Taking my mother to Heaven 1984




Masai people of Kenya
 

One of my memorable journeys I recall was when I decided to take my mother’s ashes back to India via Kenya. We were on a dream ticket for sun, fun and lots of wild adventures. It was also going to be a journey where my mother’s ashes and I relived our past before our final farewell. With my mother’s ashes in a plastic box, safely tucked away in my canvas bag, we arrived at Heathrow airport with lots of time on our hands and ten hours later we were still waiting for our plane to take us away to fulfil our dreams.

 Arriving a day late in the Nairobi hotel meant that our group tour to Lake Turkana had left without us. The following day at crack of dawn, I placed my life and my mother’s ashes in the hands of a black taxi driver. As he drove away from the sleepy city, I tried to forget the days of the Mau-Mau’s uprising when my people were savagely murdered by the natives. When we finally caught up with our group ahead of us, I reassured myself that I would at least live for another day before my turn came to join my mother.

 

 Lake Turkana (also known as the Jade Sea) surrounded by thorny landscape, looked inviting, as we were all hungry for a good bath. However, the invitation was limited to the shores, as it contained a largest population of crocodiles. My first night was spend sleeping out in the wild counting the stars above me, leaving my mum in my tent. Later during the night the sand storm and the hyena cry kept me frozen in my place until sunrise. I was too afraid to make a move into my tent; I could hear my mother voice reminding me of my foolish choice! I spent the following morning dusting tons of sand and to my horror, baby scorpions, from my sleeping bag.

Our next campsite by the Sumburu lodge was a civilised place compared to the last one. This little oasis reminded me of my childhood paradise in which I grew up in the fifties and early sixties. Sadly today a large part of Kenya is barren, dusty and fruitless. Sumburu lodge offered us wild life beyond the camping site; at crack of dawn we chased wild animals for our pleasure, after lunch we cruised around the jungle with our cameras to spy on the love life of the lions and in the evenings the birds, monkeys together with nightly tour of the hippos and the elephants kept us awake all night.

We were informed that the elephants are vegetarian, however they do jealousy guard their offspring. At our next campsite near Nanyuki, by birth place, we soon discovered some over jealous elephants on our walk to the Mau-Mau caves. The walking tour led by the native guides on elephants’ territory was also the home of the buffaloes, the most dangerous animals in the wild. After half an hour, our walk grew longer and longer. The guides were whispering the presence of elephants in the area. As the news of the danger filtered down the line of 20 ramblers, my thoughts of returning back to the campsite were soon crushed when the first herd of elephants with a baby appeared from nowhere. Silence fell upon all of us and we all froze behind nearby bushes, unaware of buffaloes that may be lurking behind the same bushes. After their first warning the elephants disappeared into tall grass. The guides came out of their hideout and so did the rest of the group. I was afraid that I might never escape alive from this hell hole to see my mother again. I could hear voices in my ears; they belonged to my mother’s best friends, cursing me for taking their friend’s ashes on a foolish venture.

The walking tour continued, slowly but so did the attacks. The final thunderous cry from a giant elephant who charged towards us with its huge trunk up in the air reminded me of a scary scene from old movies. We all fled and our guides were nowhere to be seen. The giant elephant took out his anger on the nearby tree and disappeared. The guides came out of their hiding once more and we all responded slowly, gathering around for some words of comfort. It was getting dark then and we were almost at the foot of the dreaded caves. A quick session of cameras in motion was all I wanted out of this nightmare. For our return journey the guides took a different route through the dense jungle. We struggled on, climbing the hills, avoiding the snakes above and below our feet. As the dusk fell we prayed that the cheetahs were having their siestas up in the trees. We all came out alive, shaken and desperate to tell our own version of the story to those who were wise enough to have stayed behind and missed all the drama.   

 

 I and my mother needed a good rest from all the jungle life and we headed towards the coast where the sun, sea and minus the wild life awaited our arrival. We had a comfortable hotel in Milindi, where my father worked when he was young. We could not venture too far out of the hotel vicinity in fear of being mugged or even killed. Our stay in Mombasa with relatives was like being harnessed in stocks for days with a label reading “girl behaving badly”, they simply did not approve of me travelling alone. I did not confess to my relatives that I was carrying my mum’s ashes; such an admission would certainly mean I would be thrown out of their home. Mombasa held lots of memories; I went to see my old school and also the old house where all my family once lived together under one roof. I was sad to leave the city and managed to upset my relatives yet again by catching the train to Nairobi and sharing my compartment with the local Africans. The servant-master relationship, between the Africans and the Indians was very strong in my young days, and sadly was still there in 1984.   

 

 

Wandering from campsite to another for five weeks and getting chased by heard of elephants was not my mother’s idea of seeing Kenya, but she had very little choice. As for me I was lucky to have come out alive to complete my mission. Despite some more flight delays at Nairobi airport we made it to our final destination with one final hiccup. As we landed at New Delhi airport my canvas bag,( only held together by a zip) refused to show up on the baggage carousel. I spent hours making enquires before I started to breathe some sigh of relief. With pride in my heart and emotion filling my eyes, I carried the bag with my mother tucked away in her box. The whole ritual of scattering the ashes took only half an hour!! With love and tears, I smiled and waved my mother a final farewell and watched her drift towards her Heaven via the gates of the almighty river Ganges in Hardwar.

I sometimes wonder if the hurdlers I confronted on my journey were my mother's doing, trying to put a stop to the mission which is only reserved for men?

(The photo below taken of the pundit who recorded my mother's death on his register which he claimed has my family recorded history going back thousands of years!!)

 

(The above edited version of my story under the tittle " my canvas bag" was published by Observer newspaper, the only story so far, I have to admit where I can claim my 15 minutes of fame )