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Saturday 29 December 2018

KONGI X (He Was More)


Joy illustration by Ditto Creative | boutique branding agency in Kent for small businesses

CLOSURE 

 I drove like a formula 1 contender, to a nearby hospital, he wasn’t received there as they claimed no professional on ground to attend to him, I continued my frantic race, tried two other hospitals, they refused to take him in asking for a police report for treatments to begin, I wondered how they expected us to get a report from a stray bullet. I drove him to a hospital where my mother worked, she was about leaving for the house when we rushed in, with alacrity; she responded, rushed him to a theater, I stood to watch how my mother struggled to revive my hood love, she tore his blood-soaked cream shirt up, for nearly two hours, she removed bullets from inside of him, she explained after stabilizing him that he got hit in delicate places, a bullet to his chest, missed all vital organs and traveled out through his back, one went through his outer left thigh and exited through his inner left thigh causing a minor scrotum hit, one to his leg causing a fracture but the one with concern was that which went through his hip, traveled through vital organs and registered in his upper shoulder area. 

All her professional talks was to say that his chances were slim, she encouraged me to be strong (I still don’t believe she said that), gave me hope by saying he has a determined heart, the time we were was tagged as a time for God to work, she left in anguish and visible sadness. I was with my bae on his bed, he was beating well but was responsive to nothing. 

Unfortunately for me, Kongi never woke from that deep sleep, he died exactly 5:44am, I felt life leave his body, also, a unique type of kick in my womb, I called the nurses to come and verify what I know, Kongi’s work was done. His face covered and all gadgets disengaged, I couldn’t even find tears that day (I cried the most in later times). How can somebody get love so right and live so shortly? 

I never thought for once that He (Kongi) would ever need my mortician service, I was able to cry when I began to wash his remains, it was the most horrible two hours of my life, I had to dress him that one time to never see him again, I broke down a couple of times but mustered up strength to get it over with, his son in the womb was  my strength. It made sense at that point when I remembered him saying a lot will change. I was not even a widow but I felt like one, LOL! I needed to be a symbol of strength to everyone, Kongi won't have it any other way. Knowing him have helped grow a tough skin. 

He got a wonderful, street, colorful, people’s burial BUT I’d rather he was with me in the most un-colorful way. His death paved way for civil interest in the hood, it became better and safe, a street was named after him so was his son. He died a better man, he took a better stand and showed millions the way forward. He came very alive, I could feel his presence, what he usually talked about as a well-lived life was the exact event that was in play. Painfully it took his own death to show the way, I wanted him to myself, sadly, I cannot deny nor control the fact that he is for so many people, he seems to have given the gift he owes me, a version of him; in flesh and blood. I found joy in his legacy, I may have fallen love for a hood boy in the sight of men but I saw him become the best of himself. I regret nothing, I will make sure his son live as much and better than him.  


His life, death, and legacy bring me joy. HE WAS MORE. 

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