Fare thee well until we meet again in the promised land

I first met Grace Emily Akinyi in 1950. She was then a second year student of Nursing at Mengo Medical School in Kampala, while I was a first year student at Makerere College.

Then, she was already a revivalist, but unlike other fire-eating Christians, only concerned with heavenly matters, Grace always came to Makerere to participate in debates and discussions with students and staff on a wide range of topics.

It was the ease with which she combined heavenly and earthly affairs together with the self-confidence she exhibited, that first aroused my curiosity.

In December 1954, when she was working at Maseno Hospital and I was teaching at Alliance High School in Kikuyu, we met at an annual conference organised by Luo Students Union at Kisumu Social Hall.

She informed me that she would soon be going to Britain for further education in May 1955. I informed her that if all went well, I too would be going to Britain. We agreed that if this happened, we should look for each other.

Following several meetings, we were engaged in 1956 under very severe conditions.

We promised to keep the engagement secret for three years. We also promised never to get married in Britain but in Kenya.

We even fixed the date as October 1959. And finally we agreed that religion wouldn’t be a problem even though she was a revivalist while I wasn’t.

And a lot of people were very unhappy that she was marrying someone who was almost a heathen. The long engagement helped us get to know each other very well and we got married in October 1959 at Maseno School.

We promised to build our marriage on three things: love, trust and honesty.

We believed that without deep love for each other, no marriage can last. And today I can confirm that throughout the 56 years of our marriage, our love for each other never waned. If anything it grew stronger as we grew old. We also believed that we had to trust each other completely.

No secrets, especially with regards to economic and financial matters which we believed always caused misunderstandings in families.

Towards that end, we agreed that nobody would have a private or a personal account. All our bank accounts must be joint so that I could go to the bank and withdraw without consulting her.

We did that until she died the other day. We also agreed that all family property must be jointly owned; I own 50 percent and she owned 50 percent.

We also believed we had to be honest with each other in everything and always.

There was a time when she was the only female MP in a Parliament with 150 strong men. She told me she was in trouble and I asked what the trouble was. She said that most of these men wanted to date her. I asked her what’s wrong with that; because I would hate to have a wife who’s not admired by other men.

She was a very courageous lady

Together, we worked out a strategy for monitoring some of the behaviors of these MPs. Whenever we were certain that one of them was about to cross the line, she would inform him that she was under the watchful eyes of the husband. She remained protected while at the same time avoiding ugly confrontations and exposure.

She was a very courageous lady. There was a time when her life was in danger.

She reported this to the police several times but the police simply ignored the concerns. She felt they had been compromised. She then decided to inform President Moi, because the suspects were not very far from people in government and the President must surely have been aware of what they were doing.

She secured an appointment and the President gave her a breakfast appointment at Kabarak and I agreed to accompany her.

When we arrived, much to our horror, we found the President having breakfast with the two suspects. So I asked her what we would do now and she said I leave it to her. I had no idea what that meant.

After breakfast, the President invited us to his office and much to my surprise, she said, “Thank you but it’s not necessary. The people I wanted to talk to you about are here and it’s better that they hear what I want to say.”

There was total silence and the President asked, “What is it Mama?” She said, “I have a simple request to make on behalf of my husband and constituents. My life is in danger. I can be killed any time. I come from a constituency that has lost three MPs under unclear circumstances: Argwings Kodhek, Horace Ongili and Otieno Ambala.

Mama was a great diplomat

I could be the next one. Our request is that should it happen, these two gentlemen should not attend my funeral. Because we can’t afford to lose more life.” It’s tempting to speculate, but I think that bold action saved her life.

Mama was a great diplomat. Whenever we had differences of opinion, she would lower her voice. It was her tactic. So if she wanted to catch me, she would lower it, I would feel good then she would hit hard.

Outside the family, her diplomacy was very much appreciated. On one occasion, one influential Kanu leader came to her constituency and delivered a savage attack on her with the hope of causing commotion.

When it was her time to speak, most people in the meeting expected fireworks. However, she turned her speech into a long prayer asking God to help leaders preach peace, be role models and always tell the truth.

The firebrand didn’t say ‘amen.’ She then invited guests to lunch at her home and all the leaders obliged except the firebrand.

Our intellectual pursuits enriched one another. There was a time she felt that history was her rival, especially when I started teaching at Makerere. I was always either in the lecture halls or marking essays up to 2am. We had just gotten married and she asked me, “Is this what marriage means?”

Being a gifted linguist who spoke seven African languages, I decided to recruit her as an interpreter and translator during field work.

She mastered the study of African history and culture which provided her with solid foundation for her writing. And when she joined politics, I became her political advisor and in this capacity I accompanied her to meetings in many parts of Kenya.

Of course, I usually carried her briefcase but this is a terrible thing to do in the Luo society, a man carrying a woman’s briefcase. And many Luo men attacked me as a ‘handbag husband.’

Her death came suddenly. Although she had been ailing for some time, she was still strong and able to travel from our house in Kisumu to our home in Yala during weekends, and occasionally to Nairobi. But from February this year, her health began to deteriorate.

She was admitted at the Aga Khan Hospital on February 8. Then she was transferred to Nairobi on February 12 where she remained until March 2 when she was discharged.

The doctors recommended we keep her in Nairobi for at least a month to provide her with critical nursing at home. She made very good progress and from March 15 she was able to walk and eat properly. She was even able to dance for us.

Apparently it was her way of saying goodbye to us. For on March 18, after her breakfast and doing a little walk with the physiotherapist, she suddenly became weak.

We called an ambulance and rushed her to Nairobi Hospital where she was pronounced dead on arrival.

I’ve lost a dear friend; a lifelong companion and confidant; a loving wife and a wonderful mother to our children. Oriti nyar Asembo! Fare thee well the daughter of Asembo! Until we meet again in the promised land, a land without thunder!

Prof Bethwell Allan Ogot is one of East Africa’s foremost historians, a professor emeritus at Maseno University and a former chancellor of Moi University.

Dr Tom Odhiambo transcribed this eulogy.