Penzi Worldwide

This place gives me goosebumps. I dread ever coming here or to a place similar to this one.

This is General Kago Morgue in Thika and the reason I am here today is because a student of mine lost his dad. Being his classteacher and friend, I thought it noble to come be a support. However, the air around this place makes me sick. It is around 8.00am in the morning and it seems I got here earlier than everyone else. I couldn’t get the courage to get in so I went across the street and sat down at a hotel to sip some tea. Mind you it is very cold. This is the second time I have been here. The first was when the driver of a school I was teaching in got brutally murdered and housed in this morgue.

When I got here, there were few people in the morgue compound and outside it. Within a few minutes however, vehicles start snaking their way here. Within a short time, there is a multitude of people waiting for their loved ones to be taken out.

I am sitting here thinking how cruel death is and the kind of pain it leaves with the living.

The waitress is interesting. She was serving some old wazees, actually pastors before noticing where I had sat and she wades her way towards me. Even without greetings or words to suggest them, she says, “yes?” In that intonation. I had to break it by greeting her and requesting my order. I ask for a cup of tea and one andazi. She then leaves to go fix that order. My mind is captured by those wazees talking. They are talking about the deceased who I now assume, they have come to burry. It is funny how people describe you when you’re dead, if that’s the formula to apply. They mumble some things which I couldn’t understand and then they rise to walk into the mortuary compound. By this time my tea is ready and the waitress brings it over.

As I sip the tea, I can’t help but wonder why death comes, and moreso unannounced. I look around and the see the multitudes that are gathered either because it is their family member or friend that passed on. I can’t help but imagine what is going on in their minds and hearts. This is the last day they’re going to see their loved ones dead or alive. Some look sore others look sad while others seem okay.

In the middle of enjoying my tea, my phone rings and I am told the family members to the deceased have gotten to the morgue. I hurriedly sip the remaining tea, pay up and get into the morgue.

Reality then hits hard.

Once you get on the other side of the gate, the atmosphere changes. The environment becomes so grave. Life fades and joy seems like a distant. There are so many people inside the morgue compound. My heart begins to pound as I count the hearses parked there waiting to ferry bodies to their forever resting places. The tea I just drunk now wants to come out. At this moment I can feel my knees knocking each other as I walk. I run to the toilets to ease myself and the fear within. When I get out, my eyes are all over the places trying to see if I will trace this student of mine or their family.

While walking about, a woman from inside the morgue bursts into screams. “Muthuri wakwa, woiiii muthuri wakwa” Kikuyu venercular for “My husband my husband.” She creates a scene and she has to be dragged out by her loved ones.

Women can’t hold themselves and more cries emerge. Even men who you’d have thought they were too strong, also are shedding tears.

Oh death!

I count numerous hearses leaving before it is our turn to get into the morgue. At this moment I cannot bear it. I have met the boy whose father is dead yet he seems so strong. I am there with him and I have to be stronger,not for me but for him. I had promised myself I wasn’t going to get into the morgue. I am almost fainting because my heart is racing almost getting out of its socket.

The family members start getting in and while I am outside, I hear the wife of the deceased burst into cries. The mother of the deceased can’t hold it in too. It is hard to bear. The boy who had got in also comes out and I have to be strong again for him. I hug him and hold him tight to assure him everything will be okay and he sheds tears. Tears so painful so can see them evaporate a they trickle down his face.

Oh death!

After seeing how strong the boy is, I finally get the nerve to see the deceased. I get at the back of the line and as we get in, you can see disbelief and shock on the faces of the people. I am still shaking because I never get this close to the dead. As I pass and look down on the deceased through the glass, he looks so peaceful and so calm not bothered by the cries outside. He seems to be enjoying his sleep and doesn’t want to wake up. He looks comfortable in that house he has been put in. Free from pain and free from stress and all the worries of the world.

Oh death.

After we are done, the coffin is put in the hearse and we’re ready to leave.

At that moment after viewing the body, I feel I have overcome a certain fear. The fear of death. Yet should I ever return here, the same episode will repeat itself.

As I think about it, that could have been me. Me lying in that coffin but thank God I’m still alive.

Fast forward to when we’re burying the deceased. As we lower the coffin into the grave, my mind is racing thinking about what the pastor said… “Dust to dust…. A man shall return from whence he came from.” The guy will never come back. His story and legacy end here..

But his life will forever be remembered by those dear to him. We throw in the soil and just like that, we mount a heap. A heap that will act as a reminder that he was alive at some point in life.

His family will never see him again and neither will his friends.

Oh death!

As we go back home, I can’t help but think if I am prepared to ever burry a loved one or be buried myself.

I quickly brush off such kind of a thought yet that is the path we all must follow!