A Family Affair

This post is going to be on the more serious side of things. I don’t know why I feel the need for a disclaimer and this definitely doesn’t mean it’s going to be any less interesting – maybe it might even make it better.

Kenya has been a priority/top of my travel to do list for a long time. There are certain travel checkpoints I want to hit in my life: the post-high-school-backpacking-through-europe trip, the post-college-finding-myself-in-africa trip, the midlife-crisis-let-me-walk-around-India trip etc. In 2011, I was lucky enough to strap on a backpack and catch trains around Europe. I wanted that freedom to explore. In my mind, it was a stepping stone to the next stage. Although I only did western Europe that time around, I was satisfied. Also being able to get oneself across Germany in the middle of the night when one cannot get on the overnight train to Copenhagen and thereby has to take six local trains from the hour of 2am until 9am can give one more confidence when one then departs on a plane for a new continent alone two months later (just for example).

Kenya is just as much of a check point. After I graduated university, I wanted to go. It was an unwavering moment that I saw when I looked into my future and I am very lucky that I’ve been able to wish it into being.

Now for a little history and explanation: my mother’s family is Polish. My grandparents both fought in World War Two and left Poland as soon as they could (my grandfather from a prisoner of war camp and my grandmother escaped from Warsaw on the back of a truck). They decided to move to Africa to build a new life – they moved around but settled in Kenya, where my mother was born. So my mom was born right here, in Nairobi. When she was three, tragedy struck and my grandfather died of a heart attack. He was buried at Langata cemetery just outside the city. Now, I have been to the funerals and burials of my other three grandparents, celebrated their lives, heard some of their stories, grieved but there was something missing when I look back on these experiences. It was the trek to Nairobi to see the grave of my grandfather that called out to me. I wanted to see it, I wanted to know.

Just before I left London, I came home one evening to my aunt holding out a little box. It said, in scrawling letters across the top, GROBICKI. I gave her an inquisitive look and took the box. “These are the rest of your grandmother’s ashes”, she said very nonchalantly (my Babcia - grandmother in Polish - died in 2008). It took all I had not to drop the box right there out of shock. I was instructed that these ashes were to be taken to Nairobi and sprinkled on my grandfather’s grave and an already significant trip gained in importance.

My second day in Nairobi, we set off for the cemetery. It was on the other side of town so we made our way winding round the cattle, avoiding at all costs the raging mutatas. The cemetery was set in a large field off a main road, we drove in through a small gate and onto a pot holed red dirt road. Getting out of the car, Kasiunia complained about the growing population of the dead and the possibility of moving all our relatives to Poland. If that does happen – I am glad I got to see him here, where he’s been for the last 52 years. Here is a picture of his grave:

The momentous occasion lasted for about a minute. I took out the little plastic container of ashes, and said a quick prayer. What do you ask God for when you are standing next to your long dead grandfather's grave? Or when you're reuniting your grandparents' remains? I prayed that they were safe, I prayed that they were happy. I opened my eyes and looked at the name again. And then a little niggling voice in my mind said: “I hope you can see this. I do care. I am here. Are you proud? I hope you are.” It felt silly, it felt childrish. But isn't that what we all want - approval? I hope that wherever he is, my grandfather approves, that he's proud.

I bent down over the grave and sprinkled my grandmother's ashes. I don't know what their marriage, their life, their home was like but I do know that they produced my mom. For those of you who have met my mom you'll agree, she's pretty frikkin' awesome and I love her. So I thaked my grandparents for her. I thanked them for the life they'd given me - they fought hard for what they believed in and made it possible for me to be alive today.

There wasn't much in the small container, so I did what I could and stood up to look again. I wanted to remember - I didn't think I'd be coming back here again. It started to drizzle and so we quickly made our way back to the car. I felt a little empty, a little strange. I don't know if I expected the moment to be more momentous, or more trivial. I sat back down in the car and felt a strange sadness for all the memories I didn’t have. Then I felt a lightness: I'd done it. I had met him, I'd paid my respects.

So that's it: my pilgrimage. It was small but significant. I feel a little more connected, A little more grounded. I can only hope to go out into the world and make them both proud - I'm going to try my best.

You can tell from the lack of footnotes that this was a "serious moment". The footnotes, in all their glory, will be back.

#Nairobi #Family #Thoughts #Kenya