MCA

July 2022

When Cheche slipped onto the seat next to me on that uneventful afternoon as everyone was shooting the shit before the lec made an appearance, I had no idea that he'd suavely go on to change my life.

We'd infrequently tease each other about who texted who first (he did). But just as I wasn't thrilled he interrupted my gossip session with J, I didn't take to him immediately. Of course, it was impressive that anyone would dare approach me after seeing my bitch face throughout those first few weeks of uni; he got points for that.

Our conversations gradually developed from "send notes" and "kuna daro leo?" to his bold ideas about life and everything he cared about. If his infectious laughter didn't draw you in, his sharp intellect sure would.

Cheche was such a people person, another thing we teased each other about. You wouldn't get it if you didn't have the pleasure of knowing him. In our spirit of keeping the party going, I'd jokingly call him "MCA" sometimes. I was the exact opposite, I thought. He disagreed, which turned out to be a foreshadowing of sorts (tune in for more).

I'm much more outgoing now than I was when we met. Maybe he's got a hand in that. He taught me to be unapologetic in pursuing the things I wanted. I was already good at following through on stuff I liked, but boy, did he demonstrate the importance of expanding that list.

I'm not exactly sure why he liked me at all, though. I all but told him to sod off that first time (you don't want to interrupt J and I's gossip sessions). And we were, on the face of it, entirely dissimilar. But somehow, some way, over the three too-short years that I knew him, we grew inseparable. We'd often sit together in class and exchange everything from inappropriate jokes to exam answers, blissfully unaware of the world outside our little bubble.

This camaraderie seeped into our interactions beyond school. We had so much planned for what we would do once the system finally stopped being an impediment. I hadn't considered how important all this was for me or us. He delicately chipped away at my stony exterior to become one of my (if not my all-time) favorite people.

Sometimes his big dreams would exhaust me to weigh in my head because I'm as practical as he was a dreamer. But I always knew that he'd achieve it all. He put in the work. You could see success in his eyes when he talked about a dream he was chasing. It would get so intoxicating that I just wanted so badly to snap my fingers and make it happen for him. But he wanted to get it through his own hands, and he'd pull you in to want greatness for yourself, too, more than you could ever have desired independently. That's kind of where we were when he left to live alone in the big, bad city.

Things were going well until they weren't. Ironically, his last words to me were, "Thank you." My outlook towards and feelings about the whole thing vary from time to time, but one of the most prevalent ones is regret. I was a sucky friend, busy living my life, doing my thing, and being oblivious. When he revealed something that disrupted my view of him as the bubbly, fun-loving guy I'd come to know, it was only a comma in my existence. I've always wanted my fictional superpowers to be invisibility and/or teleportation, but man, I could use a time machine right about now.

It had been some time between that last "Thank you" and the Friday that changed all my days henceforth. But I clearly remember wanting to call him about a week before because we hadn't talked in a while, and I just wanted to banter with him. Even after what he'd told me and this extended silence, the last thing on my mind was that I'd never hear an unrecorded version of his voice again. It's also kind of trippy that on the 8th, a day before the last day of Cheche's life, a friend posted something about how to get through to people who are cagey about their struggles. But I digress(ed).

So oblivious was I of the gravity of his plight that when I woke up that Friday morning to the news, my first thoughts were, "Goddamnit, that sucks. That really, really, really sucks. But it had to have been an accident or something, right? Or a robbery gone wrong?” That kind of made sense in my head. But no. No, it wasn't. "Aje sasa?" has been a common reaction to the earth-shattering news.

On the 14th, we went to my MCA's funeral. They printed a huge selfie of him on the face of the program. I couldn't bear to look at it for long without welling up. The tributes were my undoing. They called him "Mwendazake." They said he had gone to be with the Lord. He'd talked about his home and people so vividly that it was dizzying to be there with them but without him.

We stood shell-shocked as our beacon of vivacity was put in the ground, never to be seen again. And boy, did a multitude of people turn up. Some probably just tagged along because they had nothing better to do, but it was evident that this had shaken all our worlds. His mum told J and I that as awful as this is, we shouldn't let it keep us here. Good Lord, I needed that.

I wish I could say I'm over losing Cheche. I reckon healing will take a while. It’s hard to find a part of my life that he didn't touch and, consequently, that will have to look a little different now. Not a day goes by that I don't think about him. Half the time, I'll be unsuccessfully fighting tears back as I do.

I find myself relating to sad break-up songs now, which I’m sure he’d find hilarious. It sucks that I’ll never hear his laughter again, but I hope he’s found it again wherever he is.

I'm tired of hearing myself talk about how sad I am about this because people don't get it. Those first days I'd get tasteless questions about the how and the why like that's a priority right now. Obtuse inquiries about if I was sure that that's what happened like a confirmation changes anything.

You can only adequately understand how big of a loss this is if you knew him intimately. I wish that we who did were better to him, that we didn't let the façade blind us. Now, we all have to deal with our grief in ways that address our regrets.

But life is for the living, innit? We won't be additional victims of what took him. We'll try to be better for those we have in memory of those we don't. We'll be okay. I'll be okay. The sun will rise and set and rise and set, and one day, we'll meet again. I'm not religious, but I hope I'll see my favorite person again.