Today on Fatherʼs Day, I remembered some event that occurred when my Dad was still alive. On that day, he had sent me to buy him some cough syrup. I must say I really loved the way he trusted me and sent me to various places including shops and open markets. But what’s so interesting about this event? The fact that I am visually impaired and, worst of all, I was still a toddler! Had you been in his shoes, you might have thought otherwise... that this was a total risk. Someone could attack me on the way and snatch everything from me, I could have stumbled on objects and spilt it all to the ground, or I could easily get lost on my way. Apparently, he didn’t see it that way. He believed in me!
As soon as he handed over the cash to me, I changed my mind. I was going to buy myself a soda! Drinking sodas in those days was considered a special treat. It only happened during special occasions like Christmas or days when you had guests. Earlier in the day I had requested him to buy me a soda but he refused, saying that he had no money. But what had he just given me? So I took this chance to test the waters... to treat myself. After all, I was daddy’s last born.
I pocketed the money and hurriedly walked away into the shopping center. My favorite shopkeeper was right there as ever. “(Soda madiaba) grand soda” I ordered. Thank goodness he didn’t have a mobile phone to call my dad and confirm the same. In fact, almost nobody had a mobile phone back then. The white man, had just introduced the new technology and there was a certain class in society that could afford it. The rest of the people only read about it in books and magazines!
“WHO SENT YOU FOR A SODA?” Mom screamed. “Let him be'', Dad didn’t delay his response! His tone was rather friendly. My tension vanished, and my fears were swept away. I tended to imagine that I could just play my blindness card and get away with some mistakes. I thought he had believed that being blind, I accidentally picked on the wrong thing. But who could believe that? It was the shopkeepers’ job to serve me, I only had to make an order.
Ultimately, he allowed me to sit down and enjoy my early and self-granted Christmas present. This was totally against mom’s wish: but what could she do anyways - the big man had spoken. I quickly gulped down the contents of the humongous bottle lest someone catch up with me and spoil the moment in the name of sharing.
“Mandela!” Dad's calm but very authoritative voice echoed through the hallway that led to his bedroom. Having in mind one of his countless statutes, “Whenever an adult calls out your name, don’t wait for any instructions while seated: just rise up and go up to them”, I maneuvered my way through the living room and in a moment, I was walking along the paseo in the corridor and taptaptap, I was at his door. 99.97 % of his lectures on that day are still very fresh in my mind today, “You know you’re a good boy. You’re going to grow up and become a PC one day!” Those were some of his words. For those of you wondering what a PC is, I also had no idea what it meant at the time. Maybe you thought it could be a personal computer? No, it's a 'provincial commissioner'.
You can imagine the kind of blessings he spoke into my life. He gave me hope. Words alone were not enough for an African father. Let alone being African - a disciplinarian like him always had the disciplinary pill under his bed. The pill peeled thoroughly against my back that everything and everyone had their ears shake at its hearing! No one had and has ever given me the kind of beating I got from my best friend then. Little did I know that gold has to go through the fire before it gets its value! What amazed me though, was how my dad handed me his rod before applying it on me. He wanted me to have a feel of it! Just to touch it. Every patient has to see the injection before it pricks the skin.
Likewise, every child has to see the size of the cane before the whipping. But my doctor knew that I wasn’t seeing the injection. “Bring your hand.” He said as I hastily extended my right hand towards his direction. “I’m going to use this not to harm you but to remove some stupidity from you ok? I’m not harming you but you’re going to feel a little hurt and some pain...” I thought I hated my dad for a moment. I held back my tears. Their flow was just going to earn me another one.
Afterwards I was in the kitchen where my sweet mom was busy preparing something for her family. Now she was the sweet one. Just because she hadn’t beaten me! “Mom! Mom!”, tears on my face now. Mama told me to keep quiet and that she would beat dad for beating me.
She also warned that I wouldn’t go to Nairobi (the capital city) if I didn’t stop crying and if like me, you were raised in the interiors of mama Africa, then you must know what the feeling of visiting the city was like. “Tell me what you want last born,” I was given the chance to make a wish. The things mamas do to sooth their children. However, I said nothing in return. She had to do something better to win my heart again.
Later in the evening, when they were both seated at the table, I composed myself properly for a dialogue which I saw coming. I cleared my throat and started to speak. I was going to make a promise to my mom and myself, “when I grow up mom... you know what I’ll do?” “Mmmh! Tell me.” “Because of what you guys are doing to me: when I grow up, I'll buy a pickup, carry you and dad at the back, then tell my driver to speed up...”. She stayed silent, all ears. “Then I'll tell my driver to make sure that you guys fall off because you’ll be at the back and it'll always open there at the back!” With that said, I kept quiet and left my ears so open to get their reactions. “Is that what you’re going to do to your dad?”. Silence. “How did you even know what the back of a pickup looks like?”, Dad continued to talk. I sat there so innocently like nothing was even going on. He shifted his attention and the next thing I heard was him addressing Mum now, “This child must be very bright. I told you we have to take him to school now... he’s of that age.”
Every parent preferred to take their children to school in January. Unlike some other education systems around the world that commence their programs in September, our Kenyan system has its calendar start from January... The first term of school was now fast running but dad still insisted that I get to school as soon as possible regardless of the time of the year. So he made sure that I joined school in the second term despite any challenges that it might bring! He accomplished his dream of planting the seed of a bright future into a young man who wasn’t just visually impaired but also oblivious to the reality of hope for any success ahead!
Exactly 15 days after taking me to school, he was announced dead and his wife (my mother) found herself in prison - a story for another day.
That seed he planted has hence grown and blossomed greatly and now I can see some light beaming through the horizon ahead! Thus “The Visually Impaired Man Who Can See!". It’s all by faith and God's grace - You become what you believe. That’s what keeps me going...
You want to know what I have to say about my dad on this day? The quality of one’s life that matters, not the longevity! Happy Father’s Day to all the dads out there!
George Mandela Gaya
#TheBlindManWhoCanSee!