1935
1935, behind a mud grass thatched house under a banana tree; a midwife was getting my grandmother ready for delivery. Unlike today, where you know the sex of the baby early in the pregnancy, she didn’t have an idea she was carrying a baby girl, her mother, she was just happy to be getting a baby, her third born. On that day, my aunt was born. She’s now 83 and knows quite a bit- maybe everything- about life and death. She was born during the great depression, just before the World War II which robbed her of a father. No, my grandfather didn’t die, he went to war. Not to fight for his country, but to cook for the Brits. He was a chef. Even in his old age, he still cooked for us. He had lost his mojo, but not the passion. He cooked for the Church of Scotland (present day Presbyterian Church) missionaries. You would think that the religiosity would rub off making him quit smoking- a habit he picked up as a young man working in a Hotel in Ruiru. Maybe out of r...
