Remembering My Grandmas

When I was growing up in the '90s, my paternal grandma visited us occasionally. And when she did, she regaled Dad with stories late into the night. Once when she saw me with a book, she told Mum that I loved reading books just like Dad.

I will never forget the time she gave my brothers and I KSh 1000. And KSh 1000 was not an amount to be sniffed at in those days, given that a loaf of bread went for KSh 20.

In 2003 when she was ailing, Dad and I went to check on her. I was on a school holiday then, and perhaps to keep my brain in tip-top form, I carried Chinua Achebe's The Trouble With Nigeria.

Probably because Grandma was in hospital, I can't remember seeing her during our visit. All I remember was me reading "The Trouble With Nigeria" as Dad listened to the stories my relatives told him.

Several weeks later, she passed away. My eldest brother Joe Kagigite came to fetch me at school. And her funeral turned out to be the only interruption to my high school career.

Like my paternal grandma, my maternal grandma visited us occasionally in the '90s. Once when she came, she had me scrub a sufuria a good few times till it was as clean as a whistle.

Then when she heard Symo and I address her son, Ndonga, by his name only, she thought that disrespectful and instructed us to call him Uncle Ndonga, a lesson that stuck in my head.

To this day, I still add the title "aunt" and "uncle" when referring to the sisters, brothers and cousins of Mum and Dad, something I will teach my children if I ever have some.

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RECOMMENDATION: If you've enjoyed this story, you might also enjoy "Mum & Dad: My Pillars of Strength".