Under the palm tree

August 2013

I sit in the car, nervous and apprehensive. But very aware that I have to get out and do this. But that does not it make easier, no number of deep breaths is going to get me to move. My palms are sweaty, my skin starts going clammy like a nervous white guy. A part of me wants to reach for the ignition, turn the key and never look back. But the logical and calm part of me convinces the rest of me that if I ever hope to heal and live a normal life, then I need to get out of the fucking car and go pay my little brother a visit. 

Still not making any progress, I reach for my earphones and my MP3 player. The sweat covering my fingers makes it hard to turn the volume up; Ed Sheeran’s suicide music would really take the cake of Irony at this moment. I pop a bar of chocolate into my mouth, as it melts and I become lost in its goodness (I am fast turning into a chocoholic), I open the door. Swift as a soldier, the car is locked and I am past the entrance before any part of me has a chance to turn back. I have never like Cemeteries, never have and most probably never will. There is just something about the finite nature of death that really drowns the life from me. The further I walk the colder I feel, it’s like the happiness drowns inside all the fear and despair lingering around the place. It’s not a nice feeling; if the dementors from Azkaban were real then fighting them off would resemble what I felt at that moment. No gram of cheerfulness inside me at all, I was not afraid but I was certainly not happy either. But this had to be done; I don’t have the luxury of years to waste trying to avoid dealing with Natangwe’s death. Life will pass me by and I will grow old a bitter man if I don’t stop living in denial, it truly is a river in Egypt.

Halfway to my destination, I stopped to admire a palm tree. Not just any palm tree, but the palm tree whose shade is the final resting place of the funniest woman I have known; my late grandmother. I don’t need GPS coordinates to this particular little path in the cemetery because I have been here before on many occasions. The familiarity of this place is uncanny; the first time I came here I was no older than 7 years old. The most frightening day of my life, my late Uncle Jacobus’s funeral. I was scared dead, even more than I was now, they never look the same. I gaze at the five tombstones and it kills me. Mother, father and three sons. All resting under the shade of this familiar palm tree, the names bring back memories. The goodies that I enjoyed when my late Uncle Simon’s wife came around, clearly she bought my loyalty with cookies and sweetened milk though no one was complaining. I was too busy licking my fingers as my taste buds savoured the sweet goodness. I still remember him, although I don’t remember his younger brother because he was gone to the capital before my memory started permanent registration of events and people. Tragic and sudden, both left the world within 30 days of each other, the older one following his younger brother. Both laid to rest next to each other and joined by their older brother five years later. Under this little palm trees shade lays great history and heritage, here lays the patriarch of our family. Grandma and grandpa, together by each other’s side forever. I tapped each tombstone, it’s this annoying thing I do because I think it gives me a feeling of being able to connect to them. As silly as that sounds, I continue my walk to the far corner of the cemetery. I remember it well because six months ago, I stood in that corner drowning in grief and disbelief saying goodbye to the “father of children” as my younger brother often boasted.

It hits me that unlike the random order that existed before, the management are now allocating graves in a sequence. In December there was a single line, my brother’s grave was five from the end of the line. Now there were two lines already and counting. The reality of the finite nature of life, humbling and deeply saddening at the same time. I stop and just stand, no words or gestures. I just stand there and fight the emotions, no tears or hysterics. That’s not who I am, I am not a crying type of person. But it really hurts, people don’t understand. Even family doesn’t understand, although I suspect they noticed how much it hurt me. My brother’s death broke something inside me; no amount of time can heal the wound, I might be slightly exaggerating because I know that it’s getting better. I can tell you; this shit hurts and saddens me like nothing on earth. Not even the suffering of my countrymen in this country dominated by capitalistic tenderpreneurs can compare, this shit hurts and it hurts badly.

I stand there silently; I and the one who followed me out of the womb have a little talk. I do most, heck I did all the talking. Wherever he is, I know he heard me. I have no doubt that he knows how much he is missed and deeply affected I am by his passing, how deeply affected we all are. I lost a brother, the mothers lost a son, and bones lost his nigga and childhood friend. I am sure that he and my dad are somewhere better, somewhere serene where the suffering of the world is nonexistent. I stood there for a while, hoping wherever they are they are saving me a place. Mom misses both of them dearly, she has me still. I and my white teeth and sarcastic jokes always make her laugh, but we have each other, nothing matters more than that. I did my annoying thing again; I tapped the cross on his grave and walked away, I looked back once but kept walking. Passed by the little palm tree to salute the old lady, granddad and my uncles. I walked to the car, music still blasting from my earphones. The blood started flowing at normal speed, the colour returned to my face and emotional neutrality replaced the depressing mood of earlier. It was done, another step forward. Another step to recovery, another step towards making them proud. I felt better; I felt a little more peace. I drove home and showed my people intense love, because that hour under the palm tree and in the corner of that cemetery only served to remind me of the finite nature of life. While you still can, please love and appreciate those most dear to you, let them know how much you care for them and appreciate them whole heartedly.

Symbol of the landscape of Northern Namibia, The Makalani palm tree