Delay Is Not Denial.

A few weeks ago, I was interviewed on former news anchor Gladys Gachanja’s podcast, ‘Curveballs by GG’. We discussed my reflections on the curveballs I’ve encountered and how I have managed my transitions. As a transition coach specialising in midlife, I tend to view transitions as having a mental time limit and their significance having an expiry date. I was proven wrong last Sunday when I heard of curveballs that have lasted 90 years and counting.

Last Sunday, my family and I had the most special afternoon at my uncle’s home. We went to celebrate him as he turns 90 this year. Imagine that—90! I have met a few other 90-year-olds, but Uncle stands out among them, or perhaps I am biased. At 90, he’s not on any lifestyle medication, drives himself everywhere, and even won our golf competition last month at Limuru Country Club. Once, while driving with him along Thika Road, he complained that my driving was too slow. I was shocked! There I was, trying to make him feel safe at a self-imposed speed limit, not realising that he didn’t appreciate it hehe.

When my mzee passed on four years ago, I grew closer to my uncle. He was a safe space for the father cover I was looking for, and he hasn’t disappointed. I involved him in my projects and plans, and he brought a wisdom that I didn’t even know I needed. These wazees are a reservoir of wise counsel; they are willing to share but will not shout about it. It is up to us to see their value and approach them for guidance. Befriending a senior elevates our view of life.

After my aunt ‘terrorised’ us with food last Sunday, my uncle decided to take us down memory lane. He and Auntie have been married for 63 years. That’s rare, so I moved closer to him, if only to boost my Wi-Fi connection with him. I needed to download as much as I could during the time we spent together. Two parts of his story stood out for me, though I felt like this was going to be like one of those Netflix series, and we would only watch episode one.

Back in the day, young boys’ careers were tending to the sheep and cows, taking them out to pasture. Girls mostly stayed home helping their mothers tend to the homestead and cook. Uncle would go on his routine assignment, and on his way home in the evening, he would meet other boys returning from one of those independent schools, as they were called back then. They are the ones who resisted colonial rule and taught local children with the aim of ending colonial rule. One was more likely to learn survival there than algebra, hehe.

There are times we have to take huge risks and put everything on the line in order to grow. Uncle did just that. One day, he abandoned his dad’s mbuzis in the pastures and followed the other boys to school. He hung around class, taking in this whole new world. But worry and fear soon set in as he pondered whether his life would be cut short later that evening for leaving his father’s flocks unattended in the bush.

Uncle is a deeply religious man, and I think Sir God had his back even before he knew it. That evening, the silence was loud as neither his father nor his mother brought up his transgression. It was as if they sensed that their son was destined for greater things and let it slide. From that point on, he started school, and his life took a completely different trajectory.

Folks, there are times we have to follow our inner instinct, na kama mbaya mbaya. That one gamble paid off and is still paying off at 90, as he has done well for himself. Many have grown from the tree he planted, including me. So take the risk, but it better be worth it, folks. Having Sir God with you at such defining moments also comes highly recommended. It’s like He gives ‘leakage’ for the exam of life. Involve him, and it’s bound to be a good bet.

The next highlight in his story was when he finished secondary school in the ‘50s. He did well and got a Division A on his exam. Something strange happened after that. Some of his classmates were admitted to the university but he wasn’t, even though his Division A had qualified him to proceed. The only university in East Africa at the time was Makerere in Uganda.

He went to his high school’s mzungu headmaster to inquire why he hadn’t received his admission letter. The headmaster promised to look into it, but meanwhile, he offered him a job at the postal service in Nairobi. On his way out, the headmaster’s secretary inquired about the outcome of the meeting, and my uncle promptly shared that his letter hadn’t arrived.

The headmaster’s secretary was a good man. He disclosed to my uncle that his letter had indeed arrived, but was hidden because the headmaster figured he was too poor to proceed to university. That experience has never left him to this day, including the kindness of the headmaster’s secretary. Maybe this is what it means when it is said that kindness is so gangster.  Information may be good, but too much of it can lead to a dilemma. Uncle couldn’t storm the headmaster’s office, as that would cost him his new job offer as well as render the secretary jobless. So, he swallowed this bitter pill and moved to Nairobi for work.

After a few years of working in Nairobi, he saw an advert in the East African Daily calling for applications to Makerere University. His thirst for education hadn’t been extinguished by the bitter pill of deception dished out by his high school headmaster. Mzee applied and was admitted to Makerere, and that was the beginning of his distinguished service to this country.

Folks, delay is not denial. There are times we have to live with an injustice and learn lessons from it. Maybe he was better off at Makerere a few years later than if he had gone immediately after high school. Life also sends us ‘destiny helpers’ who may be of low rank. We dismiss them at our own peril—they may be the gatekeepers to our next advancement in life. This is just my kizungu mingi for: be nice to everyone, you never know who has the key to your next door.

The secretary, revealing that my uncle had been admitted, led him to take up the job at Posta while actively pursuing another opportunity to actualise his dream. He knew that it wasn’t a lack of intelligence on his part that denied him the opportunity the first time around; rather, it was someone else’s poor judgment call. May the opinions of others be like soap on you and slide off when imposed on you folks, as their weight will only slow you down.