When Grief Grips A Man 

By Luu Machila

I was over 800 kilometres away from home when, just the first night upon arrival, word reached me announcing the passing of my brother, Cheelo Machila, at only 34 years.

The world stopped spinning. My mouth was dry, my brain paused, hands and legs were numb. My faith was put to the deepest of tests. I told myself, “It’s alright,” but deep inside, it wasn’t at all. 

The first thought was to reach out to my now aging dad, as a chief mourner. My heart split apart when he spoke back, crying out loud for his beloved son.

“Cheelo, mwanagu,” cried my dad. It was clear, this man needed support.

I bled with unimaginable pain. “What sort of God are you who makes such harsh decisions?” I mumbled, groaned and murmured within.

At 3am, my phone rang. On the other side was a cousin sister trying to console me. “Kwamba mwenima, chalubila chachitika Musa” (Hello cousin, what has happened is very unfortunate).

I was ok with that remark until she said, “koyuma, uli munsakwa” (Be strong, you are a man).

I hung up and screamed, “I am a man?” What is there to be a man about when it’s your kid brother’s death being posted on social media?

I had no means of getting back home, considering I couldn’t drive the official vehicle because the work had just started and cross-country public buses had all left the station at the time. 

Grief is lonely, and I was physically all alone, wondering how I could make it home in time before the young man’s remains could be moved to the morgue. 

A good Samaritan-like young couple I knew years back offered their new vehicle for me to drive back home at my own pace. I thanked God for the gesture. I yelled, wailed, cried out loud, screamed, parked to cry in the woods along the road, struck the steering wheel severely, while sipping the rolling, undetected tears down my cheeks. All the while pleading to God to wake me up from the nightmare.

None of my wishes mattered at this point except to admit that I was only human. Men, pain, especially the loss of a loved one, knows no gender, race, profession, creed or tribe. It knows no wealth, fame or societal standing.

Find space to responsibly let the pain out. Could be talking it out with someone close, sharing kind reflections on digital spaces, accepting that you are only human, and tears are part of man’s manufacturers guide. The black leather-bound book clearly says, “Jesus wept” – John 11:35.

Lock yourself up in the closet of peace, let it out, talk, and eventually accept that you are only human and nothing will change.