Week 22: The bright star in my constellation

This is not a sad story, because it is relatively common place among my peers to have had another man step in with the absence of the biological fathers for a multitude of layered reasons.

It’s more reality and celebratory.

It is also not the expected super hero larger than life story of a savior persona without whom my universe would wither and perish. No. This is more subtle.

Those gentle nudges, check-ins and turn-ups which in the fullness of time, as the stars of my life form into a constellation, the star of this man shines one of the brightest.

When I was a little girl, for a multitude of layered reasons, my biological father left mom to fend for me and my 2 siblings. Being the last born and at that time barely 4 years - mentally, physically, I could not wrap around my little understanding of life, society and the universe the full implications beyond a plate of food and presence. I could not rightly place the visible anger and grief. But I could perceive the new home was more peaceful and quieter.

The first time I can recall feeling anchored - I was about 7 or 8 years old. It was when my surrogate dad, on a visit home, handed me a coin – it was either 10 shillings or 5 shillings – and asked me to save it cautioning that I keep it in a safe place not to lose it. Saving – he told me – was for a rainy day. I told him I was not sure where to keep it safely. He mentioned being an accountant, keeping money safe was right up his alley. He immediately nudged me to let him save the coin for me, slipped it in his breast pocket, tapped twice and assured me it was safe and it will grow. From then on any extra coins I had I gave to him for safe keeping (he really gave them to me and I gave them back to him to slip in his breast pocket tap twice and give assurance). We then coined a pet name for each other - “My bank”

Years later, I took up accountancy qualification as a side qualification at University. The surface reason – in the early 2000’s jobs were scarce therefore the banter around campus was to be a “Jack of multiple professions” to improve your odds. For me, an underlying deeper drive was the belief that accountants had the super power to preserve and grow money – something as a family we were often short of. I fervently pursued this super power because I believed it could transform my family.

Fast forward I was 16 years old in Secondary School. 1998. Routinely, My bank having a car then – KAE 129D (no mean feat), volunteered to do the school pick up and drop offs sparing my mom the public transport hustle. I felt special indeed. By then of course I was less naïve about who he was. We would therefore have candid conversations of why he is offering to do the school run. What did he want from us? I would bluntly ask. It was our banter and he took it in stride (He routinely mentioned in our private conversations that there is no such thing as a “free lunch” or a “free ride” and sometimes it is better to stay in your “poor state” than to grab for things you had not earned – He loathed corruption!).

He calmly would respond: “But my bank – don’t you remember those coins we saved for the rainy day? I used them to fuel the car. There is no debt in this one – you fully paid for it!”

1998 stands out. It was the year of the bomb blast. August 7th. It was my form 3 term 2 school closing day and “my bank” did the run. This time though he was in a hurry to drop me and get back to his office at the ill – fated bell -bottom shaped cooperative bank house. He was a board member and again, I felt special when the big boss had to calendar my school pick up time.

I don’t recall the exact time he did the drop off but less than an hour later his biological last born daughter called me. His four biological children are much older than my siblings and I. We however considered each other sisters. She asked me if I was still with dad. I casually replied – No, he was in a hurry. He dashed to work for a meeting. I could tell from the tone of her voice she was pensive.

In my entitled self, I dialed his private office line. He had handed me some time back. Told me to keep it safe and use it as an emergency dial in case of anything when at school.

It rang. No one picked up. I assumed – of course, he was in his important meeting.

A few minutes later I felt the urge to dial in again – just something in my sister’s voice. As it rang, I switched on the television and saw the blood bath!

Reflecting back, though there was shock and fear all round – I felt we were communicating. I knew in my heart of hearts he was ok. Even as the hope was fading after 2 - 3 days of scanning for him in hospital beds and the search turning to a morgue search, I did not tear-up. I felt fear but not enough for departure.

Eventually we traced him as an unidentified male patient at Nairobi Women’s hospital. In the confusion of the blast most victims had no identification cards on them. He had arrived for the meeting late. Because all were seated, he got a seat at the edge near the door. The first blast was audible and odd. The chair of the meeting walked to the window to check what that could be. The next blast was fatal with the chairman’s head decapitated to the table. The shrapnel’s landed on his face and hand and instinctively he was able to crawl towards the door to the stairway covered in blood and make his way helped along the way by good Samaritans.

I graduated in 2005. I got a first job as an accountant but had taken on a degree in actuarial science (the narrative of a "jack of multiple professions" had worked for me). In my campus years, I could walk to campus. So the drop - offs were gone. Now I had a cell phone coupled with home visits. We did regular check-ins with my bank through campus and at work. When I told him my interest in math and actuarial science he had a deep pensive reflection.

He mentioned “My bank, you know these real banks are just thieves. I have been paying for my mortgage for over 20 years now – My entire working life has gone to this one house. Yet they had promised 15 years. They keep saying the interest rates changed, at one time getting upto 25% and therefore they spread the years of payment. But surely! What I have paid them now can be more than double the value of the house. I surely hope your education can solve this!”

And just like that my interest in housing and social protection was nurtured. For my undergraduate dissertation I specifically investigated the fixed vs variable interest rate mortgages to see which was better (fairer) to the customer. Cheekily, I selected Housing Finance group as the data source. For me they were the nemesis that had made my bank pay unfair price for so long! The only [legal entity] bank that was offering fixed rate mortgages (which offered the research comparative) was Standard Chartered Bank. The analysis indicated that fixed rate was better for the customer (stretching time especially with changes in life cycle realities had multiplier negative impacts on the aspiring home owner). Since graduation, I have remained a loyal customer of Standard Chartered Bank (I wonder if this experience influenced it?)

On my wedding day, My bank came bright and early at home to turn up for my big day. I was 27. Advice was flowing freely everyone chattering and I was grateful but quickly getting exhausted. I have a quieter salient persona and perhaps that was what endeared me to my bank the most. We share the introverted approach: more thinking, less groupies.

He sat patiently waiting for the time to walk me out of the front door for the traditional hand over to my matrimonial home. I walked to him all dressed up at the appointed time. He smiled gently saying “You really look beautiful my bank” Took my hand as my mom held the other. Quietly, as we took the few steps from the living room towards the front door he turned to me and said:

“My bank, please make sure you take care of him. But you also take care of yourself”

On my wedding day, I received ton-loads of wishes and advice, but this one was succinct, simple, and imprinted in my mind. Many times when I feel low in my marriage and life – I look in the mirror and remember my bank told me to also take care of myself. I get up – do something nice for Mary and hold my head high!

When I became a mom, my bank had retired. He took retirement a bit hard and could slip in and out of deep thoughts and depression. There were multitude layered reasons for his pensiveness mixed with happiness having married off all his four children as well as my siblings and I; having seen his grandchildren. He was also well celebrated and endeared in his former workplace especially for his integrity, excellence and compassion.

Now it was my turn to check in on him. I would check in at least one a month, a bit of shopping, a bit of chit chat. Initially he would ask “My bank why have you sent in this money” I would laugh back and remind him – “No – this is no free lunch. You see the money you saved for me – see it has multiplied” He would smile and utter blessings for my job and my family. I felt special.

Yesterday, my bank died. It was quiet. A complaint of fatigue and feeling his tummy unwell. He was living in the house he had paid for now with a few helpers. He had always been keen on being independent. Those with him in the last moments told us he was strong enough to walk himself to the car and sit himself. On the way to hospital he was visibly struggling but uttered no word of complaint or anger or calling anyone out. Just before he got to hospital, he slipped away. Peacefully.

I recall a preaching once from the Strathmore Business School chaplain – you die the way you lived. True.

On 20 May 2021, when mom called me to break the news, I fought the urge to call my bank. I was sure I had heard my own things, confused my understanding. Because we had our usual monthly chat 3 May and he had just a bit of complaint of his sugar level which he mentioned was now getting under control and better. He was full of life.

For some reason (perhaps maturity), this time I did not call. I however went to his home [with a 1% wish to see him seated at his favorite seat watching some news].....

It is well with my soul. I can only celebrate and reflect with deep gratitude that my bank guided and checked – in with me… and yet he had no obligation to do so. Indeed makes me feel special.

In life angels don’t necessarily come all dressed in white with majestic wings. In my reality, it was the gentle soul, my bank, who nudged me, checked-in with me and turned-up for my milestones.

And now I know, as one of the angels in heaven, he will check- in with me, forever.

Amen.

I'm jealous of the rain
That falls upon your blessed hands
It's closer than my hands can be
Oh, I'm jealous of the wind, cause
I wished you the best of
All this world could give
As I sink in the sand
Watch you slip through my hands
Oh, as I die here another day
Cause all I do is cry behind this smile
It's hard for me to say, I'm jealous of the way
You're happy without me
In heaven, my bank