Dedicated to my Father and Mother

DEDICATED TO MY FATHER AND MOTHER

T H E H O U S E T H A T S T O O D S T I L L



I begin the story from where I remember, before going back to where it all started..........


My Father was the ‘glue’ of the family, he was the chain that kept us together. Life with him was secure, exciting, warm and comforting. He had an aura that was so strong, his presence was felt the moment he set foot in a room. And when he did, the room froze, and all eyes gave him their divided attention. Strange as it may sound, he had that effect. He was an intelligent man, humble by nature, with a charm that was irresistible. Taller than average he was strikingly handsome, and to the joy of the ladies, very eligible. When he married, it was to the woman of his choice, an equally incredible woman, and the power of their love could clearly be felt any where they went.


Born in 1932 in Nakuru, he was a premature baby, and adopted the name of ‘Cotton wool baby.' Every night, after his bath my grandmother carefully wrapped a cotton wool blanket cut from the roll, to keep his tiny and frail little body warm. They named him Mohamed. It was believed by the community that to name him after the Prophet was a bad omen, but the family dismissed any superstition, blessing him with the name of their liking.

Mohamed Karimbux grew up to be an extremely compassionate man, with intense feelings and sensitivity to people around him, and to his environment. A curious and inquisitive man by far, it opened his mind to the wide world, loving the diversity in culture, music, architecture and the arts. Giving his attention to the strategic development of the family's businesses, he maintained and vastly improved the industries and commercial interests with high margin profits and maximum capacity. His self reliant personality together with his determination, hard work and devotion made him a highly respected figure with in the business society and the people of Nakuru. Mischievous at times, and a gifted humorist, he was a true example of a leader and a the best example of a father figure.

My mother, Aziza, (nee Sadiq) was a highly admired woman in Nakuru. She had poise and elegance that other women would envy and later imitate, but none of them were quite a match for her. Always immaculately dressed, from head to toe, her grooming was sophisticated, and her mannerism appealingly dignified and charming. She was a natural. As children, we would look forward to dressing up in her clothes and trying on her shoes and accessories at any given chance. Her wardrobe stretched half way down the room. Continuous lines of clothes hung above the lower shelves filled with a rainbow of multiple styles of handbags and shoes that we could never keep count of, as it was continuously up-dated to follow the ever changing fashion trends.

My parent’s marriage was perfect, in fact, so perfect, that it was too good to be true. Theirs was a marriage made in heaven. They loved each other immensely, and enjoyed their time together with equal trust, respect and support for each other. She was his angel, he was her prince, and together they made a fairy tale come true. Nothing could separate them, their eyes told it all, and they were the envy of most couples around them, yet to others, a perfect example of a union that was genuine, and quite rare.

Arranged marriages were compulsory, and these were strictly adhered to. Children were brought up with this tradition instilled firmly in them, and there was no exceptions to the rule . My mother, unbeknown to her, was engaged to a total stranger at the time of her birth and had no idea that this arrangement had taken place between her parents and the boy's parents. This sort of arrangement was a fairly common practice back then.

The first time my father set eyes on my mother, his mind was made up to marry her, he fell deeply in love with her, and the feeling was mutual. The love was instantly magnetic and they were determined to be together for the rest of their lives. Only they had the first hurdle to face and it was to be one of their first and most challenging experiences to encounter as a young couple in love. Aziza's parents refused to surrender to their pleas, as they felt they would be discredited for not keeping their word of honor or fulfilling their side of the bargain. It would bring shame and humiliation to the family. After months of pleading, many tears and bargaining, Aziza's parents finally gave in, it was something they never regretted for the rest of their lives.

The marriage took place in Nairobi, and my mother was taken on a 100-mile journey across the escarpment to the little town of Nakuru. He honored her, she cherished him, he treasured her, she valued him, he showered her with love, she reciprocated, he bought her the best, and she brought out the best in him. They were perfectly compatible, but life and nature do not go along with this theory. Nature is cruel, and is not a replica of a fairy-tale ending, as much as we dream and hope for it to be so.