Wachira was well known in town because he was a tout and a Rasta. A tout is a person who works at the bus 'stage' and makes sure that the matatus go out as packed with humanity as they can be. Since anyone who traveled from Nanyuki to Nairobi was bound to meet Wachria, he was well known.
After a year and a half of befriending Wachira, he fell ill and died. Not only was Wachira's death was untimely, but he died rather slowly in a bare concrete room at Nanyuki Nursing Home. When I visited him about a week before he died, he could see that I was uncomfortable as he gasped for breath, so he told me "Don't fear."
On the day of his funeral I was told by his girlfriend that I was expected to go down to the morgue with his family and friends to pick up the body. I was very uncomfortable with the prospect and had a tough time avoiding my 'duties' as a close friend of Wachira. I was able to excuse myself however because the procession to the morgue was so late that I had the opportunity to leave for a few minutes and conveniently miss the trip to pick up Wachira's body.
The funeral was to be at Wachira's father's house which was many miles away. All of the available drivers from the bus stage made their vehicles available and many people jumped in the vehicles. The funeral procession was started out from Nanyuki at about 10am and travelled for about a half hour to his father's house. Once we arrived, women with pichers of water and bowls walked around to each of the hundreds of people and let them wash their hands. The women then brought food and we all ate with our hands.
A preacher then began to speak and he spoke for possibly an hour in Wachira's tribal language, Kikuyu which I could not understand. While the preacher was speaking some Rastas stopped by to pay their respects to Wachira though they did not know him. They explained that they heard of a Rasta who had died and were there to say goodbye.
After the preacher finished speaking, Wachira's casket was removed from the pickup truck that had brought him there and it was placed on the ground before the the preacher and a photographer. Over the course of perhaps an hour every conceivable group of people that knew Wachira was called down by the preacher to have their pictures taken with Wachira's casket. I was dreading the time when they would call me to have my picture taken with ther casket. This was so foreign to me and I was very uncomfortable with the idea that I would stand in front of hundreds of people to get my picture taken with my good friend's casket.
Finally I heard the preacher call out on the loudspeaker "Mr. Ron... Mr. Ron... Where is Mr. Ron?" I proceeded to the casket with hundreds of eyes watching the one white man in the whole funeral. Feeling self conscious, I walked right up to the casket and got my picture taken with Wachira's brothers and sisters. However, the preacher then said "Now Mr. Ron alone with (Wachira's father)." So I stood with his father and we had our 'last' picture taken with Wachira. The photography went on for seemingly hours and by the time I arrived home I had been at the funeral for about 8 hours.
Days later I was handed a stack of pictures of the funeral and told to take the one of me and Wachira's father with his casket. As I thumbed through the stack I saw the first picture that had been taken of me with Wachira's brothers and sisters. I could see me standing and facing the camera while all of his brothers and sisters were looking at me. It was not until then that I realized that that I had stood in with his brothers and sisters in their picture!