Majestically she carries herself with royal steps, flawless to the eye it is almost as if time around her is frozen. You can feel the sound of her steps thump on your heart, distinct by their cold and lasting chilling effect. Her form is imposing on all who catch a glimpse, her frame never changing from age to age. Every household knows about her, her visits though common are dreaded. When she visits, how much you lose is not up for debate or deliberation. Arbitration in any court is futile. We are bound by a mutual unilateral contract, for a lack of a better expression. Today ladies and gentlemen, I am being paid that visit.
It is eight o’clock in the morning, a beautiful Friday morning, when my phone rings. I dash to my desk to pick the call and I see it is one of my good friends, a friend beyond a friend actually, one I consider my brother. I pick up the phone in haste, with a tone of such vibrant energy I could stand out as a radio presenter. With a standard salutation 101 afforded to my brothers, I call out his nickname with such confidence and eagerness.... ‘What up TC’, I say, waiting for him to state the purpose of his early call. There is something strange in how he acknowledges my greeting, it is somewhat formal by any standards expected from him as he calls me out by my given name and not my nickname. I can sense a broken dialect in his tone, something is wrong. Thoughts are running through my head at speeds I cannot decipher, I can feel my heart thumping harder and faster, my concentration is heightened as if I am bracing for an impact. There is a pause before he utters his next words which does little to help my anxiety levels which by now are in overdrive. “He is gone, Wanangwa is gone, apparently he was in a car accident and he didn’t make it”, he says, I respond as a child, “What do you mean”? Of course I know what he means, but the human nature in me is in a momentary state of denial.
Time freezes around me. He repeats his words, almost angrily as if he is shouting at his younger brother, and adds one more detail. I learn he was with Lusayo, another brother of mine.
I pause, I am literally trying to embezzle words out of my mouth to say something sensible but nothing comes out. I can feel my insides collapse, that sickening feeling in your stomach. I reach for my chair and collapse my body on it. I can say nothing more but a simple okay.
It is that visit and she has visited and it has pleased her to leave with two of my brothers. It is hard enough to handle one loss, but two? This is atrocious! This is death visiting, her visit ever more damning.
This has been a loss I seldom can fathom and comprehend. Fists clinched, with tears drawing by the door of my eyes in a room of helplessness. I punch the wall with weak and flimsy punches like those of a woman.
I am resigned to a sense of defeat and self-pity in the face of this visit, yet somewhere deep in my soul I am compounded by joy when I turn and look at the lives my brothers led. This is confusing to the core of the soul. A seasoned veteran like me shouldn’t be asking this question, yet I am inclined to ask, Why?
There is a moment or two of deep silence in my soul, everything around me is muted, it is as if everything is in slow motion. I am still hoping this is a lie or a dream or a prank that Sayo has pulled, he is capable of such after all. It is in that faint hope I gather up energy within me and pick up the phone to call one of my brothers who would be in the know how. It is dialing, but there is no answer, and the wait seems endless. Finally he picks up, and in a calm and collected voice I ask how he is doing. All this in an attempt to feign ignorance of what I just heard, like feeling the temperature of the water with your feet before you dip in. Futile, his immediate response is one I dreaded the most as he confirms my fears.
Still I refuse to give in, I turn that hope of this being a prank to the hope that a mistake has been made, somewhere somehow. Maybe the accident has happened but it was not as fatal.
I pace out of my office without speaking to anyone, I am racing on the road like a minibus driver heading for Sayo’s house which is some 5 minutes away from my office. I arrive at the house and I am met by chaotic scenes, distraught faces are littered everywhere outside the house. By now the little hope I had has withered away.
I walk into the house and there lies my brother’s wife, prostrate on the couch with a friend holding her hand. She is consumed by inconsolable grief, her cries piercing to the soul. I approach the side of the couch and hold her hand; she calls out my name, tears flowing from her eyes in a storm of cries. I can only say two words, ‘‘take heart’’, I stay there speechless before walking out the door.
There is no procedure on how to deal with death, no manual whatsoever, how do you console her, where do you even start from I ponder to myself. But this one thing I have learnt, and that is to say as little as you can.
Men are conferring in small pockets of gatherings outside the house; you can almost cut the intensity with a knife. Everyone is in a state of shock and disbelief. Someone taps my shoulder from behind, I turn around and it is a face I recognize. We sit down and he shares the little information he has gathered thus far.
There are moments of idleness as I sit down under a tree shade to try and grasp everything. Then it hits me, Wanangwa is also gone. At this time I am thinking of his wife, his sister, brothers and mother. I must go see them. This is just too surreal, what part of the game is this, if I could be in two places at once it did be better. This is just unfair I mammer to myself.
It is a drive across the opposite end of town from Sayo’s house, just over 10 minutes’ drive with rush hour traffic. I am dashing between two houses to mourn my brothers, how can this be? What is this? I didn’t sign up for this. In no time I arrive at the house, met by Wanangwa’s sister. Her eyes bloodshot, her movement clearly burdened by the loss. It is hard to look into her eyes, it is even harder to say anything. I am sitting there almost like a dumb person and she is doing all of the talking. It is tough. But if I won’t be there, who will be?
Over the next few days I am hoping from one house to the other, I confirm that the most one can do in this situations is to keep quiet and let your presence do the consoling. Utter a lot of words in these trying times and you will be assured to do more damage than harm. Hearing some of the things that are said when people try to console the bereaved is evidence of more stupidity in words and more wisdom in silence. Words like ‘I know how it feels’ should be banned at funerals, they are too belittling and insulting almost. People offer the weirdest advice I tell you; do not cry because you need to show that you are strong; in an attempt to console Wanagwa’s wife one lady says, ‘’look, I have been married for over 20 years, you have only been married for less than a year, be strong.’’ What? Ironically these so called consoling words offered lighter moments of laughter as I chatted with Wanangwa’s sister. People can be very insensitive at a time when they need to be very sensitive and unwittingly. Deadly unintentional mistakes.
These were my friends but most importantly my brothers. I have known Wanangwa since high school, for over 15 years we had been friends. I have known Sayo since my college days, over 10 years we had been friends. Their lives demand a lot from me. I call them modern day missionaries. Never a dull moment I remember being spent with these boys.
Wanangwa was a continuous bundle of joy with such a timid and humble heart. He was a man ever so passionate about his service to the Lord and evermore resilient to the cause of Christ. I have never had a friend and a brother with such a simple and beautiful soul. His love for dancing was testament to the joy he possessed. Never to pick needless arguments, smiling most of the time. I had always teased him together with my friends about his dark skin complexion. This was the banter we shared amongst ourselves as friends and brothers, everyone was picked on.
In all the years I have known Sayo, he has forever been passionate about his service to Christ, the greatest similarity he shared with Wanangwa. His willingness to sacrifice for the Lord was in his nature. A calm collected gentleman but quick to express his dissatisfaction if you are delaying the work of the Lord. On the few projects I had worked with him there were times I had to pull him back so he could catch a few breaths as I took hold of the situation in a more timid manner, with the exception of a few cases when we did both be short fused. Moments I cherish the most. Music was his soul, if I was in need of new gospel hip hop music, I knew where to go.
There is much more I can write of my two friends, my brothers, Sayo and Wanangwa but that will be for another day and a book.
I have been compounded by grief to the core of defeat, nothing for now seems to be interesting or as exciting. I have temporarily lost the energy, I don’t know how long it will take. The 27th of December was going to be Wanagwa’s birthday, which will not be happening again, at least in this life.
It is tragic when young men below the age of 30 leave us, it is tragic when parents have to lay a wreath on their son’s graves, and it is tragic when you leave young widows behind. Is there anyone who can fathom, let alone face it, are we resigned to its evermore consuming powers? Who among us can tame its ferocity, ceaseless in its stride, scornfully majestic it continues to laugh in our sorrows.
I take solace in the fact that my brothers passed on in the course of serving God, tragic as it is, glorious it will be, now and forever. Their souls I have known all these years and this I know, they will want me to celebrate their lives. Tears are never ending but I am consoled by the wonderful life they shared with me and many souls.
Life erupts in bursts of joy, laughter, happiness, sadness, and painful moments. To ponder with the question ‘why’ over matters of death is inevitably to venture into an abyss of no answers. A room with a hundred doors but no way out.
Sayo once shared me a podcast which shared about life and the preacher said, ‘living a long life isn’t necessarily living a full life.’
‘‘I ask you neither for health nor for sickness, for life nor for death; but that you may dispose of my health and my sickness, my life and my death, for your glory….You alone know what is expedient for me; you are the sovereign master; do with me according to your will. Give to me, or take away from me, only conform my will to yours. I know but one thing, Lord, that it is good to follow you, and bad to offend you. Apart from that, I know not what is good or bad in anything. I know not what is most profitable to me, health or sickness, wealth or poverty, nor anything else in the world. That discernment is beyond the power of men or angels, and is hidden among the secrets of your Providence, which I adore, but do not seek to fathom.’’ – a prayer by Blaise Pascal
In loving memory of my brothers and friends,
Lusayo Mhango
Wanangwa Sanga
It is eight o’clock in the morning, a beautiful Friday morning, when my phone rings. I dash to my desk to pick the call and I see it is one of my good friends, a friend beyond a friend actually, one I consider my brother. I pick up the phone in haste, with a tone of such vibrant energy I could stand out as a radio presenter. With a standard salutation 101 afforded to my brothers, I call out his nickname with such confidence and eagerness.... ‘What up TC’, I say, waiting for him to state the purpose of his early call. There is something strange in how he acknowledges my greeting, it is somewhat formal by any standards expected from him as he calls me out by my given name and not my nickname. I can sense a broken dialect in his tone, something is wrong. Thoughts are running through my head at speeds I cannot decipher, I can feel my heart thumping harder and faster, my concentration is heightened as if I am bracing for an impact. There is a pause before he utters his next words which does little to help my anxiety levels which by now are in overdrive. “He is gone, Wanangwa is gone, apparently he was in a car accident and he didn’t make it”, he says, I respond as a child, “What do you mean”? Of course I know what he means, but the human nature in me is in a momentary state of denial.
Time freezes around me. He repeats his words, almost angrily as if he is shouting at his younger brother, and adds one more detail. I learn he was with Lusayo, another brother of mine.
I pause, I am literally trying to embezzle words out of my mouth to say something sensible but nothing comes out. I can feel my insides collapse, that sickening feeling in your stomach. I reach for my chair and collapse my body on it. I can say nothing more but a simple okay.
It is that visit and she has visited and it has pleased her to leave with two of my brothers. It is hard enough to handle one loss, but two? This is atrocious! This is death visiting, her visit ever more damning.
This has been a loss I seldom can fathom and comprehend. Fists clinched, with tears drawing by the door of my eyes in a room of helplessness. I punch the wall with weak and flimsy punches like those of a woman.
I am resigned to a sense of defeat and self-pity in the face of this visit, yet somewhere deep in my soul I am compounded by joy when I turn and look at the lives my brothers led. This is confusing to the core of the soul. A seasoned veteran like me shouldn’t be asking this question, yet I am inclined to ask, Why?
There is a moment or two of deep silence in my soul, everything around me is muted, it is as if everything is in slow motion. I am still hoping this is a lie or a dream or a prank that Sayo has pulled, he is capable of such after all. It is in that faint hope I gather up energy within me and pick up the phone to call one of my brothers who would be in the know how. It is dialing, but there is no answer, and the wait seems endless. Finally he picks up, and in a calm and collected voice I ask how he is doing. All this in an attempt to feign ignorance of what I just heard, like feeling the temperature of the water with your feet before you dip in. Futile, his immediate response is one I dreaded the most as he confirms my fears.
Still I refuse to give in, I turn that hope of this being a prank to the hope that a mistake has been made, somewhere somehow. Maybe the accident has happened but it was not as fatal.
I pace out of my office without speaking to anyone, I am racing on the road like a minibus driver heading for Sayo’s house which is some 5 minutes away from my office. I arrive at the house and I am met by chaotic scenes, distraught faces are littered everywhere outside the house. By now the little hope I had has withered away.
I walk into the house and there lies my brother’s wife, prostrate on the couch with a friend holding her hand. She is consumed by inconsolable grief, her cries piercing to the soul. I approach the side of the couch and hold her hand; she calls out my name, tears flowing from her eyes in a storm of cries. I can only say two words, ‘‘take heart’’, I stay there speechless before walking out the door.
There is no procedure on how to deal with death, no manual whatsoever, how do you console her, where do you even start from I ponder to myself. But this one thing I have learnt, and that is to say as little as you can.
Men are conferring in small pockets of gatherings outside the house; you can almost cut the intensity with a knife. Everyone is in a state of shock and disbelief. Someone taps my shoulder from behind, I turn around and it is a face I recognize. We sit down and he shares the little information he has gathered thus far.
There are moments of idleness as I sit down under a tree shade to try and grasp everything. Then it hits me, Wanangwa is also gone. At this time I am thinking of his wife, his sister, brothers and mother. I must go see them. This is just too surreal, what part of the game is this, if I could be in two places at once it did be better. This is just unfair I mammer to myself.
It is a drive across the opposite end of town from Sayo’s house, just over 10 minutes’ drive with rush hour traffic. I am dashing between two houses to mourn my brothers, how can this be? What is this? I didn’t sign up for this. In no time I arrive at the house, met by Wanangwa’s sister. Her eyes bloodshot, her movement clearly burdened by the loss. It is hard to look into her eyes, it is even harder to say anything. I am sitting there almost like a dumb person and she is doing all of the talking. It is tough. But if I won’t be there, who will be?
Over the next few days I am hoping from one house to the other, I confirm that the most one can do in this situations is to keep quiet and let your presence do the consoling. Utter a lot of words in these trying times and you will be assured to do more damage than harm. Hearing some of the things that are said when people try to console the bereaved is evidence of more stupidity in words and more wisdom in silence. Words like ‘I know how it feels’ should be banned at funerals, they are too belittling and insulting almost. People offer the weirdest advice I tell you; do not cry because you need to show that you are strong; in an attempt to console Wanagwa’s wife one lady says, ‘’look, I have been married for over 20 years, you have only been married for less than a year, be strong.’’ What? Ironically these so called consoling words offered lighter moments of laughter as I chatted with Wanangwa’s sister. People can be very insensitive at a time when they need to be very sensitive and unwittingly. Deadly unintentional mistakes.
These were my friends but most importantly my brothers. I have known Wanangwa since high school, for over 15 years we had been friends. I have known Sayo since my college days, over 10 years we had been friends. Their lives demand a lot from me. I call them modern day missionaries. Never a dull moment I remember being spent with these boys.
Wanangwa was a continuous bundle of joy with such a timid and humble heart. He was a man ever so passionate about his service to the Lord and evermore resilient to the cause of Christ. I have never had a friend and a brother with such a simple and beautiful soul. His love for dancing was testament to the joy he possessed. Never to pick needless arguments, smiling most of the time. I had always teased him together with my friends about his dark skin complexion. This was the banter we shared amongst ourselves as friends and brothers, everyone was picked on.
In all the years I have known Sayo, he has forever been passionate about his service to Christ, the greatest similarity he shared with Wanangwa. His willingness to sacrifice for the Lord was in his nature. A calm collected gentleman but quick to express his dissatisfaction if you are delaying the work of the Lord. On the few projects I had worked with him there were times I had to pull him back so he could catch a few breaths as I took hold of the situation in a more timid manner, with the exception of a few cases when we did both be short fused. Moments I cherish the most. Music was his soul, if I was in need of new gospel hip hop music, I knew where to go.
There is much more I can write of my two friends, my brothers, Sayo and Wanangwa but that will be for another day and a book.
I have been compounded by grief to the core of defeat, nothing for now seems to be interesting or as exciting. I have temporarily lost the energy, I don’t know how long it will take. The 27th of December was going to be Wanagwa’s birthday, which will not be happening again, at least in this life.
It is tragic when young men below the age of 30 leave us, it is tragic when parents have to lay a wreath on their son’s graves, and it is tragic when you leave young widows behind. Is there anyone who can fathom, let alone face it, are we resigned to its evermore consuming powers? Who among us can tame its ferocity, ceaseless in its stride, scornfully majestic it continues to laugh in our sorrows.
I take solace in the fact that my brothers passed on in the course of serving God, tragic as it is, glorious it will be, now and forever. Their souls I have known all these years and this I know, they will want me to celebrate their lives. Tears are never ending but I am consoled by the wonderful life they shared with me and many souls.
Life erupts in bursts of joy, laughter, happiness, sadness, and painful moments. To ponder with the question ‘why’ over matters of death is inevitably to venture into an abyss of no answers. A room with a hundred doors but no way out.
Sayo once shared me a podcast which shared about life and the preacher said, ‘living a long life isn’t necessarily living a full life.’
‘‘I ask you neither for health nor for sickness, for life nor for death; but that you may dispose of my health and my sickness, my life and my death, for your glory….You alone know what is expedient for me; you are the sovereign master; do with me according to your will. Give to me, or take away from me, only conform my will to yours. I know but one thing, Lord, that it is good to follow you, and bad to offend you. Apart from that, I know not what is good or bad in anything. I know not what is most profitable to me, health or sickness, wealth or poverty, nor anything else in the world. That discernment is beyond the power of men or angels, and is hidden among the secrets of your Providence, which I adore, but do not seek to fathom.’’ – a prayer by Blaise Pascal
In loving memory of my brothers and friends,
Lusayo Mhango
Wanangwa Sanga
