Enough

”I have been reading about you Kenyans in Sweden before I came here. I can not read anymore of you, it’s enough!”

He came to bury his grandsons, miles and miles away from the shelter of his homestead. With his family, they came to witness the final journey of the two little boys who left this humanly world not knowing why. Why they had to take that cursed swim. Like them, he has twice that same question, one on behalf of them and one to a community. But he chose to say…enough. You have written enough, you have said enough.

I could not sleep the stretch of the night. I woke up every now and then quite so afraid that I had missed the farewell ceremony of our two little angels. I would look at the clock and with an amount of relieve heave back to sleep. The alarm was on.

As we were on the way to preschool, I looked at my daughter, and a horrible realisation attacked. She is five, and she has already, forever lost two of her friends. Enough. She, they, we, should not have to go through that. It has happened, there is nothing we can do about it now, but accept.

But as Sophia Njoroge put it, “what can I do now?”

“God grant me the serenity to accept the things I can not change; courage to change what I can; and wisdom to know the difference” Reinhold Neiburh.

Kenyans in Stockholm have been weighed and found wanting. But believe me when I say this, we are not part of the legion that was cast down from the heavens after the infamous mutiny. We are not ill possessed but on the contrary, we could be the beatified. It’s only that our little shy lights are every too often engulfed by a dominating darkness.

We mourn, we cry, we weep. But you might be tempted to think otherwise when you meet us in that awkward situation.

“Love is free!” pastor Beatrice reminded us.

Is it really that hard to accommodate each other? We can not meet somewhere along the way? No, sorry, not the time for questions, enough.

But we must not give up. Not on love, not on caring, not on hope and on that we are one, white or black and tribe not withstanding. Love is free and there should be enough of it.

The ceremony was solemn and the cultures were given space. The scriptures were promising to the point! And the singing voices dared us to hear and behold the blessings of the Lord. The people, oh ye that care! Oh ye that feel like a human should, and shed bias to capitalise on being part of. Bless!

You see, the reading only continues if you turn the page. The next sentence will bare its words if you read it. But it is up to you to solve the meaning to interpret and understand. So, there is no blame but the shared shame when we go on and get our selves judged as a community. B’coz we tried to run and hide from the responsibility.

Buddha says that if you run from one hardship today the same will reappear in your next life. Your reincarnation will have to deal with the same. Simply, what goes around as sure as the day, always comes around. How we choose to handle our mistakes as a community today will affect our coming generations. Be assured of that.

It was a foggy cold morning, nothing out of the ordinary in the month of November. Soon, by four pm, darkness was bound to set in. In the church, people hung on to their over coats until their bodies became warm enough for them to shed off that part of the sober early winter clothing. Silence, everyone so intent on hearing every word uttered, not a verse should escape.

But then the sun, the rays sneaked in through the right side windows as if to proclaim a forgotten source. The light stayed on through out the ceremony and if you ask me, I will say that the heavens opened and they forgave, and smiled, and assured us that all is well, through that light.

“Every breath you take, every move you make, every bond you break, every step you take, I’ll be watching you” sang the man with the guitar.

There is this thing about a church. You go there and all over sudden you sense the might of the High Most. I have never ceased to marvel over the work, the art, the care that men took/take while trying to make a copy of what they believe could accommodate God. Am left with the believe that the achievement is only possible by directions from God. After all, you design you own home. Sigtuna, Maria Kyrka was befitting as the commencing point for the souls of our beloved on their journey on, its gardens a dignified resting place for their bodies.

As we piled out with the little lambs in front, there was no hustle. Faces were made and his said in their journey, the one that we could not fail them in. Step by step. And to fare them well, we threw in a fist of sand or a rose.

The trip to the Sätuna kyrka for a gathering, a cup of coffee, tea and to share the few mandazis that fed five thousands happened in a smooth order.

“There are people who like to play in the mud. In the process, they dirty themselves. If you happen to be close by and clean, they may be inclined to smear you with some of the dirt in their hands as you make contact.”  Said brother Muirani. “Beware.”

There was the light moment of the coordinator becoming an MC while at the same time introducing the MC. But you see? You can laugh anywhere. Because the sadness, has been lifted off from those who seek to understand. It is said that the truth should set you free, and Bob added that you have to emancipate yourselves from mental slavery.

All in all, everything went smoothly, the cops gave us company and they too appeared to mourn with us. The father to one of the boys requested a Swahili song to be sang and while some of us sat and wondered if he does understand the words; the singers’ lifted voices gave him his wish. And with a bowed head he accepted.

“Meet the person that made all this possible!” Mrs Mberi introduced Pastor Ann-Marie. She was there all the way. She knew the family and humbly she said, ” I made a wish that everything will go fine today. Am happy my wish has come true!”

We may have slipped, but we are not a failed community.

“Nothing but prayers peeps….”  Veencent.

P Bryan Njoroge.