What Is In A Name?

When my grandfather died, a piece of me died. That’s why in 2009, five years after his death, I changed my user name on Facebook to ‘Guka Wahinya.’ It was a tribute to him for a day, January 27. 14 years later, people have come to know me as ‘Guka.’

So, what’s in a name? What about him follows me to date? Well, much of how I see the world has been shaped by how he saw me, how I saw him, what he did and what he said. When he died, he was 104, I was 14. A difference of 90 years yet his teachings have stayed with me.

Guka loved in a raw, genuine sense. He never had an in-between. He either loved you or didn’t. And when he loved you, unloving (is that even a word?) was a tall order. I knew he loved me deeply, like I did. He said it. He showed it. Sometimes he would say thing that were hurtful, but not even once did I doubt his love for me and our family. He was a father to us.

A week before he died, I asked for permission from school to go see him. We had an interesting conversation about life and school. He believed I was in campus, yet I was in high school. That’s why I graduated ten years later, when others were throwing their caps in the air with joy, I removed mine, but it on my chest, right next to my heart and uttered these words, ‘this is for you Guka.’

Something tells me that he smiled down at me and said ‘that’s my boy.’

So like him, when I love, I love. No in-betweens. 

On the day I went to high school, while seated at His favorites seat at the patio overlooking the gate, he shook my hand with his frail hands (a century old hands that had touched everything. Hands so old that his nerves were unresponsive like an old tortoise) and cried. Cried because a piece of him was leaving him. All my life we had been inseparable. When I was young, instead of living in my father’s house, I lived in my grandfather’s house. We would hang out all the time. We were buddies I cried too. Ya ya ya. I know, men do not cry. But real men show emotions. Real mean cry when they achieve big feats. Real men cry when their daughters get married. Real men do not cry over heart breaks. She cannot leave you and leave with your tears. Leaving you is enough.

Guka taught me how to drive. I was 11 years. He owned a Datsun 1200.He insisted that I must learn how to drive even though I was so short that I could barely see the road. I had to put a cushion on the driver’s seat to see the road ahead. Thankfully, my limbs were long enough to reach the pedals.  I would drive him around for the next two years. He believed in me. Probably the person who truly believed I could make it in life. So when I publish my first book, it will be in his honour. 

Guka would sulk at people wearing long skirts. As silly as it might sound, to date, I have a thing for short skirts. But now that I am older, I am convinced that it was not the skirts, it was the legs. Men will always be men, believe it or not. Even at his age, Guka would notice nice legs. He didn’t like thin legs, and funny enough, I find myself gravitating towards thicker, fleshy legs. I am attracted to nice beautiful legs. For me, the legs are as important as the face. Legs will tell you the character of a woman. Ok, I am pushing it, but you know what I mean, they are somewhat important to me, but not a deal breaker, but if she has nice legs, she has one-foot in. HaHa

Guka loved tea. I am a tea lover. Though nowadays I am in an abusive relationship with Milk-I have become lactose intolerant (I know, rich kid issues) it hasn’t stopped me from enjoying cup of tea. I now take black tea. Because from the beginning, that is how we were meant to have it. Black is who we are. Black is beautiful. Black is unpretentious. Black in its purest form represents unfiltered beauty.

Guka loved the working with his hands. He loved his farm. He had well-tended coffee bushes and a banana farm. He worked until he couldn’t work anymore. When he couldn’t stand, he could pull down the coffee bush, tuck it between his legs and prune it. He would do the same when thinning the banana stems. Not even once did he get bitten by those yellow poisonous spiders, because God protects the ones he loves. And like him, I love working with my hands. I love building. I love creating. Call me a handy man.

When at school, my grandpa fell down from his bed, age had caught up with him. And because he was a strong man, like his name, he didn’t call for help. I had shared his house with him, but now I was away. That was Thursday, on Saturday, a day before visiting day, my brother and my father came for me from school. When someone told me that they were there, I started crying (yes yes. Again!) First thought, ‘Guka’s dead!’ When I saw my brother that was the first thing I asked, ‘Is Guka alive?’ He said he was ok, but was unwell. He was in hospital. 

We-my sister and I- went to the hospital on a Sunday. Nairobi Hospital. Though we were technically underage, they allowed us in. For the first time I saw Guka helpless, with an oxygen tank next to him.  

For the next one few months, he was confined to a wheelchair. But every day, he tried to stand and walk on his own. He was never the one to be confined. Just like me, you could not contain him for long. He was a free spirit. He loved his freedom. Left home when he was ten. Smoked for eighty years. When people were being signed up to go for the World War II, he resigned where he was working as a chef and went to war. Both as a chef and a driver. 

And true to his character, a few weeks before he died, he was walking, with a bit of help. Not even death could put him down, though it ultimately did. But he didn’t die on his knees, he died fighting. He died before he could say goodbye to everyone because now one could see him losing any battle. 

A week before he died, I went to see him. He was strong than ever, looked healthier. He asked for my mum, he loved my mother, like I do. He was healthy enough to say a proper goodbye at least to me. I still remember talking to him while he was taking in the morning sun. In his favorite blue sweater which I have kept to date. He looked healthy because his kidneys were failing him. The end was nigh, but he had a way of hiding everything.

I spent most of my formative years with him. And though I am a different man from who my grandfather was, a lot of things he taught me still influence. So when I changed my Facebook Name to Guka Wahinya, the name stuck. And today, just like my grandfather, I am ‘Guka Wahinya.”