If You Knew What I know and Saw What I Have Seen! An Ode To Granny

There was a cruel irony in the way this gravestone stared back. The questions it posed; a provocation to the murky oblivion that has become of many a fallen Matriarchs. They say a picture speaks of a thousand words! What they never say however, is that the real power is embedded in the stories we derive from these “a thousand” words: That those who inscribe these get to rule the world. 

  

For more than 100 years, she had explored the stream of civilization. Inside it, she had witnessed life unfold as a child and a young adult. Like Will Durant, the philosopher, once observed, inside this stream, she had witnessed all the futilities and partaken of all the vanities in life at that time. When adulthood set in, she had embraced her identity, and settled to life by the banks. Here, she built homes, made love, and raised children. She sang songs, wrote poetry, and even whittled statues. Unfortunately, she was so caught up in her stride; she did not pause to pen her journey. Those of us that were fortunate enough to travel with her albeit how limited this was, also failed to encourage her to the former. I guess we were busy charting our own paths. 

1906-2006, a line in the epitaph read. A decision reached by the elders, due to the lack of a proper record on her exact date of birth. They all reckoned that she had walked this earth for more than a century. The most vivid memory I can recollect, has me in the heavy afternoon downpour. I am holding onto one of the ropes, carefully relaxing my grip as we committed her remains into the ground. The rest are gaps or pesterings, heavily sedated with all kinds of opinion except hers. It is this mortal assault to her legacy that seems particularly disturbing to her decayed bones. Her memory pokes at me in disgust, as if to protest the torment from this insult. 

Towards the end, age had erased sight, out of her eyes. Not her insight! Just by listening to their footsteps and catching on their aromas, she could tell, with an acute precision, almost all her guests. How she got to do it is a mystery. One of the many she carried with her into eternity. “My son, if you knew what I know, and saw what I have seen, you would understand!” that’s all she disclosed the last time I was the esteemed guest.  

On this particular visit, as I stare at this permanent reminder of how transient life on earth is, one question aggravates me. If granny were to paint her own picture, what words would this masterpiece speak of? What story would her “a thousand” words tell? What did you see? What did you know? Remind me to ask, the next time we meet. Until then, Rest In Peace. Zeiza/Jajja/Grandma! 

In loving memory of

Kataike Pulisikila (Priscilla) 1906-2006 (estimated YOB)

And

Nangalwe Yayeri 1902-1997 (estimated YOB)