Kukhu, 1909-2004

My grandmother was one of my grandfather's seven wives,
she had thirteen children, five of whom are still alive.
She lived to the ripe old age of ninety five,
her longevity can be attributed to changes she made in the latter part of her life.

She used to brew and sell a vodka equivalent so my mother could go to school,
as my grandfather wasn't too keen on girls getting an education at all.
Yet my gran recognised my mother's potential and made the necessary sacrifice,
and also gained a liking for chang'aa until the last few decades of her life.

We spoke different languages and yet we communicated
her in Kiluhya, me in Swahili - a language she pretended not to rate.
As a teenager, I realised that she understood me and knew where I was coming from,
that was important because at the time, my mother and I didn't get along.

I went to Busia to see her for the last time in July of 2004,
she was extremely poorly and close to death's door.
But my mind wouldn't let my eyes see just how frail she had become,
that much was evident when I later developed the pictures at home.

She passed away at the beginning of September,
and even though I didn't attend her funeral, I'm told it was one to remember.
Thousands of people came to Busia to pay their respects,
the esteem in which she was held was definitely not circumspect.

I will always cherish my memories of you,
and for giving me my mother, I say a heartfelt thankyou.