May, Men and Men-tal Health (2018, 2019, 2020)

2018, 2019, 2020... that’s how we remember that period in our lives; 2018, 2019, 2020. It’s Jay, it’s Dusit and it’s Covid. Jay is my brother. DusitD2  is a hotel and Covid we all know.

Let’s start at the beginning, or perhaps with the after. It’s a working Tuesday. I uncover the blue duvet, I lift my head from the pillow. We are at 14 Riverside, at the parking lot, at the back of the car.

That though crosses my mind. In my head I ask, ‘Do I really have to do this?’ I do!  Mechanically, I put my shoes on. I go down to the washroom and I brush my teeth.

I pick up a  suit from the laundry and I dress up. Then I go to the grind. It’s calls, it’s emails it's meetings and it’s all smiles. If I remember, I might just grab some food. Soon, the day is gone. It’s 8.00 pm or 9.00 pm already!

Where did the day go? At least it was numbing, I think.  With the grind behind me, it’s a WhiteCap beer at the Secret Garden, thoughts in my head, hope in my heart and silence all round. The Expressways is under construction and I just don't have the energy.

At some point, I will find my way up and find comfort in that blue duvet and comforting pillow. I hit the sack and forget everything. I forget work, I forget Jay, I forget everything. Then repeat.

Now I know it was depression. At that time, I called it coping. If you may, allow me to take you back to the beginning and how it all started. We won’t go way back, It’s a story of loss. love and redemption.

Where were you? Everyone asks me that question whenever I tell them that I worked at DusitD2. I’ll come to that at some point. But first, allow me to tell you about my brother, Jay.

Mwita Maroa Sawi Maroa. That’s the name of the first born in the Sawi clan. Born in 1975 and died in 2018. I hate that word ‘died’ but I have come to accept it, somewhat. We called him Jay Jay. That was his nickname at the tail end of his life. At some point he called himself Ronny. He thought it was cool.

He also though it was cool to listen to UB40. He played this on repeat at our home in Malakisi, in Western Kenya. At that time, dad worked for B.A.T, the British American Tobacco company. I think this is a very corny name by the way but I will let it go.

So back to the name Jay. We all know about Michael Jackson, born Michael Joe Jackson. I am a big fan, will always be. So is my brother. At some point in his life Mwita and my cousin Mwasi lived for the music. The did the moonwalk., they breakdanced and did the whole shabang.

Jay had a comfortable upbringing.  Earlier in his life, living as an only child in the countryside, one would imagine that my brother was doted upon. He was! I still remember his haughty tales of boyish adventure; what with the swimming, jelly and custard and the mischief they would get into in the hallowed halls of Kitale Academy.

Later as a teenager, we would watch as our now older brother dabbled in teenage mischief; his first beer; a joint I think and later a smattering of girlfriends. A few years later, we would proceed to boarding school.  He would go on to college where he would have the time of his life and perhaps demonstrate his most rebellious streak, yet.

At the cusp of the new millennium, now a young man, Jay would move to the big city. He loved life in Nairobi, the energy and more so the allure and promise that it had on a young person setting off on the path of life.

Years later, he would somehow find a place in New Hope Church. Then after years of nudging by parents and perhaps at their wits end, he would surprise them by settling down and tying the knot at the local Catholic church.

Beyond the rather normal path to adulthood though, our brother was anything but normal. Jay was born with sickle cell anemia. It’s  a condition that he had lived with and coped with his whole life.

I remember him telling  me once that upon diagnosis as a child, doctors did not give him a chance of living beyond five, six or even seven years old.

I didn’t talk to him much about his condition. The fact that he lived a full life despite immense pain and incapacitation sometimes, was just improbable.  

Now more than ever, I’d imagine just how much darker the cloud of uncertainty must have been;  always hoovering over his head. Him not knowing if the current crises or the hospitalization would be his last.

Jay was a jolly good fellow you see, with a good heart. He could be serious sometimes but mostly, especially when he was younger, he would immerse in conversation and just let his mind wonder. 

Then, one day in March of 2018, after fighting for his life, Jay made his final curtain call. We all gathered by his bedside, said a prayer before the plug was pulled of the life support machine. That was the saddest day in our lives. It was surreal.

After 42 years, and against all odds, it had all come to a crumbling end. And just before Easter, in the quaint and dusty land of our people, and in the company of hist two beautiful little children, we laid Jay Jay to rest. Here is an ode to my brother. 

Let’s flip the page, and let’s fast forward to 2019. A new Year and a New Beginning. Out with the old and in with the new. Streaks of light were finally showing through the clouds. We weren’t okay but one thing that we knew for sure was that we would be fine.

For this part of the story, it is important for me to say from the onset that the views expressed here are purely my own. They do not represent any other entity or organization.

January 15^th, 2019. As far as I remember, other  than the sweltering heat, that Tuesday  was unremarkable. It had begun with the daily brief. I might have had a cup of coffee. Or maybe not. We had a scheduled meeting somewhere on Riverside Drive. In the past year, the client - a public service broadcaster - had opened the largest bureau office outside of the UK, in Nairobi.

With the opening of the bureau office, we had witnessed an upsurge in business. We were on charm offensive. Being able to keep this particular client happy was most certainly a top priority.

I remember leaving that particular meeting thinking that it had gone well. It  could have been better, though. But we had time. After all, it was still very early in the year.

We had a second meeting that day, still on Riverside Drive. This particular meeting was with one of our longstanding partners.  I went in, said my pleasantries had a little chit chat. I was in and out in less than 10 minutes.

The second week of January is typically a slow one in Nairobi. Perhaps experiencing holiday blues, it is at around this time that the corporate scene begins to stir. And on this day, I had time to grab a quick lunch at the cafeteria.

My vehicle insurance sticker was also due, that day. With a little time to spare, I dashed out of the 14 Riverside Complex where I worked. We drove down to Resolution Health Insurance, down the road on Waiyaki Way. I picked the sticker and was soon on my way back.

I must have driven past the 14 Riverside gate less than three minutes before that first blast. Driving through the gates, all I remember thinking was just how hot and how calm that day was. It was probably a solid 27 degrees.

Those pearly gates will be Oh so beautiful. We miss you!

When I first had that loud bang, I was at the parking area, just behind an office block at the far end of the business complex. I was preparing to get out the car, holding my suit jacket, my phone and my phone charger.

My first though was that a building had probably crumbled further down the road. Or maybe an accident. Or maybe not. Then there was pin drop silence. Then I heard it, praaatt, pra papa papa , rapapa. Pa, pa, pa!

I rarely revisit this post because of the memories it evokes. Then 2020 happened and with it the advent of Covid. The hotel I worked closed shop. For the first time in my adult life, I didn't have a job or a medical cover! During a routine check, my daughter was diagnosed with a heart condition. Any infection could be fatal.

Story for another day....