(Nadra, by the way, was the damsel who read Mrs Lwam Odinga’s love letter to her late husband at the cathedral last week when the young widow wept and could not read it herself). I vividly recall the conversation with Fidel then.
‘Don’t forget us when you get to State House, bro,’ I half joked. The General Election being exactly four months in the future. ‘I won’t,’ said Fidel, looking amused. He had exactly two years and two months left to live.
Looking back now on that night, for a lad who had real prospects of being the First Son (I mean, it wasn’t like he was the scion of ole Kiyapi), I am struck by how lightly Raila Odinga’s son wore his privilege of power.
As anyone who has ever met those annoying (and useless) Daddy’s Boys whose lives revolve around saying ‘Do you know who my father is?’ (their only accomplishment in life themselves being having out-swam a few other spermatozoon), Fidel’s laid back nature was refreshing.
Yet Fidel Castro wasn’t monkish. In his own way, he ate life with a large spoon. And there is nothing wrong with that – just as there is nothing wrong with being a ‘home boy,’ yes.
Fidel was one of those gentlemen who savour the night life of the city. As the writer of ‘Nairobi – a Night Guide to the City in the Sun’ (a title my editors, will struggle to remember), I always encourage folk to explore Nairobi after the sun sets.
Although, and this is straight out of the book (Prestige Bookshop), ‘in the end all night runners risk, by the quirks of the nocturne, being caught up by the gridlock of dawn, and the shenanigans of the small hours.’
I quote this because Fidel got home at about 2am that late Saturday night, only to be found dead in bed at about 6 am, on the Sunday sunrise. Fidel went into the sunset way too young.
His death sparked global rumours that Fidel Castro of Cuba, 40 years his senior, was dead. Even Diego Maradona sent his message of ‘pole’ to the Cubans (but Diego has always seemed a little daft to me, but oh, the magic he gave us as kids in the Mexico World Cup, 1986).
When you imagine that Mugabe has outlived young Fidel by half a century, the fundamental unfairness of the universe becomes clear as a crystal.
But Fidel Odinga left us his tiny, handsome heir. Which brings us to a fundamental African conclusion.
Having a child to carry out one’s legacy (okay, or at least genes and family jina, however inconsequential) is important. Trust me, s/he will thank you later. tonyadamske@yahoo.com