I don’t really reckon fond memories with my grandpa. His death came knocking on my birth year-1997. Nevertheless; I really loved the guy and I can’t tell how.
I’m currently hovering with my fatigued self. After arriving back home from a family meeting in Ruai, Nairobi ;One that enabled me know what sort of a man my father’s dad was. The guy was so slick. A smooth operator and a stickler of his mantra ” steal but don’t get caught.”
Convincingly, the guy of Kikuyu decent meticulously managed to sell family land. The land in Ruai had been shared out amongst them, him and his six younger siblings. Their dad did it in awe fashion , peculiarly giving thought to gender parity concerns and other vitally important societal concerns.
So his name was Richard Kimatu Njuguna. He is in his middle age. Already dad to my father by the time Kenya became a black man’s country in 1963. Free from the melancholic colonial pangs that probably would have had him sweating over his life and security. As his younger brother spoke on grounds of anonymity, the face of my grandpa was painted with wrinkles of terror, grins of a ferocious macho man very prompt in his dealings and affairs.
Categorically it is important to note the lad had started being abberant. Disrupting the peace within the peripheries of their homeland in Kiambu. Privy, he had threatened to sell family land. With this effect, their father saw it wise to allow him sell a portion so as to forfeit the possible thought of putting the whole ancestral chunk of land on market.
My grandpa heeded not the family’s sentiments. He was the first born. Out of trust or maybe another factor best known to his dad – all confidential documents including the land’s title deed were under his custody,the late Mr. Njuguna Richard Kimatu.
So one fine night, he moves out. Friends who were closer to him said he had got himself a canter for hire that fateful night. Prompting my dad and all his younger siblings forcing them to pack up their belongings inside the canter.
He very much astounded, angered most if not all of his family members. The boma woke up the following day only to find Mr. Kimatu and family mysteriously missing. The buyer of almost three quarters of the whole land had even started marking his territory amid the baffled eyes of my grand dad’s family and impulsive nosy village idlers.
No one knew his whereabouts from then onwards. Mr. Kimatu’s family with serious inclusion of my father lived and grew up in Nandi region. A town popular as Kapsabet, down showground area. My father and his younger siblings went through nursery,primary to secondary education within various institutions across Kapsabet town.
Most of his kids aged and secured themselves jobs later in distant regions.Our family was ruthlessly cut from ever knowing its roots in the foreseeable future. It was not until the sudden demise of my father’s younger brother; Peter Njuguna Kamau at 48 that the two families were reunited once again.
My grandfather’s family was so much offended and irate for whatever malice he orchestrated against them. However their son’s (my uncle’s) death gave them the humble opportunity of having to bury the hatchet and forget any past rifts or rather grudges. The burial ceremony was the ultimate focal point for the two families to seek peace and unity. Guys on the other end even welcomed us to a get together family ceremony back at Ruai,Nairobi.
” We held detrimental sentiments towards our Kimatu Njuguna. Some of us his brothers wanted him dead. His younger ones had missed out on their rightful ancestral land bècause of what mzee kimatu did. We missed him though, we ultimately forgave him. We only wished he and his family could come back home,” said my grandpa’s younger brother .
“And you our left over family. We love you. We want to bless you and your children. We hold nothing against you whatsoever. Feel free to let your problems be our’s anytime.” Added my dad’s uncle.