Death Walk by Joseph Kambai

Published in Qwani 01

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I went for a death walk today. The walk that you’d take when you know you’ll finally die at the end of it. More like my last wish before I die; a walk. A long walk looking at the sun stride across the sky to the horizon. With a bit of a load on your back; not too heavy but weighing you down enough that it’ll feel good to put it down at the end of the journey. Like life’s troubles. Like a heartbreak. Taking in all that you can before transcending into the feared state of death. Or sleep. The two are used synonymously so much I think death is nice; like sleep. Wasn’t Lazarus asleep? I wonder how he felt being woken up after 96 hours of beauty sleep.

I walked for longer than an hour for sure. I felt like a breeze; invisible but moving slowly, touching and feeling everything around me. I couldn’t be touched as I walked between people’s conversations. Their joys, sorrows and all the mean words that usually fly across once in a while.

I came across a few couples, all so different. One young one, in their honeymoon stage, taking a slow walk staring at the long shadows in front of them. Maybe they just discovered they are pregnant and are so anxiously excited. They can imagine the fruit of their love in the flesh, so beautiful they’d both cry at its first gulp of air. If a heartbreak doesn’t rip their hearts so hard they begin to find cold black and sugarless coffee sweet on Sunday mornings.

Another couple was trotting along with their kids. Older of course, the man well fed and an unembarrassed protruding belly to boot. The lady still beautiful after bringing three girls into the cruel world. She’s still babied by the man by the look of the lollipop she rolls around in her mouth. Their three girls also have one each. The man doesn’t. After all he’s the man. They seem like the perfect picture of untold happiness. I move on swiftly past them drawing as much attention a soft wind would; unnoticed.

It’s almost sunset. Little birds flap their wings repeatedly racing to their nests before sundown. Bigger ones, hawks, still prowl their sky with no care in the world. They glide so effortlessly at such heights, they barely flap wings. It’s an effect of being a big shot. Life’s so smooth with you barely lifting a muscle.

The sun’s rays are receding into the horizon but not yet completely. I imagine with the dark setting in at this moment someone’s face elsewhere in the world is being kissed by the morning’s first of warm rays. I’m not jealous. The night could be beautiful too right?

I get home and put down the weight on my back and fall dead asleep. Like a log. I could have been dead but I woke up to tell you how I took my death walk and I’m still not dead. Yet.

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Photo by Lukas Medvedevas