I Choose to Live. Letshego Zulu

to calm me down and help me sleep, even though sleep lasts only until 06h00.

      Monday to Wednesday go by in a further hazy blur. Unable to sleep much, unable to process much other than that Gugs is no longer alive, I do the bare minimum while Liyanda, Khethi, Richard and Honest help with the logistics of getting all of us – including Gugs – home. Two days after Gugs passes, I receive a message from one of his close childhood friends about a traditional ritual she suggests I do in order to bring his spirit home. At first I am reluctant to listen. The idea feels foreign to me. My reluctance is eased when Liyanda tells me that she has also received the message, so we decide to heed the call. The instruction is that we need to find a clean, white and unused cloth, take it to the place where we believe his spirit departed from his body and, while holding it in our hands, speak quietly and gently to convince Gugs’s spirit to come back home with us. She instructs us to tell the spirit that we know he has passed away and that we accept that. We need to speak to his spirit throughout the trip, informing him about each part of the journey, until we get home. We follow the instructions.

      Messages of condolence continue to stream in from all directions. The media calls every other hour. Being in Tanzania, I have yet to realise the extent to which Gugs’s passing has touched people back home and around the world.

      At no point in the first few hours and days do I ask God, “Why? Why did you do this to me? Why did you have to take him?” This seems futile. Of course I’m not going to get an answer. The most challenging moment comes when it’s time to fly home. I can’t shake the feeling of detachment, like I’m leaving something precious behind even though we carry the white cloth, speaking to the spirit of Gugs each step of the way. We fly from Kilimanjaro airport to Dar es Salaam and spend the night in the capital. The following day Khethi and Liyanda work hard to keep me distracted. As we board our flight home late afternoon, the two of them spot the coffin being loaded into the hold of the plane and make sure that I don’t see it. On board the aircraft, I’m greeted by a flight attendant who immediately says in a low voice, “Mrs Zulu, I am so sorry.” At this point I realise I can no longer avoid my reality – my grief is no longer private. Our whole country is mourning the loss of a great man, my man. And even here in a foreign country people are aware of my husband’s passing. We don’t speak much to each other on the flight – there’s nothing to say. My heart has been ripped out of my chest.

      As we touch down at OR Tambo I look out the window to see a motorcade that has been sent to pick us up on the tarmac. Now I break down. They struggle to get me off the plane. Finally, once all the other passengers have disembarked, I manage to move from my seat. My legs somehow take steps forward. One at a time, one after the other. Left, right, left, right.

      A short prayer is held at the airport with family. Seeing those closest to me for the first time since the tragedy breaks my heart into a million pieces. I am bereft. Gugs and I left home just over a week ago and now I’ve returned with him in a coffin. Seeing his mom and dad, in particular, just breaks me.

      The next few days fly by in a daze. All I remember is the sea of people showing their love and support by coming to the house, calling, sending messages and flowers. There are flowers everywhere. The love and support from the country, including the government, touches me deeply.