Tribute to a fallen warrior

Biologically I had three brothers, notice I used past tense. I did so because one of them has sadly passed to the other side. My little brother Natangwe, was my mothers last born, he followed after me. In oshiwambo we call younger siblings "shilandula shandje". Simply meaning the one who followed after me.

My cousin usually refers to me as the brother given to him by his other mother, he broke the news to me. It was the most silent conversation we have ever had, I could hear the dread in his voice. I love my cousin, I ain't afraid to say it, no homo. With him watching my back, (my cousin) I still have three brothers.

I am still clouded in disbelief, its unimaginable for me. Reality still hangs over me, even though I've been avoiding it. Denial was and is always the first reaction, "It can't be true, my lil bro was only 23". I am not a church goer but I do believe in god as strange as it may be. I know if god saw it fit to call my brother home its because he wanted him closer to him. God giveth and god taketh. Who am I, a mere mortal to question his will.

Natangwe and I never spent more than two months in the same place but I knew him like I'd known him a century. We could bond over a week better than most married couples do in twenty years. I took time for granted because he was younger than me and I always thought I would go first. I always saved my favourite t-shirts that couldn't fit me anymore especially for him, I tried my best to be a good older brother to him, if my dad was alive I'm sure he would be pleased to know his last two always had each others backs.

I'm going to miss him. My deepest regret is that we drifted before he passed, it had been weeks since we talked on the phone. I took time for granted, I always thought I would see him this December. That the awesome twosome would be reunited again. My friend Ritesh, a physics researcher from India told me last year how he was filled with deep regret for not having been closer to his brother when he was alive, it kept him up at night. I now understand what he meant. I could ramble on and on and depress myself but I won't, Natangwe would not be pleased with such. He was the warrior, he was always physically and mentally stronger than me. I was always a wussy, and I just realised that I'm still a wussy. I pray to god that wherever my brothers soul is that he know that I loved him, no matter how cold or uninterested I was at times. I loved him, even though i was always too busy to respond to his phone calls and texts (i now realise I put too much into my job), I will always love my kid brother. I carry him with me wherever I go, his strength shall be my legacy to him, we are descendants of beasts, born clean and blessed with enough showers of luck to last three lifetimes.

The only way I can honour my brother is to tell a story. This particular story happened in Otshipanda, where most of my good stories happened. It was summer and it had just rained, the plains and ponds were full of water and fresh green grass was blooming, frogs were making that weird noise they make at night and everything was so full of life. Natangwe, Alex and I had a favourite pond just on the edge of the closest pan to our village. We decided to put the weather to good use and go swimming, I was probably twelve and he was nine years old at the time.

We disrobed and jumped in like Michael Phelps at the Olympics. The water was shallow but we were still pretty scrawny so that pond felt like an ocean to us, we had our fun. In the midst of all of this I got out of the water and put my clothes on, Alex followed my lead and it was round that time that Kauna passed by. Kauna is Alex's other brother from another mother (He has three if I'm not mistaken). Kauna and Alex conspired to punk Natangwe who was oblivious to all the treachery and scheming taking place. He was too busy splashing around and being a kid, gosh my brother was such a kid, he was tougher but deep down he was still a kid.

We (I say that because I was peer pressured into being an accomplice), hid his clothes. He came out of the water with red eyes, a dead give away that he had been playing with water, his eyes we definitely open when he was diving under. He interrogated us, we calmly said we have no idea where they were and started walking back. Natangwe stood frozen for a second, I knew he would cry, he was tough as nails but he was still my little brother. Tear formed in the corners of his eyes, I loved my little brother, god knows that I did. So I gave him my T-shirt. I had this big blue cotton t-shirt, It was huge for someone who has always been scrawny like me. So when he put it on, it covered him like a dress. we made it home and he got some new clothes. We did not tell him till the next day, he was livid. He almost knocked me down. He would have succeeded had his arms been longer. Three years ago, all three of us joked about this story during our last December together, we laughed and had beers totally oblivious to what fate would conspire to do.

When I was in grade 12 I went to otshipanda to kill time while waiting to write my last ordinary level subject, aptly named environmental management. Which passed with an A+, he was in grade 9 at the time and showed great promise. One day and I remember that this was between late late October and early November, we decided to go fishing because of the lack of protein at home. on our way to our fishing spot we were already discussing how we were going to spice the fish. They say don't count you chickens before they hatch, well that day learned not to cook a fish before its even caught. We didn't have proper bait at the time anyways so that particular fishing trip was unproductive (we used left over porridge as bait). Natangwe's version of this story is funnier because it makes fun of me and how scared I am of hunger, if anything was ever clear it was how well we worked as a team when dreaming up stuff. Which proved essential a few days later when we stumbled upon a wild Turtle. That was the first time I'd ever eaten a turtle and boy was it delicious, almost like chicken. I could go on and on because Natangwe lived 3 lifetimes in his 23 years. But I will stop here, all I have are the memories of him that I will hold onto till I meet him again.

Jafet Natangwe Iiyambo, rest in eternal peace, I'm always with you and you with me. Death can separate us physically but spiritually we are bonded together forever. I will miss you (say hi to dad for me).