When I wrote about my mum’s funeral last week, a few readers felt that I made fun of her funeral; that I had disrespected my mother. Nothing can be further from the truth.
The way I know her, if she had read that piece, she would have described it as not funny enough. For my parents have, from day one, been my greatest fans, reading all my pieces, filing them and giving me writing ideas.
So, to answer those who felt that I disrespected my mother, I will tell you all about this woman and, by extension, my family. My mother had 10 children. I was the seventh born, originally the last born. It is a position I held for four good years until Caro arrived.
You know Caleb, my old man, who doesn’t think highly of me; Yunia, my tough elder sister and mother of Theophillas and Bedford; Pius, my elder, moneyed brother who works with a big company in Nairobi, and drives a classy Mercedes Platz.
Quite a lot of you know Ford, husband of Rumona and prison warden, Kitui Prison. And everyone knows Fiolina, the laugh of my enviable life, and mother of Sospeter. I would have mentioned Catherina, the mother of Branton, but I will not spoil Fiolina’s mood by mentioning her.
We are one big, funny family. And there is nothing we will not joke about. We laugh at ourselves; we laugh at weddings; we laugh at funerals, in hospital; and we laugh at neighbours.
Caro is the funniest in the family, taking after my parents. I come in a close seventh. Fiolina is five times funnier than I. I do not call her the laugh of my life for nothing.
After working for many years as a copy typist, secretary, and social worker, my mother was appointed as an assistant chief. I was in Form Three then. She was the first woman to achieve that feat in our region. At the time, an assistant chief wrote a lot of letters: for ID application, animal movement, permits for functions and events, among others.
I used to draft many such letters and she would rubberstamp and sign them. Many times, when she had travelled, I stamped and signed the letters. I would, therefore, not be lying, if I put it in my CV that I was once an assistant chief!
As an assistant chief, she made life difficult for local brewers. In fact, Hitler had to go underground for a few years, only returning and thriving after my mother had retired. Whenever they met, my mother used to joke to him that he was lucky she wasn’t an assistant chief; otherwise he would never sell his famed stuff. Hitler would tell her that he was lucky she got married in Mwisho wa Lami, for her husband and children were his most important customers.
I also remember when she threatened to arrest my dad for “obstructing justice”. My father had felt that she was too hard on Hitler. Hitler is a distant relative and had educated his children by selling his famed waters. My mother told my father that he may be the head of the house, but the sub-location had only one kirauni.
After retiring, mum contested for a councillor’s seat. She did not go past the party nominations, where she garnered only two votes — yet she had over 30 agents and at least five family members were at home and voted. It is something we would later laugh at.
“Those elections we rigged,” was always her retort.
Because of her firmness, there are enemies of development that used to say that she had “sat” on my father. The same enemies are now saying that Fiolina has “sat” on me, just because she earns more than I do and that I have allowed her to take certain key responsibilities like paying fees and rent. My father and I always laugh about the claims. Although it is said that behind every successful man is a woman, my father and I believe that in front of our successful women is a man.
A few months ago, as her health continued to weaken, I asked my mother what I could do to make her life more bearable. Her answer was: “Please get me another wife to keep me company.” It was only after further interrogation that we discovered that she was asking for Wi-Fi. She loved watching media on YouTube, WhatsApp, TikTok and other media on the phone and bundles were never enough.
As a copy typist, she worked in a college, two secondary schools and two NGOs, linking underprivileged children to sponsors who helped them access education. That must be where her passion for education started.
Despite the fact that she did not study past primary school, or because of it, she was relentless in pushing for the expansion of learning facilities in many schools. Two schools were dear to her: Munyanza Primary and Mulwanda Secondary where she served on the BOM for many years until ill-health stopped her.
I have thought of the best way to honour my mum. Together with a few of my friends, and interested well-wishers, we plan to do something small for these two schools, focusing on equipping their libraries with books, computers and other learning materials. The good news is that you, too, can be a part of this. If you are inspired by her life, you can honour her memory by sending something to M-Pesa Paybill 775077 with the account name: Elimu. And you will have touched someone’s life.
Long before we started hearing of feminists or before women went to Beijing, my mother fought for the equality of women — without making noise. In our home, she made as many key decisions as my dad did on farming, animals., name it In fact, she is the only woman I have seen actively participate in dowry negotiations for a cousin of mine.
You may be gone, mum, but your legacy will live on!
