THE LOVE THAT KILLED A BROTHERHOOD — MY LOVE FOR NZARO, NAIROBI 1987

No university or school will teach you the meaning of the word love. The shrine of the Mutima Omuyanja clan in Bbale, Kafuluma, Kyotera, Buddu, unpacks the mystery and chemistry of the word love.

An Odeon Cinema Ticket That Has Lasted 37 Years

There is a secret the Oracles of Kifuuta unpacked inside one small word: LOVE.

In English, you say LOVE. In Buganda, you say Nkwagala; in Banyakore, you say Ninkukunda; Basoga, Nkwendha. One word for everything.

You love your mother. You love chicken. You love your wife. You love God. You love Liverpool, Manchester United. Baganda, Nkwagala, Njagaala; Banyakore, Ninkukunda; Basoga, Nkwendha. The Oracle now teaches you how it’s called.

One word. Poor word. Too small to carry such a heavy heart.

The Greeks — Aristotle, Plato, Socrates — together with Muguluma, Kasekende, Mayanja, Luswata and Bwanika, sat under olive trees in Athens and Kyotera Buddu and knew this. They said: “No. The heart is not one room. The heart is a palace with many rooms. Each room has its own fire.”

So they gave LOVE eight names. Eight lamps. So that a man can enter his own heart and know which lamp is burning.

I did not know this in 1987 in Nairobi. If I knew, I would not have lost my brother.

Let me give you the keys to the palace.

THE 8 LAMPS OF THE GREEKS THAT THE ORACLES OF KIFUUTA PASS TO YOU

1. EROS — The Fire of the Skin. It burns, it consumes, it makes you mad. Romeo and Juliet.
2. PHILIA — The Fire of the Shield. Brotherhood. The love that makes a man say, “I will die for you.” David and Jonathan.
3. STORGE — The Fire of the Womb. The love you did not choose. Mother, father, sister. Blood.
4. PRAGMA — The Fire of the Stone. Love that has been built, brick by brick, for years. Old couples who don’t kiss much but cannot live without each other.
5. LUDUS — The Fire of the Children. Playful, flirting, sweet nothings.
6. AGAPE — The Fire of the Gods. Love that gives without asking. It forgives even when the other has no apology.
7. PHILAUTIA — The Fire of the Mirror. The love of self. If it is healthy, it saves you. If it is wounded, it kills all other loves.
8. MANIA — The Fire of the Poison. Obsessive, jealous, possessive. “If you don’t do as I want, you don’t love me.”

Now, come with me to Nairobi

MY PHILIA: THE GIRIAMA AND THE MUGANDA

My love for Eng. Nzaro was PHILIA in its purest form.

He was not just a coursemate. He was a Giriama from Malindi who took a young Ugandan boy, showed him the Indian Ocean for the first time, took him to Mombasa, to Malindi, made him eat at the table of the great Mudavadi Musafiri family.

Our tutor, Mr. Tunde Othieno, looked at us and thought I was a Kenyan from Malindi. Because I had become him, and he had become me.

That is Philia.

But our Philia had matured. It had entered other rooms:

It became PRAGMA — because we built it. Not one night in a bar. Days, nights, trust, introductions to family. We laid bricks.

It became STORGE — because we adopted each other as blood. We were not born of the same mother, but we chose to be of the same mother. In Buganda, we say “Mukwano gwa dala”; Banyakore, Ninkukunda Munonga; Basoga, Nkwndha inho, a friend of the true stomach.

That is why the wound is still fresh after 37 YEARS. You don’t bleed 37 years for a casual friend. You bleed 37 years for a brother.

THE DAY PHILIA DIED AT ODEON CINEMA IN NAIROBI

Odeon Cinema, Nairobi. 2:45 PM. The Amitabh Bachchan movie is about to start.

We agreed: 14:45, we sit.

I sat. I waited. 15:00. No Nzaro.
15:30. No Nzaro. The movie started. The drums of India beating on the screen.
16:00. Almost an hour into the movie, a shadow — Eng. Nzaro appears, breathing hard, and sits next to me.

He whispers, “Sorry, my brother…”

And I? I kept looking at the screen. I refused to answer.

The movie ended. I stood, I walked out, I jumped onto a matatu to Lavington, Nairobi, and left him standing there alone in the dark of Odeon Cinema Hall.

At that exact minute, PHILIA died.

And two evil spirits entered my heart: MANIA and WOUNDED PHILAUTIA.

MANIA whispered: “If he really loved you, he would have been on time. Love must prove itself by punctuality. He has failed the test.”

WOUNDED PHILAUTIA whispered: “How dare he make YOU wait? Do you know who you are? Do you know how much you have loved him? Punish him. Keep silent. Let him feel pain.”

I loved Nzaro so much that his one-hour lateness felt not like a mistake, but like a BETRAYAL.

That is the tragic secret the Greeks knew and Taught the Kifuuta Oracle: The deeper the love, the smaller the knife that can kill it. A stranger can keep you 3 hours and you laugh. A brother keeps you 1 hour and you want to bury him. Because you expected a mountain from him, not a hill.

WHAT THE ORACLES OF KIFUUTA TEACH US VIA THE GREEKS

The Greeks did not create 8 types of love to make us pass philosophy exams in the University of Nairobi. They created them to SAVE us from ourselves.

Know Which Room You Are In.

If you are in Philia, don’t demand the laws of Eros. Philia does not demand perfection; Philia demands presence.

Every Love Has Its Own Law. The Law of Philia is FORGIVENESS.

Philia says: “My brother may be late, may be weak, may be foolish, but he is still my brother.” If Philia cannot forgive one hour of lateness, then it was never Philia. It was a contract.

Silence is Not Justice, It Is Suicide.

37 years of silence is not love. It is punishment. And who did I punish? Nzaro? No. Nzaro went on, became a brilliant Engineer, built his life.

I have punished myself. For 37 years, I have remained seated in Odeon Cinema, 1987, watching an Indian movie alone, while the seat next to me is empty.

I refused even Dr. Solomela Nyambura, that good woman who tried to mend us. My wounded Philautia kept saying, “I was right.”

But was I right?

Nzaro came late, yes. But HE CAME. After one hour, he still ran to Odeon. A man who does not love you does not come at all. He came because he remembered, because he valued the brotherhood.

My Philia was too pure, too proud. It was like fine glass — so beautiful, but it breaks with one small stone.

MY CONFESSION

Now I am an elder. We studied Engineering together with Nzaro. The hair has turned. Nzaro is somewhere, as the Chief Engineer, perhaps with grandchildren.

And the Oracles in Kifuuta have told me:

That Mania love, that depressing, punishing love that refuses to forgive — it will take me to the grave with a heavy heart. And what will I tell my ancestors? That I lost my brother because of one hour?

So today, in the name of Love, Nkwagala, Ninkukunda, I say: