Dad, I hope you will read this letter I wrote

On 21st January 2014, at 6.05 pm, Babaa, with a smile on his face, passed away.

It is exactly one year and one week since you left us, but I still hope that you will walk through the front door one day.

I can still see your smile, the most genuine smile I have ever seen.

Once in a while, I cry for your little boys, Fares, Teddy and Ray, for your girls Mummy, Claris, Hazel, Audrey, Jeddy and Shirlyn, because if I did it for myself, there would be no end to the tears.

My first published article is about you, just as I had promised, though I always believed that you would get to read it. All the same, I know you listen to my heart, so this is my short letter to you.

I will never forget what a happy man you were. You forgave so easily, sometimes I thought it was a weakness. It amazed me how you would be so angry at us for doing wrong, but make sure we were smiling before we went to bed.

Do you remember that day you slapped me because I hadn’t gone to visit cousin Vine in hospital? I remember how you consoled me afterwards when you learnt why I hadn’t.

“No man will ever raise a hand at you Mama,” you told me. It is funny how you always remembered I am named after your mother whenever you consoled me.

I also remember with laughter how the boys’ bicycle would get a puncture when you cycled it round the compound. You would be so sorry, it made us laugh.

How about when you feigned sleep when you knew food was about to be served, just so you would see who came to wake you and how hard they would try?

Father’s wisdom

I will never forget your love for chicken. Who can forget the day Claris substituted your chicken with omena? Or the day I lost the gizzard much to your chagrin?

You were so proud of us. You were right about education being the best inheritance you would leave us. I will never forget that day, (I was in Standard Two) when I edited my report form to read position one. Oh, how you worked on me.

You said, “Winners win, they don’t cheat.” That is the day I resolved to live my life in a way that would make you proud of me.

Your last dance was with me. You were so happy on 21st December 2013, at my graduation party. You were such a great dancer Babaa. I can still hear your speech, the best graduation gift I got.

It saddens me whenever I see a graying wrinkled man reading a newspaper or speaking fluent English because I will never see you get to that stage. You were such a Grammar Nazi.

You have no idea how carefully I read your eulogy at the funeral. I did well, but then I bet you heard, right?

I have just realised that one article is not enough to say all I want to say, and I am amazed that while writing this down, I did not suffer my usual writers’ block, so let’s agree that this is just one of my many letters to you Babaa.

I thank God for the time He gave us together. I will hold onto your memory and everything you raised me to be, all you stood for and believed in. I want you to know that it will never be the same without you, but you will remain in our hearts forever.

In loving memory of Mr Moses Filbert Okumu Wananyanga (daktari) 12/12/1960 - 21/01/2014.