel, and all those days I woke up and walked with a longing for a father.

The 2nd vein took me to all the stories I had heard about alcoholism, abuse and domestic violence. How one day while drunk he came home found mum cooking chapatti removed a shoe and placed on top of the chapatti. With my love for chapo I just asked he wouldn’t have done it on spaghetti? Or pasta?

The 3rd vein took me all the way to a time when I was in class three do you know how it feels when your classmates are talking about their fathers and you have nothing to share I mean what will you share about a father you only see in pictures? and then one day I go home for lunch and there he was he looked just like the pictures, of course I had seen him when I was a child, a memory I couldn’t rely on. The joy I felt I couldn’t go back to school on time so my mum asked him to escort me to school and talk to the teacher and he did but just a few steps past the gate he slapped the life out of me I don’t remember what had caused it but all I remember is I just ran to class half in pain and half in hope that a classmate would catch me in tears ask about my predicament and I would have gladly said that my father slapped me just to have a feel of it; being a member of “ my father club “

The 4th vein took me to a time I was about 7yrs old I was walking with my mother selling milk in a place called kariadudu suddenly a guy appeared and started punching and head-butting her, for every punch I took the pain with her I just stood there in rage but not able to even swat a fly, it happened so fast I didn’t know what to do other than cry. 20yrs later, I come up with a better idea I should have hit him with stones.

The 5th vein took me to 2003 I was in class 8, in school I had no friends, as making fun of me was part of school’s sports, for I was short, I was dirty, and I was a hawker, selling milk door to door and at home my mum feared nitaharibiwa (peer pressure) then a boy was transferred to our school his name was/is Gabriel his family and friends had no enough time to pronounce it in full, so they just called him Gabby. He was all I was missing he became my best friend in school and my mom approved of him. He taught me how to fold trousers like his father had taught him I hated that I was learning to do this at 15yrs and I wished my father had taught me. I became very close to his father so much that when he fell sick and weak I used to take him to the toilet and take care of him and for the first time in my life I had a father figure together with a father feeling

I follow the 6th vein in pain but in the middle I just feel now more than ever I want to hear his side of the story.

I try to have a conversation but I quickly figure out my father is taciturn his vocabulary is mostly 2 to 4 words, no, yes, okay, don’t, fine and for a moment I just wish we could donate words like we do blood.

Reflections

I look him straight in the eyes and in them, I can see pain or confusion or something like it I want to know about his upbringing his story what happened? Does he ever miss me? Us? Has he ever lost sleep about it? I have lots and lots of questions I look to the one with the answers but he seems to have more questions than I do. I decide to dig within and reflect I look at him and see he is a sum of all he has been through maybe he did the best he could with whatever he had.
I remember our neighbors, families that had both parents, they didn’t have to go sell milk like we did, we wished to be like them, they seemed perfect, but looking back now I am thankful for what we had/were.

One of them was baba Julius our next door neighbor we watched TV there the first people I saw cooking meat without mixing with sukuma wiki (Kales) you say read meat is harmful they dry fried theirs brown, wee but Mimi sikuwa nakula kwa jirani (never ate at peoples houses) I admired this family a few healthy children, smart house, school fees paid on time good clothes and they had shoes, they also used to go upcountry as soon as schools closed especially the long December holiday. The wife and kids would be gone the first Saturday schools closed.  As soon as the bus was ignited baba Julius turned the house into old Trafford and like a footballer he played ball with whoever he saw unmarked he brought home different women everyday when the wife returned she couldn’t say anything after a while he started loosing weight at first you would have mistaken it for toning and even ask what’s the secret, but after a while the belt could no longer hold the trouser and the shirts hang loosely it started raising eyebrows and gave gossipers a topic. He stopped going to work, here is where the soup got thick he always had a tough stance against his wife working and used all means necessary including blows. A short while later he died the burial was a mixture of grief and ceremony but even before marehemu azoee kaburi (immediately after burial) his family came and swept the house they carried everything, but the wife and kids and now mama Julius had no husband, had a house with  nothing in it, no job and painfully no work experience or networks and above all no knowledge of where to turn to.

For a moment I just thought of how my father’s leaving had toughened up my mum how she had literally broke her back to make sure we never slept hungry and I wondered what would have happened if he were there would we have ended up like the Juliuses?

I was deep in thought when a bus with loud hooting and heavy breathing interrupted me ( by the way what do we call the breathing of a bus in motion, the, “ummmchaaaaaaaaa”

The bus was on its way from Mombasa to Lunga lunga Kenya Tanzania border and I escorted it with my eyes wishing it were possible to book a ticket for the questions I had and the anger I have held on to for long ivukishe border if only wishes were buses.

I come back from dreamland back to the veins and the painful roads I had traversed and in retrospect; I find that all those painful roads taught me lessons that have become a source of strength. The person that I have become all that I know the rich experiences I have been through, the way I view the World the passion I exude, the skills I posses, have all come out of this and like instant coffee I flip the other side of the coin and now am thankful for everything for he gave me a good name, when I was young, ladies used to tell me aki si ukona jina supuu  ( you have a nice name) you don’t believe me, try it out for yourself Hassan Hamza (its crispy, fresh, tantalizing lol) I wonder why no one tells me that now.

The best thing I got out of it is, Islam I did not inherit it from him I did not grow up a Muslim but him being one led me to researching about it and was amazed it’s the best thing to happen for me in this world and my ticket to the next life, so I pray.

I write this on my way from Msambweni Sawa Sawa beach a walking distance from home, I have been here for a week to check up on him after he suffered a mild stroke his left leg and hand not functional, he has to be bathed taken to the toilet can’t walk but Alhamdulillah my elder brother and I, his only children but who grew up with their mum are here among other family members to nurse him. Amidst all the heat, the she said and he said that come with family gatherings I just feel the breeze and determined to take care of my father like a son should
Afterwards I think of going to our local kibandaski order coffee and vitumbua my favorite. The kitumbua once bitten twice chai

I share this with a lot of respect for my old man not with the intention of painting him as a bad person but some painful truths have to be shared for healing purposes for myself and others who have been in similar situations.

The French have a saying “ tout comprendre c’est tout pardoner” To understand all is to forgive all, of course it’s not easy and sometimes you can be taken advantage of but it’s a god place to start, as Barbara Hunt said : Forgiveness is for you – not the other person. It’s something you do inside yourself that you feel in your body and heart that releases you from your past and frees you to live life fully

Forgiveness is not forgetting, forgiveness is remembering without anger, for anger is the wind that blows out the lamp of the mind.

So forgive your parents your kids your siblings your friends. Pick that phone make that call send that text its no guarantee that they will respond positively but do it for you.

#Tunaweza !!!