Adopt A Dad.

A dear pal of mine went through a parent swap some years back.  He had been brought up by his mum since childhood till he became a grown man with his own family.  He didn’t know his dad, but he felt that he was somewhere nearby. Just before his mum got ill and subsequently passed away, my buddy met his father and started reconstructing that relationship.

This wasn’t difficult because his dad was equally eager to reunite with his son. Now, with his mum absent, his dad has occupied that parental gap, and they are doing quite well together. I admire how his mzee leans on him for company, guidance, and just doing life. I was told it’s called reverse mentoring, where a parent looks up to their child. It’s like my pal’s mum passed the baton to his father just before she exited the scene. Life has a way of choreographing things beautifully.

I have reminisced a lot about my mzee over the last three weeks. He fought the good fight and ran his race the best way he knew how. Now it’s time for me to run mine and perform better with the learnings from my mzee. I underwent a similar passing of the baton back in 2017 during another random event that defined my midlife transition. I was invited to speak at our local TED Talk equivalent, dubbed Engage. Every two months, a bunch of speakers get on stage and share their stories based on the topic of the show.

I was 43 and deep in my midlife turmoil, what’s also known as the messy middle, so I disqualified myself, saying I couldn’t fit into any topic at that time. Then Don, one of the hosts of the show, said that this one would have no topic or theme to fit into. I took that as a confirmation to do it. I didn’t know that it would be a masterclass in public speaking. Ilikuwa pressure, but well worth it. I’m still applying learnings from that experience to this day, and it’s somewhat made me a small celeb. I still meet folks who have benefited from watching my twelve minutes of fame on YouTube hehe.

Agatha, Don’s co-facilitator, put us in a room weeks before our September show (Engage 17) at 14 Riverside. We were to refine our stories there before unleashing them to the universe. That’s when I met my fellow speakers. One of them was a nice mzungu mzee by the name Mike Eldon. I had read him and was now meeting him in person. We bonded easily as a team and helped each other improve on our storytelling.

Mike stood out when he reached out after a session in class that hadn’t gone well. I got stage fright and hung trying to tell my story to the six people in the room. Self-doubt overwhelmed me, and I felt incapable of telling my story to the standards that Engage required. I was anything but engaging. I can’t tell where that came from. Maybe a visual of a full auditorium of 300-plus people flashed across my mind, and I floundered.

The next day, while I was visiting my aunt in Nyeri, Mike called. I was surprised because I didn’t even think he had my number. He calmly offered me some tips so that I could deliver a talk that would impact many people. We had a few side chats and often compared notes in the classes we had with Don and Agatha. Come show time on September 12th 2017, at Braeburn school, I did exceptionally well—if I may say so myself. And so did all the other four, Mike included.

Since then, Mike and I have been having side chats about life beyond writing and speaking. I continue to consult him on major decisions I want to take in life, especially in the area of my not-so-new coaching career, and how I can maximise my gift. One that stood out was when he helped me prepare for my first job interview at the age of 48. Despite his reluctance about me working for the government, he guided me well enough to make the shortlist. I wasn’t appointed, but also wasn’t surprised.

I feel like Mike has played a more central role in my life over the last four years after my father’s death.  I read him more frequently than I speak to him. We are both March babies, just 30 years apart. A highlight was when he came for my 50th birthday bash last year. In his usual cleaned-up English, he spoke well of me (thanks for not revealing my skeletons, Mike hehe). He also gave me a booklet made up of his many articles and publications.

He has a column in the Business Daily that has run for almost 20 years, and he’s still writing. I pray this blog can last that long.

I started calling him Father Mike in the last three or so years because he feels like a father to me. We could say I have adopted him as my dad now that I didn’t give him the choice to consider adopting me as his son, hehe. Pole mzee. In Africa, children are raised by the village, and maybe so are parents. So you are a father to many, even when they don’t say it.

One thing I admire in Father Mike is how fit his mind is. I have spent time with him in various circumstances, some nice and relaxed, others not so nice. Despite his circumstances, his mind always rises above any situation. I recall when he was battling COVID in the hospital and we were chatting. First of all, I was amazed that he was online to chat with me. I couldn’t even tell he was unwell until he admitted it. Was he worried about his health? I’m sure he was, but he was also concerned with ensuring he wrote that week’s article. Like, who does that?

Mike operates as if life’s not ending. He recently told me that if he can’t do much with his body, then at least he can work his mind. He may be 80, but his mind and attitude towards life are exceeding the 80 kph speed limit. I want a mindset like that. That there is always something positive and meaningful we can do, no matter our station in life. That’s a trait I’m working to develop.

Folks, sometimes in life, it helps when we can pick someone who represents an older version of ourselves. I want to be a lot like Father Mike in 30 years, well, without the mzungu part hehe. We may all be different colours on the outside, but the blood that flows through us is the same, so tuko sawa.

Thank you, Mike, for showing me kindness, opening up, and allowing me to adopt you by force hehe. You have helped me through my midlife transitions by sharing how yours were a few decades ago. You have also painted a picture of a successful life for me to aim for both personally and professionally. I feel blessed that you accepted the baton from my dad (though unknowingly) and have been a father figure to me for the last few years. Now, may I be ready to pass it on to a younger man when it’s my turn. I hope you accept these flowers, Sir.