Friday, May 2, 2014

My Brother Was A Soldier

Its 10:27 AM. I'm on the fifth floor of an office in Westlands. (This is in Kenya; for the sake of my readers from abroad ;) ) I'm staring at my computer. It's my only companion in this huge office today. My other colleagues are not in. They all had excuses not to be at work today. I cooked up an excuse on Wednesday too and went to my boss' office. As I was about to open my mouth, my boss read my mind and with a warm smile said to me, "Oh Naomi, I was about to call you! I suppose the others have told you they won't be coming to work on Friday. And since there has to be someone in the office, it means you have to come."

To which I excitedly replied, "Okay."
My boss then asked, "Anything else?"
"No," I replied as I briskly left his office.
And here I am! Bored to death. Wishing that Labour Day was today and not yesterday. Checking my watch after every 1 second. ;) and wishing that I had a tool to forward time.
Anyway, today I'm going to share a guest post by my brother. He is writing a book by the title "My Brother Was A Soldier". It's about my other brother.

"It reminds me of that day. It reminds me of that unknown caller's number.It takes me back to that sorrowful day when the family was already in tears, then another heart chilling news broke. Yes, it made me realize that in this world, you've got to always be ready.

The footprints were still fresh, that headed to the grave, and a day had hardly gone by, since we laid him to rest. We were all trying to
figure out why he took his life too soon, then a call came in. I thought of ignoring it, but something told me to answer it. To the very least of my expectations, it was my brother.

He had been away from home for many months now, and we knew he was not to accompany us so soon. He had been to Somalia for quite a while, and used to tell us to pray for them, which we did with hope and faith.

It was a very hard thing to even imagine, what they were going through in Somalia, in the name of my country. Not many in my country knew, or will ever get to know, the real sacrifice our soldiers offered for this land. Some sacrificed their legs, others hands, ribs, necks. Others their brains were spilled like breaking glass,others gave their manhood, and many more will live with psychological trauma of those deadly experiences.

When he told me that he had been airlifted from Somalia to Nairobi, my blood flow stopped. I knew something terrible had happened, but since he could talk, at least one thing was comforting-he was alive.
Bearing in mind what my family was going through, I made up my mind not to tell the heart breaking news to the already broken hearts. Especially for mom, it would tear her remaining pieces and arouse a chain of unquenchable flames.

I had to secretly leave for Nairobi, about 3 hours drive from where I was and see how much damage the AL-shabaab's bullet had caused to my dearest brother. Don't ask me what I told my family members the cause of my abrupt journey was, but just know, I left for Nairobi. The rest is history or do I say a giant's tale.

That's why when I see it, it reminds me of so many things. It reminds me how God has fought for my family, how he has helped my brother heal the bullet wounds and how a soldier's sacrifice goes beyond tribe, ethnicity, race and borders.

That is what that photo of my brother reminds me.The photo I took him as he walked with clutches, I'm looking at it now, and can feel the tears as I remember.

Being a soldier is a calling.
"


-By Kihuro David
PS: He is still a soldier.