My brother
One morning at 10:00 a.m., I was having a late breakfast when my telephone rang. It was from an unknown number, so I wasn’t planning to pick the call. I debated whether or not to picked up. I did. The person on the other end asked to speak to Mr. Wandu. I was annoyed since it had died two years ago. Dr. Jotham Gatungo Wandu was my Late husband. I replied softly, “Can I take the message?” The man asked me, “Do you know Daniel Chege?” I replied that he was my brother. “This is the police,” the man said, so I asked him whether my brother was in jail. One time my brother was in prison because of a traffic incident. I thought this was a similar situation.
The man told me, “We have looked for Wandu and Daniel’s mother at their address of arrival in the U.S. and have not reached either of the two.” I sad the policeman that Daniel’s mother and Wandu had long died. He said sorry for my loss. I said, thanks. What is the gong of with Daniel? I asked. The policeman told me to go to the police station at the Jonesboro address to get information. I immediately knew that my brother was not alive. I had noticed on the media the approach done to the relatives when their loved one dies in war or some other place. The police station was close to where I lived, and I told the man, “I cannot come because I don’t drive.” He told me that they could come to my home instead. When the officer suggested coming to my home to give me the information, I confirmed in my mind that my brother was dead. I told him that I was alone in the house and that I would not let him into the house. He replied, “We will bring two policemen in a police car and identify ourselves with our IDs.” I agreed. Within five minutes, they were outside my home.
I let them into the house, and they first showed me my brother’s photo. I confirmed that he was my brother, and they told me that he had died in a house fire while trying to light a fire to keep warm in the winter cold. He proceeded to tell me that my brother was homeless and that he lived in an abandoned house. He was lighting the fire that overpowered him, and he died while trying to escape. The word “homeless” struck me down, and I asked the officer, “How can my brother be homeless, and many families have a house like this one?” Then I asked, “What kind of material was my brother using that was so flammable that the fire engulfed him while he was running away?”
The policemen offered no answers to my questions, and one reached into his pocket and took out a business card. He wrote a telephone number on the back of the card and asked me to call the number if I had any more questions and call the number in front if he could call if needed help. I asked them to give me a copy of my brother’s photo since it was a recent one, and they agreed. I thanked them for reaching out to the family to give me the news, and they left. I don’t remember if I finished my breakfast.
I called the number on the back of the card, and a lady answered. I identified myself as Daniel Chege’s sister. I told the lady that my brother had died in a Clayton County house fire and that I got the phone number from an officer who had just left my house. I asked for more information on Daniel’s death, and the lady told me, “Daniel died of smoke inhalation, the autopsy showed.” She then asked me to provide the funeral home’s name that would pick the body from Decatur, Georgia. I chose MurryBrothers funeral home on Cascade Road, two exits on highway 285 north to Mount Harmony Gardens our mother laid to rest. The funeral home was accommodating and good service.
My son and I went to view his body, which burned beyond recognition. We signed forms releasing the funeral home from any liability if we suffered from any trauma after viewing the body. His toes had only suffered minimum damage, and I believed that he had been wearing heavy winter shoes. I gave the funeral home his photo to reconstruct his face and share our family closure when they viewed his body.
I decided to get the police report to find out exactly how he died. Daniel disclosed he had a white girlfriend, and both had a baby together. The girlfriend had confiscated his Kenyan passport in incase I run away and leave her.” I never met the baby or the mother. She probably doesn’t know that Daniel died, and she may still hold the passport. The baby should be in the second year of college. I hope to meet them someday.
We held fundraising to cover David’s funeral costs. The event took place at the students’ lodge in Beulah Heights University (BHU), and a friend at BHU paid for the meeting room. I was still a student at the time, and the funeral home offered me a discount. The cemetery charged a lesser amount for the plot near my mother’s burial site and the balance we borrowed against our house. The memorial service held at the funeral home, and friends and family showed up in droves to mourn him. After the memorial service, most of the guests drove to Mount Harmony Memorial Gardens on 581 Veterans Memorial Hwy SE, Mableton, GA 30126, where he rest. Daniel laid next to his mother’s on the left side.