The sky is blue and the sun is bright. It is 12:00pm on a
Friday and three cars slow down at the Jomo Kenyatta Airport. A white Peugeot, silver
Mercedes and a red pickup drive into the parking lot.
From the Peugeot comes two children with smiles on their faces
and an elderly lady in a green kitenge and crutches under her arms. Two men in
suits and frowns on their faces rush to her side. Mama as they fondly call her
has tears in her eyes and is determined to walk. Two young ladies in their
teenage years and a man in a grey suit join them from the other cars.
The group of eight walks slowly almost in a line towards the
arrival area. The three gentlemen in suits lead the way followed by the two
boys with smiles and finally Mama on her crutches and leaning on the two
ladies. One of them is arriving today. The prodigal son who has been away for
eight years and who sickness has forced to come home.
As they wait in silence and anxiety, a young man in a blue
sweater and jeans emerges. He is leaning heavily on a young lady who closely
resembles him. In short and shaky steps he rushes into Mama’s arms. His face
lights up and he shouts in joy “I am finally home.” With these words the
tension in the air is broken and everyone rushes to hug him.
He laughs, he talks and cries. He is weak but happy. They
were all worried about him but his laughter and look of joy sets a happy mood.
They relax he is home and safe. He has given them hope and a his wide smile
says relax I will be okay.
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