INHERITANCE OF SORROW

 

As the day gently sidled to its dawning and the placatory tune of the bird’s dawn chorus slowly penetrated thorough my ears to kiss my brain, the ambient although sorrowful aura reminded me of something. Something I had not done many moons ago. Something I had never even thought of doing. But this was the thing that my heart was compelling me to do. And that was? To think.

I thought of father whose death life and death had caused all sorts of misery raining down on us like a thunder storm. Father was the primary bread winner of the family. He was a doctor earning a very handsome amount of money, enough to sustain all our home bills. But his lust-thirsty never ever allowed his pockets to save even 5% of his monthly salary for “esente za kameza”. Not until his pockets were again back on dregs to the extent of borrowing from my mom the transport he would use to and from the hospital where he worked, he remained a notorious creature, a Mr. Bossy man and that problem without a solution. He loved taking the young school girls out for dinner while we his own family slept on empty stomachs. He was more than capable of ponying up the expenses of a very expensive lodge in which to sleep with these stupid money-thirsty girls while his own house leaked.

I was ashamed. Ashamed of being a son to a sugar-daddy, ashamed of being a child to a less responsible father, womanizer, Casanova and lady-killer. Even when he could afford buying me some nice clothes for me to look a little kind of like a child who has a father and a mother, he wouldn’t. I spent all my life looking an illegitimate child in those rug-like clothes that I dwelt in.

A few years later, his so called “the rich’s tummy “which had bulged forth wards like a balloon was seen shrinking like a wringed shirt. It had become like grass which had changed into cud.

The weight he had gained vanished and be became as fat as a sugarcane. All the signs and symptoms he bore shouted the same exact truth “I am positive”. And surely, many moons did not go by before he met his demise. Sorrowful it was, but he deserved it though. For one cannot possibly have sex with as many girls as one wishes and he goes away without a reward. Not at all. The only painful thing was about mother.

Mother even having kept her body for only one person, she reaped not of what she sowed. Father, in appreciation of what a good wife mother was to him, passed onto her the disease – as if it were the best way to appreciate her.  And he said nothing until his death. It was so unfair. Sometimes I felt like the deceased’s apparition be summoned again apportioned an appropriate punishment. But all in vain. Sooner than later, it was evident that mother had drawn nearer to her grave. A strong woman she was but she was not strong enough to resist the grip of death. And because of this, she did not escape. But the story was not yet over, and the car that was taking people to their final destination had not come to a halt either. There was someone it was coming to pick. Me, of course. But I ran.

For fifty years, I took all the prescribed medication in order to live. Pills became part of my daily diet. But I remained firm and lost not my hope of healing one day at one time. I prayed to father God for healing but my prayer returned unanswered. I wondered whether God’s power really worked. Could it have been that the mirrors in heaven reflected this prayer out their direction or was I too sinful to deserve even single miracle? Sometimes I felt an aversion to that one man who begot us the tragedy. But what would I change?

Even after so many years, my feet were not attuned yet to escaping from that one last ride in the car of death. Whether by hook or crook, I was to be chauffeured to my grave. But I did not want to die. At least not that soon. I had millions of responsibilities to fulfill before I kicked the bucket. I had so many people to say “GOOD BYE” to before setting off for another where I expected to find none who knew even my name.

There on the bed on which my father had lain dead, where mother slept and never woke up, I was too. Rumors had it that my grandmother and grandfather woke up dead the day they slept in it. Perhaps it were a cursed bed. Enchanted to hasten people’s death. But in this bed I was too, covered in black bed sheets from head to toe. Perhaps I was just ready to pack my belongings and shift to the land of ghosts. Is it what you are possibly thinking? Then you should not. I was not ready at all. Of course not. Anyway, whoever was ready for death? None. I was not ready, and I possibly never was going to be ready for death. Even Jesus Christ the son of God groaned at the savor of death. In saying, “Father, if possible, let this mantle be taken away from me. Not as I wish but as your will is” , he must have been sagging at the power of death. But was not an excuse I could use to escape dying. I needed to carry my own cross to Golgotha.

I thought about my daughter, my only child. I wondered whether she would also grow up like me – miserably. I thought about the kind of dreams she had had at young age and the great love she had for school, and how a nice munificent girl she really is. I felt all my hope evaporating. I saw my hard work end in vain. For I had not accomplished the task I started. I wondered whether there would arise someone kind enough to pay her tuition and help her without asking for sex. That was my prayer

I thought about the kind of step-father she would have, for I was sure that after my death, that woman would bring in another man in the property I had intended for my daughter. Then what about he little girl? Would she be able to put up with this new man pestering her for sex? Would she get attuned to washing bunches of clothes and cooking food for this so-in-love couple? By the way, how would she feel staying at home while others went to school on money coming from her own father’s property? I really had no answer to any of those questions.

I promised myself, even in death, my apparition would not depart from that house. I vowed to dwell there until all those that I left on earth joined me in heaven or hell

by joshua patrick magezi

https://joshuamagezi.blogspot.com/2025/04/we-are-all-humans.html