“In the end, we will remember not the words of our enemies, but the silence of our friends,” – Martin Luther King Jr.
Bearing the brunt of loss is an unabating ordeal. Despite the inevitability of it, we never get used to it. No matter how many times we are relieved of something we are endeared to, letting go is a lesson we refuse to learn. We preoccupy ourselves with clinging on to things thinking we can spite the capriciousness of life. Its frivolous almost deranged but we, the human race, are obstinate beings so we keep trying and invariably fail at it.
As if we do not know that at all times, there will be a finality, an ebb, a nadir, a grinding halt. Eventually, its why we weep and sob not because we are beleaguered by the trappings of life. But because we choose to be heedless, burying our heads in the sand out of our own volition. Its hard-earned, well-choreographed sorrow. How ironic is it that we are well briefed of our destinies but still unable to handle it.
For a moment, I believed you were here to stay. In the recent years, things went on so well for you I flattered myself with the idea of your permanence. Imbued by the hope that you would soon become a household name just like Blueband. And survive the test of time as a generational relic. “Pay less, get more, Everyday,” is the only way I shopped at outlets draped in your name – generously distributed across the nation, meshing our diversities. For my shopping needs, I was deliberate and frequented the services you offered because Tuskys was ours, Kenyan to the bone and homegrown.
Its common knowledge that nothing beats mama’s food at home not even dishes served by a culinary connoisseur. This tells the story of those trademark vintage hotdogs sold at the entrance to your stores. Christened with sizzling onions, how scrumptious, we lived for those and spared a note for one after shopping, to the delight of our taste buds. Nobody was jaded by the calories, the hotdogs were a godsend and got feuding couples talking again.
Each bite meant mending fences and a palate glittered with reconciliatory words. Essentially that’s what those hotdogs stood for; kinship and family ties. Peace, love and unity bounding our nationhood. Anybody could make hotdogs but fewer could make them so totemic. That’s why we loved them, I’m yet to meet a person who did not and I’m not at pains to; shame on he who thinks evil of them.
It vindicated my faith in you, to outlast your founders and never to flounder. I bet our thoughts of eternity were in sync but fate has declared us erroneous. The past few months have seen major disruptions coming your way, disruptions occasioning your destruction. At first it was trifling hearsay, word had it that you were having trouble settling debts and defaulting on indentured suppliers. I paid little mind to it, “must be a smear campaign,’’ I reckoned. Either way, you would see it out, whatever tumult you were going through. You are Kenyan; a marathon runner you’d keeping jogging. You just needed to catch your breath and keep going without stopping, so I believed.
Contrary to my hunch things continued to spiral and soon, faeces hit the fan. And in the last few months you got an excessive taxing media coverage only meant to amplify your woes. It has been nauseating watching the fourth estate adamantly megaphone your shame. It is almost as if they get off your misery. It is their job to inform but it felt anything else but that. Sometimes I am impelled to think, they turned the nation against you but hey negative news makes the best sales right? What does the media gain from scruple in a capitalist world?
The only reason it choked me so much and left me as bitter as gall is because they were actively taking part in ripping our own apart. None of the bulletins had an air of hope or redemption to it, when Tuskys came up it spelled armageddon. Armageddon consuming our finest local retailer ever since our dalliance with the late Uchumi supermarket, wilted at the hands of depravity. Yet during commercial breaks they are brandishing adverts on ‘Brand Kenya, Buy Kenya Build Kenya’ so much for patriotism.
I have watched and read a plethora of analyses from ‘experts’. Each one seems to be citing impropriety, fiscal imprudence a misstep here or there. But none of them vaunted about the significance you have had to this country since your inception about your impact even as you go through the mud. Fine! Maybe you made a mistake, maybe you were tactless, maybe you were hapless. But I dare say show me a man without blemish.
It certainly will not be the last time we see men fail here on earth but they can go ahead and keep treating misfortune as novelty, that’s their bone to contend with. Marcus Aurelius was spot on on this one, “We remember our sufferings most.” How fast we have moved to shun the good you have done to glorify the inglorious that befell you.
I am even more ashamed about our role as citizens in exacerbating your strife, precisely through social media. The likes, retweets, clicks on click-baits and ensuring stories that shed you in bad light trended to no end. We cannot claim neutrality, we were enablers and abetted your march to guillotine. We need not travel to Golgotha to behold the betrayal of the Son of Man. We did a bespoke rendition of the same here, we put our very own son to the cross, the brainchild of Joram Kamau was not accepted in his own home. We crucified Tuskys.
Nonetheless, let not my silence that has persisted to date, fool you. Let it no be misconstrued that I was only there for the highs and the tide of adversity flushed me out together with other phonies. Let it not be said that I was tamed by your disillusionment and was afraid to take a stand in your favour. Let not my silence be misunderstood as an attempt at absconding our geniality. I have decided to break the ice so that my silence may never be louder than the words of your detractors. I still have your loyalty card it’s a memento I keep; exhibiting the ardent customer I was.
Tuskys some of us mourn different. Once in a psychology class, I learnt about the stages of grief constituted by denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance. I realized that for quite some time now I have been caught up in haggled denial. It is only recently that I registered my acceptance when I walked into United Mall Kisumu and witnessed it all first hand. It was a blinding sight, one to forget because it was capable of causing cataracts. The workers wore a defeated look; cloaked in forlorn countenance – heads sunk, chins low and dampened spirits. I was met with vacated pantry bereft of wares to sell.
Empty shelves and dreams shelved, the supermarket’s infrastructure was gathering dust thick and fast just as the futures of all those affiliated to Tuskys. Employees and owners notwithstanding. One could only wonder how many households were going to lose livelihoods. It only got worse when closure after closure ensued, if it was not in Kisumu it was Juja City Mall, then Nakuru, Komarock, Kilifi, Eldoret; it gravely struck a chord when the monumental T-Mall store also fell under the cosh joining the names on the list of infamy.
Many a time I read dailies and see very alarming proclamations where numerous academicians warn about a tanking economy. Debt distress, recessions, retrenchments, stimulus packages yadda yadda yadda. It often feels like those are words you only get to meet in the glossary section of a London School of Economics handbook. They feel so abstract and so surreal until they hit home.
Honestly, what is an economy anyway? I am yet to befriend one, have you? Nor do I know anyone who has ‘economy’ as a friend. How old is ‘economy’ anyway? Does she have birthdays? That’s right, she doesn’t even host parties, such a boring lass never to be met; she should consider getting a life. If ‘economy’ is having a hard time and wants to die, let her commit suicide, I am not talking her off the ledge for all I care.
But now I get it, ‘economy’ is a loser and she refuses to face death alone, she latches on to human lives as her collateral. I am afraid to admit it but we need her more than she needs us. So next time ‘economy’ threatens to commit Seppuku in the form of recessions and retrenchments please listen and make amends. Because here in Kenya, ‘economy’ has been grousing to us for years and we ignored her, now she is doing a number on us; showing us who is who and teaching us what’s what.
She has really brought the noise and there is no indication she will turn back. Our die has been cast, we are awaiting our extinction. Just because we elected to body-shame ‘economy’. To defile her right to be heard. Jeez! We should consider asking for consent before fiddling with her body again. She is punitively vengeful.
When Bill Withers sang that timeless song, ‘Ain’t no sunshine when she’s gone’. He meant aint no sunshine when economy is gone. He was alluding to ‘economy’ as sunshine. Certainly without her there is no wading through the tunnel because she is the light at the end of it. Now we are staring into the abyss having lost her sheen and guiding light. Our prospects are now in the woods.
Yes, Tuskys may have made mistakes but the prevailing economic matrix does not make it any easier for businesses to stay afloat. However, it is my sincere wish that you bounce back Tuskys. Sometimes the only rationale we can deploy is believing in miracles. Success is not final, failure is not fatal, it is the courage to continue that counts. Find it in you, Tuskys, to muster valor and stage a comeback.
But if indeed, it is true that your journey is finito. And our fleeting loves story ends in this year full of carnage. Bear in mind that I was the friend that never went lull in your hour of adversity. Please accept my solemn ode to you; my beloved Tuskys.
For every local retailer that shuts shop, it sears off our persona as a nation. Adieu Tuskys.
