NdukuOutLoud

A Journey Through Memory.

The first one that comes to mind is the 1998 bomb blast. To be honest, I didn’t remember the exact date as I was still quite young. But after checking, it happened on August 7, 1998. Nearly simultaneous bombs exploded in from of the American embassies in Nairobi, Kenya, and Dar es Salaam, Tanzania.

I remember it because I lost family to it. And also because we could feel the shaking and impact from home-several kilometers away. And nobody knew exactly what was going on. Just the impact, then ambulances, then silence ,and live coverage.

I don’t recall feeling anything at the time.Mainly the shock of what had occurred. Seeing the buildings go down like sandcastles. The sadness from all the confusion and the people who were just going about their business when it happened. People looking for their loved ones. Trying to reach the nearest ambulance. It was a mess. And I still cannot comprehend how any human being could sit down, plan, execute, and take pride in such attacks. How they even hurry to claim responsibility. Proud that they’ve achieved what they set out to do.

There have been more historical events. And I take “historical” to mean that even though they happened recently, they will go down as landmark moments in our country. Most of them have been bad and fatal- which are the easiest to remember. Which makes me wonder about our tendency to remember the terrible things more easily than the good ones. We have to search and search before we recall the joyful moments. But what the ex did, or the negative comment from the teacher said- we remember effortlessly.

Of most recent occurrence are the Gen Z protests. Yes, we lost a few people, which was sad and wrong. But we also showed that we were still united. That we can work together as youth from different backgrounds and cultures to fight against corruption. Against impunity. United in one cause. And were it not for the police interference that ultimately led to altercations and death-it was beautiful. Beautiful to see such unity in a world where individualism is most encouraged. Amazing to see people leave the comfort of their homes to go to the streets. And maybe you can already tell that I did not attend. I was, still am, in my own Quiet Revolution.

I’ve also witnessed and remembered historical events through books.

I remember the ethnic tensions and the massacre of the Igbo people as portrayed in Half of a Yellow Sun. The conflicts. The struggle to survive. The test of loyalty. The betrayal and the devastating impact of war. The formation of a republic, albeit for a short while. Of Biafra.

I cried when Max Vadenburg, the Jew who hid in the basement in Nazi Germany, was paraded for a walk and Liesel tried to offer him bread. The whipping. The gas chambers. The reminder or wish that maybe even in war, there might be some humanity. That The Book Thief and her foster family dared to care.

The tension that came with waiting for Marie-Laurie, a blind French girk, to be found by Werner, a German orphan during world war II in All The Light We Cannot See. Forgetting sides and who shouldn’t do what-just rooting for plain old human kindness.

The long term human impact of the Afghan war and displacement. Family ties and how they endure history. The nature and love betweeen Mariam and Laila in A Thousand Splendid Suns. How easily a country was torn apart by invasions. The hope that came when the Taliban rose to power. The shock and disappointment in realizing the kind of rules they came with-and how it may not have been better after all. At least not how they hoped it would be.

We still see online that the wars haven’t really ended. That lives are still being lost.

But I’d like to think there is still hope. That even as powers fight, as some people try to be supreme, as others selfishly try to take over another’s sovereignty. That there is still hope.

And maybe in a couple of years, when asked what historical events we remember, we’ll think of good ones. Of events that invoke joy and laughter, almost-if not more- the same measure as the sad ones invoke tears and blood. Of unity. Of a brighter, peaceful world. Of Love.