Frankly Told: There Was One
The afternoon sun painted the room gold through the glass sliding doors with ripples from the backyard swimming pool that made the wall dance in a shimmering warmth. The house was a buzz with three generations. Some were playing, some preparing the feast and others just loudly entertaining each other.
Amidst the playing, one of the younger ones stopped in front of the old recliner. With a curious look, she stood before the elderly lady who occupied it.
“Cucu,” she started with her golden voice. “What’s the matter?”
The old lady looked down at her granddaughter and faked a weak smile.
“Nothing’s the matter,” her raspy voice came through in response.
“You look sad,” the little child blatantly pointed out.
“Oh dear,” she chuckled. “I am okay, mummy.”
The child remained planted where she stood. Her head tilted curiously. Her eyes pierced into the pastiche facade and remained almost unblinking.
“What is it?” she asked in a playful tone.
“Are you telling lies?” Again she dug with no cushion.
“Ah,” she chuckled again. “You are a good one, with those sharp eyes of yours, ka-mama.”
“I am just a little tired,” she deflected. “You know me with these old bones. I can’t run much like you. You should keep playing. See the dog is waiting for you to throw the ball.”
She pointed a feeble finger towards the dog that lay across the room. The dog sensing the attention, got up excitedly and got ready for the next round of the game. The little child seemed to have been swayed and her focus was once more on the game. Only partially. She tossed the ball once or twice before she went and tugged on her father’s trousers before whispering something in his ear.
“Okay, okay,” the man spoke in a hushed tone, as he was pulled by the hand toward the old lady.
“Mum,” he started. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes,” she gave a bit of a curt answer, unsatisfactory to the little inspector who pushed her father to sit down on the ottoman by the recliner.
“You don’t get up until you know what is wrong,” she ordered and squinted her eyes towards him.
He raised his hands in submission and chuckled. Once she had gone back to her game, whatever it had morphed to now with her cousins, he sighed but the smile lingered on his lips.
“I don’t know what I can do with her when she gets like this,” he said.
“You’re soft,” the old lady retorted.
“She gets it from her mother,” he shrugged. “I’m not about to start beating her like you did us. You know this new generation and their antics.”
There was silence between the two of them.
“So what is going on?” he asked, his eyes trained on his daughter.
“What makes you think that something is wrong?” the old lady quickly spun.
“Mum, stop,” he said curtly. “She’s never usually wrong in the way she sees through people and your “I’m tired” response can only work to someone who didn’t just see you nap.”
The old lady sighed in defeat.
“I’ll admit, I’d rather be asleep than awake right now,” she started.
“Mhh,” was all he gave in response.
“I got a call this morning, I wondered when it would slip through the mask,” she continued. “It was my friend’s daughter.”
“Oh,” he sounded concerned.
“We lost her, finally,” she affirmed.
“Finally is a bit harsh,” he commented.
“Finally, is as straightforward as it needs to be with my age,” the old lady said with an almost joking tone.
“Right,” he slipped in, slightly saddened by the truth. “So how are you feeling?”
“I really don’t know,” the old lady admitted. “I haven’t quite processed it. A piece of me was enthused because I get to say that I am the last one standing.”
“Yet the larger part is in such deep sadness I don’t think my heart can articulate what it feels as of yet.” she hammered in. “I’m trying not to seem so sad for the little kiddies.”
She faked a smile and waved to them as they waved at her from the kitchen where one of the mothers had them munching on the reddest watermelon cubes.
“I guess your daughter is too keen to persuade otherwise,” she surrendered.
“You just have to learn to either overcorrect or actually tell her your big feelings,” he said with half a laugh. “Really teaches you how to deal with your things.”
“Watoto wa siku hizi watatumaliza,” she shoke her head with amazement.
“I’m sorry about your friend,” he placed his hand on hers.
She accepted his comfort, placing her other hand on his and rubbing it softly.
“Sometimes, it is unreal this life we live.” she said. “I look at all of you here and it fills my heart with immense joy. Hata sijui niseme nini because I am at a loss for words. Clearly, when your father left us he left with his many words and hard vocabulary.”
He scoffed. At this point in the conversation, all within earshot had been dragged into the conversation and all the adults now looked over at her from the dining table and other couches.
“I like that you always plan these things together,” she laid on. “I wish my siblings and I did the same lakini ilitupita. This is what it is all about. Family. Community!”
“Hold on to each other,” her words just flowed out. “That is my prayer. That none of you loses this feeling of community; wherever you go, whatever you do or whenever you need it. Time goes by very fast. These little ones will grow old and so will you. They may be tens of you and one day hundreds…”
“And one day, you will tell how in your family there was hundreds, there was tens,” she smiled with sadness in her eyes.
“And there was one.”
