On the 13th of December, 2010 my world changed. My grandmother, my Gogo, died. And her death sent a seismic tremble through my core and shook our family. She was our foundation. She was my rock. Unbeknown to her, she was the reason that I started this line of thinking. She was love. and she led me to thinking and writing about love.
I had so many questions that I still wanted to ask her. So many conversations that I foolishly waited to have in person. I should have called more often and just said what I needed to say. I should have …
I think she would have been tickled by my research topic, love and HIV, pah! She would have had a few choice remarks to make about Malawian men and love. I can just hear her now! As for HIV – her answer would have been simple – too much chiwerewere! Zaumve basi! (well I can’t really translate her expression and her utter contempt but think of the expression you would have if flicked with revolting pond scum and then add the terms whoring and just pure filthiness! I doubt if it makes any sense to anyone who didn’t know her, but if you met her then you are probably smiling now. As for me, I have tears in my eyes as I type this…)
She was such an amazing woman. My earliest memories of her involve her waking up at all hours to open her restaurant and falling asleep in her bed surrounded by bits of paper and notes of money as she settled her accounts for the day. For over 31 years she ran a thriving restaurant and raised a family. I remember her as being this larger than life person – she was my personal hero. I knew superwoman, her name was Gogo.
She lived a life that was keenly affected by HIV, we have lost so many beloved family members to AIDS. She also lived a life that abounded with love. Who better to ask about my research into both these things? In the back of my mind she was the go-to-person that I never actually went to. At least not in time. But I have had this conversation so many times in my mind. It starts like this.
Gogo, I had a question… What does love look like? Tell me about you and Gogo Bwana. What did your mother ever tell you about men and love? How should I ask these questions in a way that makes any kind of sense? Why do you think women stay with men who are making them sick?Why don’t people talk about miscarriages?
and now.
Well it is too late, obviously. Sometimes I still have that conversation (and many others) in my head. It just isn’t the same. I miss her wisdom. She would have known exactly how to set me on the right path. She would have made me roar with laughter! She would have helped me keep it real. I miss her. Every day, I miss you Gogo.
love and HIV 
Interesting questions.
I envy you. Gogo sounds like just the sort of grandmother one should have. By comparison, let me share a little about mine. She was bitter. It was claimed my grandfather died when my mother was 12, but when researching I could find no evidence of his death in Australia, so I think he ran away. She swore the Queen and Prince Philip never had sex because the Queen is the head of the church of England. She believed my mother should never have married, but stayed single and cared for her: she never gave them a wedding present. I remember my grandmother as a VERY strange person.
Enjoy your dear and sweet memories. 🙂
Gogo was amazing. She has left such a gaping hole in my life – but I am comforted by her memory and the knowledge that she lives on in each of us. I never knew my maternal grandparents and I always wonder what they were like. What was their story… I can’t imagine not having a person like my Gogo in my life – maybe your grandmother was not that person for you but perhaps someone else fulfilled that role…
well spoken (or written)… i miss her too! you’re so right about her being the go-to-person, and her funny responses! who else can sum up the raw truth with such crude, tell-it-like-it-is humor?! i miss her too everyday… thanks for pouring your heart out.