It is a chilly morning. I am at the right place at the right time but as usual I underestimate how cold this corner of Africa can be! Its freezing but I have no time to go back home and change, I will be late and today I have lot things to accomplish, and so many places to go.
“It is going to be a heavy day for me, but I really want to get everything done”, I tell the taxi driver. “All will be well, we just pray about it”, he replies. I decide to say a prayer.
Now, Mariam did it again! I reach my first destination and realize I do not have money. “Let me run to the first ATM, where is the nearest?” I ask the taxi driver. “The one at the shopping mall, just 5 minutes away!” he replies. Well, it is not the place I love the most but I decide to go to the shopping center. Shopping centers are fascinating in the morning, there aren’t many people, shops are just opening, and only a few cars sit in the parking lot….almost like a micro city waking up. I pass the security check and I greet the security personnel with my broken Kiswahili. As I approach the ATM, I hear a fascinating and beautiful chorus. I look around myself and I realize it is coming from the supermarket, still not open. I realize that it is a prayer; I can detect a few words in Kiswahili “Mungu” (God). The chant is so powerful it literally fills my heart, I realize that the workers are praying all together before the supermarket opens and they take their respective duties. One of them starts preaching, I detect a few more words in Kiswahili, they are talking about their work and asking God to bless it. Hope, I feel hope in their voices.
My mind now goes back to Westgate and about how many of us had their hopes and aspirations destroyed that unforgettable day. For a few minutes my eyes see a different reality; I am taken back to that very place. I only see devastation, I start walking slowly as if the pavement is slippery, just like that day when the pavement was full of blood and there was the risk of falling if not shot. “Come back now, qui et ora”, I invite myself. I stop for a moment; I say a prayer, which suddenly takes me back to reality. “The supermarket will soon be open, Madam”, the security officer informs me. I tell him that I was just there listening to that chorus.
Many of us prayed before and during that day but God decides who survives and has the moral obligation to inform others of what happened. We all prayed that our days can end in peace and we wake in peace the following morning.
“You know, I was there that day”, I tell the security man. I briefly tell him what happened to me. “Oh, pole sana!” he says. He is indeed very sorry. He tells me to keep on being strong and that we need to pray to God and that life has to go on.
Indeed faith and hope keep the fire in me burning and motivate me to believe that change is possible. We need to believe in it. To the survivors, to those like me who decided to forgive, it is time to join hands and move on towards the change that we want!
