An encounter with Garissa University survivors one year later

By William Osoro(@iamosoro)

Today marks a year after the Garissa University College where 148 students were killed. My heartfelt condolences to the deceased’s families.

Sometime last year during my second semester in fourth year, I interacted with two gentlemen who had been transferred to Moi University main campus Eldoret.

It was hot Wednesday afternoon. Having finished my classes for the week, I go to a popular watering hole for some high-octane fuel to decompress.

After several shots of the bitter liquid, I look around and see two guys seated directly across me.

On the right is a tall, light skinned lad with an afro. He is in animated conversation with his compatriot who is a head shorter and is spotting a moustache. I will call them Mike and John respectively.

Having ingested enough kanywaji, I strike up a conversation.

“Aje aje mabrahe?” I greet them while fist-bumping.

The moment I get to learn that they were transferred from Garissa University College, my curiosity is instantly sparked. 

“How are your classes?” I ask.

“Ata sijawahi enda class”, (I’ve never been to class) Mike says, a distant look in his eyes.

“Mbona hujaenda daro?” (Why?) I enquire.

Mike proceeds to remove his smartphone from his pocket .For a minute I imagine that he’ ignoring my question.

After swiping his thumb on the screen several times, he crosses over and seats next to me.

“This was my girlfriend”, he says while showing me a photo of him and a pretty lass next to what appeared to be a lake.

His girlfriend had died during the attack by Al-Shabaab militia group.

“Alikuwa anakaa mbele yangu . Nikienda class, siwezi concentrate”, he says in a quivering voice. The turmoil within him is almost tangible.

We take shots as if on cue. Silence reigns for a few minutes. I unseeingly stare at the gumboot wearing old man in a brown coat dance to Phillip Yegon’s   Emily Chepchumba.

“Na counselling sessions zikoje?”  I turn to John, who has been quiet throughout my exchange with his buddy.

“Hao watu hawanisaidii (sip) . Niliulizwa ati na feel aje. Hiyo ni swali gani?”

I can’t think of a response to this.

Leaving the joint, I head to a mobile money agent, withdraw a few bucks and head back to buy our wretched beings a few more rounds.

Fast-forward a year latter: Despite the scars left on their young souls, the two are picking up the pieces and going on with life. Even though healing has not been easy, the bitterness and anger is ebbing away.

To Kenyans, we are one nation, one people. Like the Phoenix, we will rise from the ashes no matter how hard the tempest hits us as long as we hold each other’s hand.

God bless Kenya.