Wednesday January 12th 2000.
I woke up to silence and found my brother sound asleep next to me. Normally he be in his bed but there was nothing normal about this day so he was in my bed. I looked around the room to see who else was in the room and saw my cousin across the room, he too asleep. All the adults were awake in the living room it seemed except grandma who I spied on the other bed directly across from mine.
She seemed to be awake so I called out to her. “Grandma. Grandma. Mbuya!” she ignored me at first. But after I persisted she answered. I knew she was awake. There was no way she was asleep knowing her son was at the hospital.
“He’s dead,” I said to her. “I just saw him die. He is not coming home tonight.” She gave me an angry look and told me to go back to sleep, telling me I didn’t know what I was talking about.
I wasn’t sure if she understood me. My grandma and I never really got along. I didn’t know if it was because I couldn’t speak my native language or she just didn’t like me. I could speak a local language which I knew she understood and I used. I grasped bits and pieces of my native language but it was pathetic to say the least.
I think she hated the fact that she couldn’t converse with me or my young brother but she didn’t seem to dislike him (go figure).
I lay back down in bed thinking about my dream. I had just seen my dad in a corridor seated in a chair seeming just fine when he stopped breathing and was gone. He didn’t seem to be in any form of pain. He looked all peaceful and serene, like he was ready.
He had one arm folded across his stomach, the other stretched along the side of the chair. His head was leaning back on the head rest and he looked like he was closing his eyes for a nap but I somehow knew he was gone.
And sure enough, about an hour later, my mother came home wailing, announcing his death and my grandmother looked at me like I was the angel of death but she never spoke of it.
During the funeral, after my mother had calmed down, she gave us details of my fathers passing and it was word for word what I had seen in my dream.
You should have seen the daggers grandma threw my way. If I thought she hated me before, it was confirmed now. She packed her bags and left after the funeral and our relationship was more or less the same after this. By which I mean she greeted me whenever she saw me at family gatherings and that was it.
I am pretty sure she was convinced I somehow killed my father or I had something to do with it. Mind you, I was eleven when I had this dream.
I never mentioned my dream to anyone. She was the only one I told.