GHOST & OTHER THINGS
In my culture, it’s not just marriage... It's an alliance, politics, family & reputation... We’re not just up against prejudice, but against memory & ghost.
There are some things Maathai never speaks of, like why he still wears his father’s watch, even though it stopped ticking the year he turned seventeen.
Or how he avoids walking past the old courthouse downtown because that’s where his father collapsed on the steps, gripping his chest and whispering a name no one ever caught. Or how he keeps a bottle of 1972 whisky unopened, untouched.
His grief is neat, folded and buttoned up, but it follows him everywhere and today, it sits between us in the car like an unwelcome guest. We’re parked outside a seafood spot, but no one feels like eating.
“She told me about the riots,” I said softly. He flinches, then looks at me.
“I figured she would.”
“I didn’t know your grandfather…”
He interrupts, “My grandfather was hard. He raised my mom like she was a soldier, not a daughter. She spent her life trying to earn his affection, only to realise it came with conditions.”
“What conditions?”
“Obedience, Silence, Kukuyu husband, Kukuyu children & Kukuyu legacy.”
He finally turns to me.
“She broke one rule by marrying my dad, which she paid for. And she’s scared I’ll pay for it too.”
We sit in silence.
I think about how much trauma gets passed down because no one cleans it before they hand it over.
I ask, “Is that why you haven’t said anything to your uncle?”
He closes his eyes briefly. “He’s the clan head now. I owe him an explanation.”
I raise a brow. “Do you?” He shrugs. “In my culture, it’s not just marriage. It's an alliance, politics, family and reputation. He sighs.
“But I want you, Abuto.”
His voice cracks when he says it. “And that should be enough,” he adds.
It should. But it isn’t. Not here. Not now.
We walked into the restaurant anyway, when the waitress asked if it was a celebration, Maathai paused for a beat too long before smiling. “Yes,” he lied.
“We’re celebrating… progress.”
I want to believe him that standing in love when the world demands you sit down is something to toast.
But that night, after he drops me off, I cry in the shower quietly, salty sobs that carry no sound. I wonder if love is enough to raise the dead because we’re not just up against prejudice but against memory & ghosts.
And Maathai hasn’t let his father go.