JANE

I first met her in photos. She was this cute short girl in a green uniform posing like millennials do, slightly slanted to the side, and a cute smile. You wouldn't tell that she had a tough upbringing and that life had made her tough but still sweet, well she was sweet to me, so still sweet.

The second time was when she came home. I was young, angry at the world for giving me a sister who took all the attention from me, and my parents were always running around with her and leaving me home with my friends, and their friends. So, she came home and spent the night. I don't remember a lot happening that day but we were running on the sofas and it brought me joy since I couldn't do it when my mum was around. Then I enjoyed having a sister, I looked forward to the day I would run on those sofas with my sister, and God was it fun.

I was slightly older the third time we met and she had her first baby. She was crying outside with her sister as they complained about how life was hard and the only hard thing, I knew was Chemistry and how Olungah tried to make it fun saying that Chem-is-Try and all I had to do was try but trying wasn't getting rid of that C- kwa the chemistry grade. So, yes... I didn't understand their woes. Nonetheless, she looked at me and smiled, said I was her favorite nephew and I wondered how that was considering I'd met her twice before... Okay once if we don't count the photos.

The fourth time we met was at her mother’s burial, my grandmother’s burial. She wore black and cried. She spoke about Keziah and cried and it seemed like her whole world had come to an end but as we sat on that green grass seemingly showing that life is still beautiful even when we are in the pits, she looked at me, smiled and said we would overcome this. Now that made me cry. I did not understand how she did that. Smile and proclaim strength while she was at her weakest.

The fifth time we met was at my uncle's burial. She was adorned in these beautiful Rastafarian colors and was tipsy but smiled nonetheless. She hugged me and said I shouldn't be grumpy like the old men and I should smile more. Then I looked at her and wondered, you don't look as happy as you used to but you still manage to smile around me, how do you do that? How was she always smiling?

The sixth time I met her was at her sister's burial. She wore black and she was silent. She hugged my old man and cried and that was painful since I saw him fight his tears but he cried nonetheless, well it was windy and dusty so I understood. She said hey, gave me a hug and smiled saying it will be okay...

The seventh time I met her, she was in a coffin. She rested. She looked tired and I knew I would never see her smile again but some part of me expected it. Was she afraid during her last moments or did she smile knowing that she was going to a better place? Well, I will never know. But I do know that she was loved as her peers came and helped lay her to rest. Her children, though their world was dark, still managed a few smiles here and there. I wonder if, like their mother, they will always smile in times of crisis.

I might never know what moved her to smile. I might never understand why her smiles always brought me joy. But I know that that little smile gave me a shroud of hope every time I saw it. So, maybe I will smile more. Smile at her kids more. Smile at adversity and hopefully smile at life a bit more. However, let us try to be more kind to each other. Let us try to not hurt our beloved with words. There is beauty in loving your kin, so maybe we can try that. 

Love,

 

Thairu.