Loving My Brother Bob

When we were growing up in the '90s, my elder brother Bob Njinju used to be creative and innovative in the tasks he did at home. He would decorate our compound in a unique style. And I will never forget the stable and long-lasting stool he once made from blocks of wood. Oh boy, didn't I love sitting on that stool while cooking and eating in our home's sooty kitchen!

Bob could also be as tough as shoe leather. I once heard a true story about how, as he was heading home one evening, he removed his shirt and sprinted home like a night-runner. That story cracked me up. Come to think of it, the story still makes me dissolve into laughter when I remember it.

It must be due to his creativity and toughness that Bob was selected to join Kenya's military in 2002 when he was fresh from high school. Soon after joining the military, he was taken for physical training in northern Kenya for several months. We as a family had a glimpse of how strenuous the training was from the photos Bob mailed to Dad.

While Bob was away for that training, my other brothers would joke about the way Bob would become muscular. They would say that when he came back home, he would do such extraordinary feats as milking cows with one hand while the other hand held the cows' hind legs.

Upon completing the gruelling physical training, Bob was chosen to be part of the Kenya Air Force - one of the three arms of Kenya's military. Even though his desire was to become a pilot in the Air Force, he seemed content in pursuing the course he was assigned to study: a diploma in telecommunications engineering.

Had Bob finished that diploma course, he would most likely have been allowed to advance to a degree level under the auspices of the military. But as it happened, he left the Kenya Air Force in 2007 to try his hand at business.

Unfortunately for Bob, his business failed miserably, leaving him as broke as a church mouse. Some days in 2007, he would come to Starehe Institute where I was pursuing my education and ask me for my ATM card in a manner that clearly showed he was desperate for cash. His brush with poverty forced him to go back to our parents' home. Previously, he had been living in a rented room on the outskirts of Nairobi City.

After I broke for a long holiday in December 2007 after my first year at the university in JKUAT, I happened to stay with Bob here at home in Kiserian. And lo! Bob and I had a frosty relationship during that time. We would quarrel over trivial matters in an impassioned way that made our parents to intervene.

Bob's business picked up in 2008. As soon as he was able to support himself, he relocated back to Nairobi. And, as you would expect of any right-thinking young man, he would occasionally come back home to visit our parents.

In December 2008 when I was at a low ebb following my diagnosis with a mental illness, Bob would command me to assist our parents in domestic chores instead of lazing around all day. I felt so helpless that I had no choice but to obey his commands.

Ever the quintessential soldier, Bob would order me to do boring tasks when he came home in the previous decade. He would, for instance, ask me to collect stones and uproot weeds for feeding his rabbits. Sometimes, his commanding nature would paralyze me with fear so much that I would run away whenever he came home.

With time, I came to gather enough courage to stand up to Bob. In 2016, I declined to do some of the work he wanted done at home. And in 2017 when he implored me to see a psychiatrist, I told him I wasn't sick and that the bad days I sometimes had were part of being human. I informed him that even successful men like Barack Obama also have bad days.

One afternoon in 2017 when Bob came home and found me in high spirits, he asked me why I was happy in a tone that suggested he was about to chastise me for laughing aloud while alone in my room. And wa! Unable to stomach Bob's commands anymore, I went ballistic and said some things that I regret.

Fortunately, Bob and I reconciled shortly after my angry outburst. And I am happy to report that we have been on friendly terms for the past four years. He has in fact been sending me money for buying a few odds and ends.

Last year, I had a dream during which I dreamt in my sleep at night that we had buried my brother Bob. It was really a bad dream, the kind that makes you glad to wake up and realize it wasn't real.

Bad though the dream was, it made me appreciate my brother Bob. I believe that was God's way of teaching me to love Bob. So these days when he comes home, I feel grateful to see him alive. And in recent months, it has dawned on me that Bob is actually a humble and hard-working brother, not the commanding man that I thought he was. Long live Bob!

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RECOMMENDATION: If you've enjoyed the above story on my brother Bob, you might also enjoy another one on "How I Grew Up With My Siblings" that I wrote several years ago. Just click on that link in blue to dive straight into the story.