I always regarded my grandfather in high esteem, I looked up to him so much that he was my role model.
Everyone spoke highly of him and respected him, matter of fact, he was the one who usually settled disputes among people in the community.
He used to be a chief before old age made him pass on the title voluntarily to someone else. He was always willing to help, tell him about an issue and he would give you solutions, complain about financial incapability, and he would give you money. Tell him about a particular sickness that has defied all medicine and he will offer a herbal remedy that works. People even came to him for marriage counseling because they considered him wise. He was just that good.
He was easygoing, calm, and very composed. I make sure I see him every morning before I set out for school for some wise nuggets. Approach him anytime and he would have words of encouragement to uplift whatever foul mood you are in.
I hardly see him sad except for a few occasions when he sits gloomily and stares into space for as much as an hour each day. I have asked him several times, but he's always been vague on the subject. I finally asked my mother who told me the reason. According to her, he's been that way since my grandmother died. They were teenage lovers and lived together for many years as husband and wife before she slumped one morning and never woke again.
He was so devastated that he packed up all the pictures of her and kept them hidden, he didn't let anyone touch any of her pictures, he took them into his room and kept them hidden about twenty years ago. My grandfather is 70 years old now, and my grandmother was 43 when she died. In an era where African men take two wives or more, it's quite surprising that he vowed to never marry again and continued to mourn the love of his life. He loved her so much that he was always at her beck and call whenever she needed. He didn't even let her work, he took care of all the bills and wanted her to stay in and continue living stress-free.
This explanation answered many of the questions I had in mind, like why there was no single picture of my grandmother in the house. We lived in a family house, my grandfather included, but he had his apartment, and not even a single picture of her was in his house. I mean if you lost someone you dearly loved, wouldn't you want to see a reminder of them every day? Well, you can't tell people how to grieve, everyone grieves differently. I pitied him though, spending his
older years alone.
I was soon to stumble upon a smashing revelation. Nothing could have prepared me for what I discovered. My grandfather took a stroll out of his house one evening. I needed to pick up his clothes for washing as it's customary of me. Entering his house has never been a taboo, I had unrestricted access to every part of his house, so, I went in.
I entered his bedroom and started sorting out his clothes that needed laundry when I noticed a box lying open on his bed. Out of curiosity, I took a peek. Behold, it contained pictures of my grandmother, some alone, some with him, I even saw some of the pictures they took on their wedding day. I carried the box, opened it, and continued looking at them. He had a smile on in every picture I saw, and I had to smile at his facial expression. My grandmother looked so beautiful standing next to him. It was apparent that he loved her so much.
But something was missing in the picture, my grandmother didn't have a smile on in any of the pictures. What could be the matter? I thought they said they loved each other, so why wasn't she smiling? I thought to myself puzzled. Maybe she just didn't like the camera. Some people don't like taking pictures. Somehow, something kept nagging me.
I moved on to other pictures and continued looking. I was about to flip to the next one when I saw something that didn't add up. My grandmother had a bruise on her cheek. I could almost swear that I saw the shape of five fingers printed on her cheek. I know the camera quality back then might not have been clear enough, but I saw what I saw. Right then, it clicked, the one thing that has been nagging me since I started looking through the pictures. It was her eyes, my grandmother's eyes held a certain kind of sadness. The kind you get when you have resigned yourself to fate. I hurriedly scrolled through the other pictures and the one thing I found in common about the pictures was her smile not being present, she was sad. I felt like reaching into the pictures to comfort her.
I continued looking through the pictures trying to understand what I could about her sadness, but the one thing I know for certain is that she was so sad.
My grandfather entered at that moment and shouted at me, he asked why I was looking through his stuff. I apologized and told him he left the box open but I wasn't right to open it.
He regarded the pictures in my hands and broke down crying.
I consoled him and asked why my grandmother was never happy in the pictures.
He said he was relieved that I saw the pictures, bottling everything in had been so hard he was always losing his mind. He explained and told me that he was a terrible husband contrary to what people thought about him, he was no saint. He told me about the numerous abuses he did to her, and the reason why he didn't want her to work was so he could monitor and control her. She had no money of her own, and he made sure to alienate her from her friends so, she was lonely and depressed.
He then dropped the bombshell, and confessed that she didn't slump and die, she hung herself as an escape from him. She couldn't cope anymore.
The guilt that he drove her to suicide had been eating him since then, if only he could time travel to the past and amend things, he would have. He wasn't the kind of person people thought he was. He was a monster.
I asked him if my parents were aware that she committed suicide and he said yes. They all decided to keep it a family secret that he pushed her to commit suicide, so he wouldn't be hated by people.
I was so livid, everything I believed about my parents and grandparents had been a lie. How dare they shield an abuser? A life was taken, and they wove a story to mislead people.
I dropped the pictures, and walked out of his house, leaving him crying. I never viewed him the same way after that, whatever respect I had for him went away with the breeze.
I wake up every day and say a prayer for the departed soul who never had peace in her lifetime.
As for my parents, I told them that I knew the truth about the circumstances surrounding my grandmother's death, and left them seated on the chair speechless.
I never would have known the true story had it not been for the power of pictures.....
Thanks for reading.