YOUR GRANDMA MADE ME RICH

I stare at the chandelier that lits up the living room. Pictures and arts of my grandparents hang firmly on the creamy wall. I am almost convinced that true love exists.

My grandpa strides in. He is 89, but still looks 40. Clean shaven head, well built physique and a grin of a baby (the incisors are missing). He takes a pew on his favourite love seat that’s directly facing me.

“Mr Ogonji.” He calls, as he picks the glass of wine from his favourite coffee table.

“Yes sir.” I respond, I take a straight posture. In my head I already know what’s about to go down – a stream of advice.

“You know, in my life…” he clears his throught then recollects, “in my whole life, I’ve only had this one lady, that’s your nyanya (grandma).”

I nod,

“I remember, I was 26 years…how old are you now?”

“22 sir.” I quip.

“Kid, I was 26 years old when I first met her. I was broke and never had muscles to impress her. In my days, being strong won you ladies. But I was a sissy. I never liked enganging with my peers. I was on my own.

Look, she was a city girl. I was a village boy. I had just gone to the city to hustle. It took me close to 6 months to convince her that I was the right man for her. I was a mshamba but with guts of a village elder.

I remember riding down with my bicycle from kibra to Kariobangi just to see her. The world wasn’t crowded as it is now. Nairobi was still bushy.

But, I could tell we were a match made in heaven. We didn’t look like we were fit for each other in the eyes of the people but deep down, we knew what we felt for each other.

Fast forward, we got married. Broke. I tried applying for jobs at the Kenya railways, tried working for the Europeans but it was all but a sea of struggle, discrimination and a pinch of slavery. This lady kept me motivated. At times I felt like she’d leave me for a richer or more educated man, but that was just in my head.

We moved to kisumu, where we started a small business, a shop. She played a major role. Making sure the profits were gained and savings made. We used to wake up at 3AM to go look for milk. Getting milk wasn’t a walk in the park. You had to sacrifice your sleep so that you get hold of the track that transported milk from sotik.

We grew together as a couple. It helped strengthen the bond. The days that we slept hungry were all the same with the days we ate beef – love was the pivot.

Circa 1970s, the business got lucrative. We became the richest family in our neighbourhood. My kids went to posh schools, each of them had a driver. I can’t remember one time my wife wore any of her clothes twice.

Mr Ogonji, that’s life, when you get yourself a lady that is ready to love you despite the eyes and expectations of the society, cuff her.

Societal expectation has killed true love. We worry alot about what people will say, what people will think and end up marrying the wrong rib. True love is what you feel deep down, not what the society wants you to have…”

“Did you ever cheat on her.” I interrupt.

“That never existed in my dictionary.” Comes his reply, very brief, brief like a miniskirt.

“Chew on that…” he sips on his wine, then leans back on his seat.