The fear, for me, is still there
What you need to know:
- Can you believe that Westgate is still here? That, even thought the numbers are fewer, there are still people still shopping. Still watching movies. Still living.
- I must have looked quite the sight, stopping and peering into windows, pausing. I even called a friend at some point so I could calm down, I was so overcome.
I went to Westgate last week, for the first time since Westgate.
As soon as I walked in, I felt like crying. Something overwhelmed me. There was a catch in my throat.
Nothing had happened. I hadn't remembered anything, or seen anything.
When I drove in through the gate, the nice guards in pale blue ties smiled and scanned my car.
There seemed to be a cop every hundred metres in the garage. I felt safe.
In spite of that, I still kept an eye out for the exit, where the nearest escape was. What I could hide under if anything broke out. And I felt like I was wading through rivers of invisible blood.
I've been doing that since Westgate, especially when I'm in a mall or crowded area. In traffic sometimes, I still check my side and rear-view mirrors frequently – not just for possible thieves, but also in case I see a man in a balaclava shooting people arbitrarily.
The fear, for me, is still there.
This week was the two-year anniversary, and I feel like no one noticed.
I walked into the mall. It looked empty – of course. I was waiting for a friend to go watch a movie, somewhere I feel safe, again because it is dark and the shooters can't see you. Slightly morbid, I know, but I can't help that it is on my mind.
I went up and down the lifts. I walked around looking at the shops that were open, and the shops that haven't yet.
I marvelled.
Can you believe that Westgate is still here? That, even thought the numbers are fewer, there are still people still shopping. Still watching movies. Still living.
I went up and down the lifts so many times, I half expected an officer to stop me and say I looked suspicious. I must have looked quite the sight, stopping and peering into windows, pausing. I even called a friend at some point so I could calm down, I was so overcome.
Then I walked into Nakumatt. I passed the fabled elephant with nary a blink. But when I got to the teller, something happened.
The nice cashier asked if I have a Nakumatt Global Card. I had forgotten mine. As he rung up my purchase, another cashier called out a joke to the teller on the next aisle, and everyone laughed.
I immediately started tearing again.
If this doesn't show the spirit of Kenyan humanity, I don't know what does. In the face of everything that happened, these people still go to work every day. They crack jokes and have a laugh with their colleagues.
Nothing has changed but our hearts – braver. Stronger. None the worse for wear.
I thought about those people as I walked into the movie. And I felt brave; and I felt proud. Brave because my first thought when my friend said we should do a movie at Westgate was not "Hell no!"
Proud that the tears came, and I felt fear, and walked into Westgate anyway. Proud of the people who choose to move forward.
Proud that it takes more than a terrorist attack to get a Kenyan down.
Twitter: @AbigailArunga