Today is my father’s birthday, and what better way to celebrate him than to do what I do best? So I’m gonna write about him. A tribute of sorts.
He’s old, this man. Old as in he’s living what a lot of people call ‘bonus years’. But baby, that man is young at heart. Those who know him in real life can attest. Sure, he’ll use sheng’ from 1997 and still think is cool, but si it’s the thought (and effort) that counts? They say don’t marry your father. (Or is it marry your father?). It really doesn’t matter in this context because I’ll use the former to get my point across. So, tuseme it’s don’t marry your father in this scenario. But there’s one thing about him that I would love, love , love to experience. He’s very thoughtful and considerate. It’s really the small stuff. I remember growing up, on days like Valentines’ or my birthday, he’d leave a single rose stalk (because he has roses in his home) and maybe a sweet on the car seat that you normally sit on, or leave it on my bed so that I’ll find it when I get home. To a very large extent, I attribute my love for flowers to him.
He loves flowers, that man. I think he collects them. If we go somewhere and he spots a plant he does not have? Best believe he will ask for a seed, or a stalk, or a small root, or whatever it is that will germinate when he shoves it in the ground. And he’s as generous too. You come for a visit and like a plant? He will offer to share and give you tips on how to take care of it.
“This one is a house plant, but it needs a lot of light”
“This one doesn’t need too much water”
“This one needs a lot of water”
“This one requires a lot of TLC (my words, obviously but same message). When you wake up and send your significant other a good morning text, make sure you whisper the exact same words lovingly to the plant. Or it will die. The leaves will start wilting immediately.” Speaking of, I’ve been seeing a lot of texts saying plants’ love language is words of affirmation. Plant parents, how true is this? Does it work?
He has a story for all of his plants too. He’ll remember where he got it from, how it flowers, the colour of the flowers too. “The one I have is red, but it also comes in purple, yellow and a beautiful pink” (Yes, he will actually say beautiful). He has a really, really good memory. It amazes me. I hope mine will be as good when I’m his age. It’s not looking good so far, but a girl can hope. He’s the parent that never forgets birthdays and anniversaries. NEVER. Imagine that, not even the woman who was in labour 😅. A lot of times, he’s the one reminding her. He will send a message and it will almost always be accompanied by a throwback photo. It’ll be a photo that was taken in 1912 that you are also seeing for the first time. I don’t know where he retrieves them from. It’s like he has his secret stash of photos. He has secret stashes for a lot of things (He he. This is an inside joke. Victor will probably get it. Mama Nyambura too)
The only time he is NOT considerate, is when you’re late. But also, it depends on the why. He’s not inhuman. He really keeps time. You’d think that after a literal lifetime of this, I would know better. A damn shame really. Yet, I am not the worst in that house (yes, I am consoling myself). His missus is worse. I know she’d strongly disagree but this is my story. Yeye aandike yake awaambie You agree you’re leaving the house at 10:00 am? 9:58am atakuwa hukoooo kwa gate. 10:01 am, he’ll start hooting, angrily. You can tell an angry hoot. Mind you, he’ll have started warning you at 9:00 am.
“Unakumbuka tunatoka saa nne?”
10:02 am and you will catch up. He’ll be two – three homes away. That or he will tell you mpatane mbele. Si unajua njia?
I find it extremely ironic that he keeps time to the last second, but he cannot summarize a story to save his life (Ha ha. I guess I know where that comes from). He’ll tell you a 2 minute story in 16 hours. The rest of us don’t know how to rush him, but his missus does. So we sit through it. Sometimes I don’t mind. He’s a decent storyteller. It’s like someone going to Naivasha, so ideally, from Limuru you just join the highway and go, right? But now, imagine joining the highway, then ndio wewe huyo, Uplands, Kimende, Soko Mjinga AND THEN, you remember you were to pick something in Kangemi, so you go back. But then on your way back, you decide to go to Mutarakwa to say hi to one of your boys who’s a mechanic there. He tells you he’s buying lunch but at Maai Mahiu because there’s something about the way the meat is roasted over there…get the drift?
I am a big girl with white hair (1. I have wanted to use this line for so long!! 2. His genes, by the way. His missus keeps telling me how he started greying in his 30s. In 5 years, I’ll probably have a lot more grey than her. But it’s okay. I don’t mind, yet. She does though. She never wants to see a single strand on my head. Or hers. She swears she will dye hers.). At my very big age, I know he’d do anything for me. Ah! My father. He’s the ONE person I’m sure I’d call at an ungodly hour of the night and he’ll pick up. Him and Brayo. Brayo is my brother, also my next of kin and emergency contact. I keep telling all my friends, if anything happens to me, call Brayo. So I’m making a public announcement, because I’m sure someone somewhere knows Brayo. Brayo is those people who everyone says hi to. We could be deep in the Amazon, zero cellular network , no shoes, fighting 16 feet anacondas and giant tarantulas and someone will appear from nowhere “Aaahh!! Niaje Brayo?”
There’s been a long running joke on Twitter on how you shouldn’t tell fathers you love something, because they will go all out and they will not stop. The theory of marginal utility does not exist to fathers. He’s EXACTLY like that. You visit his house once and he gives you a drink and you like it? I can assure you, every time you visit, you will always get that drink. It’s like well that never runs dry. If you miss that drink, it’s because production stopped. But not to worry, he will have found you an alternative. Something you’ll like as much, or even more.
He’s a good man, Baba Nyambura. Kids love him!! It always amuses me how good he is with babies. They love him and he loves them back. I am truly blessed and lucky that he is my father. Sometimes, people will doubt Mama Nyambura is my mother, because we look nothing alike, But with him? It’s always ” Aaahhh, yes. This is your father“. I joke with my mum her genes didn’t even try. It’s like they were asleep then zikashtukia “Wah! There’s a whole baby”. (She doesn’t take offense, neither should you. Or do. Your offense, your choice.)
I’m extremely blessed and lucky that he will still look out for me, for us, because I know all my siblings can relate too. That he will still come through for us. That he always been there for us. I’m sure if he had to, he would fight for us too. No doubt.There’s a time, a while back, I can’t remember where we were going, but I said hi to someone. I actually waved from the passenger seat, he was driving. A gentleman he didn’t know. He didn’t take his eyes off the road, but very sternly asked me “Huyo ni nani?” It was funny to me because, sir? Na hii miaka yangu, please let men talk to me 😅.
So, happy birthday Baba Nyambura. To throwing more mean parties, because he really throws those down. To more life. To more health. To more wisdom. To more flowers. To more plants. To more drinks. To more never ending stories. To aging extremely gracefully. My biggest prayer is that the Good Lord will keep Him long enough for me to try, because I don’t know if I can ever match up, repay him for everything.
God, please.
