Dear diary... The last time I saw her was last July. I had gone to the office, which happens very rarely. She welcomed me with a hug and her ever-present smile while I made fun of how heavy she looked.
Her back had caved in to follow her stretched belly and her feet looked swollen but she was only complaining about the acne on her usually smoother face. Her laughter filled the air when I reminded her soon she'd been looking like a sweet sixteen holding a bundle of joy.
I recall the whole team harassing her to find somewhere and sit but her being the stubborn beautiful soul she was, she insisted on packing my food to take back home. I had refused to eat it so she was going to make me carry it back home. Her overwhelming concern about a house fire that I had managed to escape a week or so earlier stuck with me for a really long while.
I had met her a few days prior my 34th birthday, October last year, heading to Karen for the 'All Things Nice' charity event and I couldn't help but wonder how one person could be so happy and calm my entire day. She was looking to start volunteering with CleanStart, the organization I have been volunteering with for a couple of years. I was so ready to vouch for her if it was necessary but it wasn't.
The next few times I'd see her, thanks to my not being at the office a lot, were at Spear Course Graduations at Kamae Girls Borstal last December and at Langata Women Maximum Prison in April this year and while celebrating Teresa's birthday mid-February this year. On those three occasions, she'd be as warm as usual and somehow always updated on my wellbeing. I had been told she often asked how I was fairing on.
Having all that in mind plus her week old newborn son or the older one who is almost five and her grieving husband, I can't come to terms with her sudden death yet. And the fact that she died inside the walls of one of the most prestigious hospitals in Kenya pisses me off even more.
Around this time last night, she has been rushed back to the Mater Hospital feeling unwell. It turned out that her cesarian section wound had an infection after staying at home for a week with her family enjoying her newborn son.
I woke up to the news of death snatching away a happy spirit within the night. I still can't believe it. My mind is somehow choosing to believe otherwise. That she's still alive somewhere and I will soon see her infectious smile and joke happily around. I am longing for one of those usually longer hugs of hers as she says something encouraging or how much she missed or will miss me.
I want to believe we will meet at a certain prison event and she will be with her husband showing each other affection unguarded and remind me that true love indeed still exists. I am hoping they can call and change that 8-hour long travel to the coast on Friday night for her burial on Saturday morning... Call it a bad joke if they want to. I'd gladly take that than this fear of embracing that a good friend and a tremendously beautiful soul has been plucked in our midsts.
Dear diary... I am sad and even a bit confused right now but I know that as frozen as she is right now, she remains very much alive. Rest well, Njoki.
Thank you for coming.
