The story that is not much told

– By Eltrud Okeyo

If I had a choice, I would have reversed the situation that led to the death of my grandmother. Unfortunately, I only had the will but not the power.

At the age of eleven, I decided to live with my grandmother. Life was full of meaning. I felt protected and loved by her all the time. She called me her star. She was kind and generous, always helping me and our neighbours whenever we needed help.

She was hardworking, selling vegetables and firewood in the market. With the little income we had, we bought food, and occasionally, we could even save some of it. In the evenings, we would close our door tightly and after supper, we counted our savings.

Despite my grandmother’s struggle to put food on the table, and pay for school, my schoolmates made jokes, laughed at my torn uniform, and teased me for behaving like my old grandmother.

I remember in my primary school; my teacher asked us about our personal hero. Most of the children named their favourite musicians or actors, but I remember standing up and saying “My hero is my grandmother!”

The classroom went silent, and all eyes were on me. “Why would you say that?” My teacher and classmates asked. That day I went home with a heavy heart and told everything to my grandmother.  She hugged me tight and, to cheer me up, she prepared soft ugali and fish curry. While enjoying the meal, she told me the story of Esther Small, the great-granddaughter of slaves who became one of the few Black students to graduate from NYU in the 1940s. She narrated how she persevered and became so successful in her education. This story taught me that it was all right to be different. She constantly reminded me of how a girl’s education was an asset to society.

I witnessed her growing old day by day and eventually, she started becoming forgetful. She would put the house keys in a place and then was not able to remember where they were. I got irritated when she kept asking me the same question again and again. Sometimes, she would wake up in the middle of the night and announce that she is going to the market. The situation got worse when she would go out and then forgot how to get back home. She entered our neighbor’s houses and I could hear people whisper that she is paying for the sins she committed.

In my region, people believe, old persons become witches. An incident was reported on 22 October 2021 by Al-Jazeera where four elderly women were suspected of having bewitched a form four student by making her unable to speak. This led to the lynching and burning to death of the four aged women.

This is just one case that was brought to the limelight. About 50% of the 60 million elderly people in sub-Saharan Africa have been subjected to some form of abuse and violence including discrimination, banishment, isolation or rejection, stereotyping, physical assault or torture, and even barbaric executions.

At one point, not only my grandmother was accused of being a witch, I was called a witch too, and this was just because I had compassion toward her.

All these experiences and news terrified me. Seeing her condition and situation, I did not want to grow old anymore. One day, my grandmother became so sick that I requested my neighbours to help me take her to the hospital. But they refused and asked what I had to do with a good-for-nothing old woman.

I felt lonely and hurt. Weren’t these the same neighbors she had always helped?My grandmother didn’t want to go to a hospital because she felt being a burden to the doctors and nurses. Once I finally convinced her, she was diagnosed with cancer. The doctors didn’t want to give her treatment, after all, she was only an old woman.

She felt depressed and ashamed, and I remember her words: “My daughter, you can make a difference, work for a change!”

One day when I returned from school, expecting to find grandma coiled in the same corner, but on this day it was different. My neighbour met me on my way home with the sad news, that my grandmother was gone forever.

Having witnessed a lot of aged people who were mistreated in my community, I pursued a course in psychology and later worked with a hospital to provide counseling services to aged persons. I visited many aged persons in my village who experienced what my grandmother went through. I felt there was a need to change a common narrative, fight superstitious beliefs and treat aged persons with dignity and respect.

In kanthari I developed the idea of “Rieko village”. Rieko means wisdom and for me, it is a place where age is not only honored but embraced.

It is a space for not only aged persons but also for youth and children. This village will be established on 2 hectares of land that was donated by my mother. Initially, it is a center where people can meet throughout the day, work in the garden, and interact and communicate in a cosy coffee house.
Later, we will offer a residential home for elderly people.

I surely hope that one day, the elders will be fully respected and valued, not only within my community but far beyond as well!