It is 21st Feb 2025. Imbo, Kanyada, 4.14pm. Mama is taking the final solitary journey to the afterlife. Her assignment on the material universe is complete, and the call of the creator has rung. She has picked the call and said, “I am coming home. – Abiro Baba…” And for such a call, intimately made between two consenting spirits, deeply intertwined, all of us only become witnesses. And so, the whole village of Kothidha, and our friends, have come to witness and accompany Mama Caren Awino Dinda in her last journey on earth.
Oyunga Pala is not physically present. He is present through his book, that I recently finished reading. “Strength and Sorrow” … This part of the book’s title doesn’t make much sense to me. He has explained it and when he does, I seem to get it. But soon after, I lose it. It sounds to me like a paradox. But the subtitle makes a lot of sense to me; “Reflections on the ones we lost.” Now, this is it. Only that if I were Yvonne Adhiambo Owuor who edited the book, I would rephrase it. “Reflections on the one I lost.” – Mama Na. Nyar Kabuoch. Nyargi Nera. Min John. Min Wuoli. Min Lily. Min Boy. Min Jack. Min Gabi. Min Rose. Min Faith. Jaod Baba. Mama Wa. Nyandira. Nyar Konyango. Nyar Nyagidha.
During death’s routine patrols in Kanyada, he has largely looked at our home with grace. Many a time he has passed by, giving us a chance to keep going but with a firm promise to be back, some day. So, in waiting for the fulfilment of it’s promise, we have immersed ourselves in ordinariness of life. Waking up. Milking cows, planting, weeding, harvesting. Going to Imbo. Doing things that you do when you are alive. Because something has to be done.
One of those for Mama has always been preparing food for the family. It generally involves getting the food from the farm or wherever and preparing it. On the morning of 25th Jan 2025, she woke up to do just that. To do the ordinary. Wakes up. Milks the cows and goes to the farm to get potatoes for lunch. In the process, goes to check on JJ, my nephew who was sick the previous day. They have a small talk with Elizabeth, my sister-in-law, who tells her that she is taking JJ to the hospital to finish his treatment dose. And so, she continues with her ordinariness and goes for the potatoes.
Once she has enough, she starts her journey back home to prepare them for lunch. Unknown to her, this would be her last journey in that footpath to the garden. The footpath that she has taken for 50+ years that she has been married in Kanyada. She collapses and falls unconscious. Stroke. Many things in between. Imbo Medical Centre, Christamarriane Mission Hospital, Kisii and back home. “Our ways of living are our ways of dying.” Zakes Mda would reflect. And so, it was true for Mama. In finding ways to live, so you die.
A week later, we are back home. It is thanksgiving. Her church members come to give thanks to God. 2nd Feb 2025. God has spared Mama Caren from the jaws of death. They pray together, eat together and praise God. She is in pain, but anajikaza. She has done it all her life, so she has sufficient experience to withstand it. Mama is recovering, though her one side is immobile. Her spirit is good. She is struggling to clap as they sing. She enjoys tea with them. They tease her to name the congregants. She smiles sheepishly and names them all. And ask, “So you think I don’t know you. Pacha ler pa– I am fully conscious” she says. They laugh and continue chatting. She is recovering and getting back to her feet.
3rd Feb 2025. She wakes up well. Great spirit but a bit tired. Then she tells my sister Lily, “ Adhi e wuoth moro mabor…Jokmoko ka osedhi?”- “ I want to go on a long journey. Have those my colleagues gone?” Lily is confused. But time will clarify. Which journey is she talking about? She asks for water. She is given food alongside. She eats the pineapples first (Ooh she loved pineapples) and then offers the food to Boy(her son) and Nicole(grand daughter). Moments later, she asks to be placed in the shade she always liked resting under. She pulls herself with help of Baba, Lily and Boy. She rests there. Then at that moment, she sets off to her journey. The journey to the afterlife. Mama Nyasaye Okawo– “God has taken mama.” Just like that. Peacefully. No struggles, no direct goodbyes. So, she needed water to power her journey to the afterlife. It must be a long journey indeed. Why didn’t she eat the food then? Maybe her colleagues were in a hurry. They couldn’t wait for her any longer? Whatever the case, Mama peacefully goes ahead of us.
When Mama is setting off on this journey, I am also waiting for a taxi to set off on a journey to the Netherlands. Where Oyunga Pala now lives. And that call comes. That dreaded call. At first, I receive two calls from my home friends who rarely call me. I wonder why they are calling me today. I am packing so I don’t give much thought. Then Linet(my sister-in-law) calls. “Gabriel, take heart. God has taken mama.” We pray and the world gets dark, though the February sun is up. Mama has gone. Mama Nyasaye okawo.
“Nyasaye, ka sana ochopo
To kawa piyo
Ok adwa ywara gi tuo.”
“Lord, when my time comes, let me not be sick for long. Take me soon. I don’t want to be sick for long before I die.”
This was Mama’s prayer. And she didn’t shy away from telling it to us. She repeated it many times.
Be careful what you pray for, because God may just grant it. See her case. Exactly as she had discussed with God.
And this is what gave me the confidence. That God has taken her, according to her wishes. Her friendship with God could be summarized by her last words to me two days before. “Yesu kende.” – Only Jesus.
Mama took the journey as I also took the journey for academic adventure to the Netherlands. God knows how many litres of tears I produced in that plane. Poor lady who sat next to me. She had to mop the whole plane. That “African men” don’t cry is a fallacy. There are African men, and there is Waya. That’s how Mama used to call me.
Coincidentally, Oyunga was on this end. I reached out. I hadn’t known that he had lost people in his life. That he had travelled a painful journey of loss and grief. I just remembered our days at Writers Guild Kenya, when he gave us Writeshops at the Guild. Being on this end, I looked for him.
Of all the many calls I received, Oyunga seemed to understand something other’s struggled with. Our talk with him left my heart at peace. Only that person who has lost. I mean really lost, can relate. I now have a name for it. He is a certified executive coach focussing on “grief alchemy”. Whatever the English, just know that through our talks, his concern and care, and the care and concern of many, the period went by.
His book tells it all. I have gulped it in two days. He tells it all, recounting the depths of loses that time can’t take away. From his sister Nyangi to (his) Baba Ratego, his brothers. Through the book, he refuses to just count those who have gone before, but in them he reflects on the fragility of life. The inevitability of what’s to come. He infuses them with stories of customs and the entanglement of life and death, captured in everyday realities. Oyunga’s writing is nothing short of what he has treated us to for almost three decades. Taking me back in time to High school when I routinely went to the library to just read his column. Those were the days of Man Talk. With Oyunga Pala. Reading through the book is a revision of philosophy lessons to me. While I enjoyed the theories and literature under “Philosophy of life and death” when pursuing Masters in Applied Philosophy and Ethics at Strathmore University, Oyunga has perfected the art of crystalizing them and presenting them infused with Luo customs and anecdotes. Thankfully, I share this heritage with him, so I understand what he says in its rightful context. Oyunga’s book doesn’t need marketing or “convincing” for you to get it. Just know that at some point in your life, you will need it. As a philosopher, I can tell you that, that time is now!
I planned to read Oyunga’s book between 25th Jan and 3rd Feb, 2026 to mark Mama’s last pilgrimage on earth a year ago from the time she fell, to the time she boarded the flight to the next life. But each page led to another and in two days, I was done. The tragedy with Oyunga is that he writes so well that even when writing about such a serious matter like death, you still find yourself laughing at his sneaky jokes and cheeky expressions. I guess that’s what writing prowess culminates to. The ability to make your readers laugh and cry at the same time. It is sad, like my case when you have to read such a book in a bus, where other people get to catch a glimpse of you shedding a tear.
How lucky I am that fate has woven my paths with Oyunga and he has graciously lent me his voice to mourn my mum. Mine doesn’t work anymore. Perhaps it is because of the winter, or the struggle to settle in such a “Dark Continent”. Through the occasional meet ups, long brotherly calls with greetings like, “Ondiek…” “Hyena! One wonders how this is a complement to a Luo Man. And now, the book that uncovers the depth of the heart. A book totally worth your while. Totally worth the price. This book will call your attention to the meaning of wisdom as an “attempt to live and die well.” Many people will only attempt to tell you how to live well. And they fail at it. Oyunga reminds you of the inevitable that helps sweeten the joy of the present.
