Dear Ian, 10 years, but always in my heart.

Gal this is Ian,

Wanjohi gave me your address jana and told me that i have to talk to you. Don’t know what but all in all how have you been?
I am just from job hungry and worn out and the only thing that is ringing in my head is kitchen then bed.
Hope to hear from you soon.
Bye!
Njoroge.

This was a letter written to me on 6th March 2002, from a young man i was seriously growing a crush on. His name was Ian, and he had the most beautiful eyes.

This was an email he wrote to me when a mutual friend (Wanjohi) made fun of how much he thought I liked Ian.

I did, and after this email, were more emails and phone calls to his home in Sigona, or he to my aunt's house in Buruburu where I lived then; way back when landlines ruled the world.

We were both students at the Alliance Francaise, but he was way ahead of me, and was already pretty fluent in French, he had even taken up a part time job teaching French in a school in Westlands.

We would have several lunches together at a restaurant next to the Alliance Francaise, he always made me laugh, even with my little crush, I was most comfortable around him.

Then the phone call came, from Wanja, telling me Ian was involved in a road accident and had died on the spot. I was outside the Alliance Francaise, hoping, as usual that we'd bump into each other and have a good laugh.

That was 10 years ago.

I cannot remember the date that he died, but this and last week, I have thought loads about where he would be today, the young ambitious, handsome man that he was. Would he be a daddy now, with handsome little boys that took after him? Would he be a business man? A top shot in some big multinational?

I always knew he would make it big, that we would grow old and be great friends, or maybe more even. But God had other plans. Perhaps, as they say, he is in a better place.

As these thoughts dominate my mind, I have thought about my friends and family, people that have made such a great impact in my life by just being there, and now, more than ever, I will remember to show them I love them, because life, as we know it, is too short, that is what memories of you remind me.

So, Dear Ian, sometimes I still hope I’ll bump into you on the streets around the French Cultural centre, or that the phone call about your accident was a dream; that I will wake up one day and someone will tell me that they found you somewhere.

But; my take out from that experience is that I will show the one’s that I love, how much they mean to me, before they’re gone…

Love you long time.

Chebs.