Open The Window


“Gordon, your mother is waiting for you by the library,” the dorm captain told him, standing at the door of the cubicle that he shared with five other boys. The dorm captain was a big and cruel hairy ape of a man. They nicknamed him Hitler. Under his chest, in the place where you and I have hearts he had a stuffed old newspaper. Gordon looked up from the porridge that he had been blowing and cautiously sipping at. “My mom?” Gordon asked, surprised because they lived 340 kms away and it was a little after 7am, a few minutes to the morning assembly. He wasn’t expecting his mom. It wasn’t visiting day. Was she passing by on her way somewhere?

He placed the mug of porridge on top of his locker and fetched his black shoes from under the bed. His roommates were either dressing up or putting their clothes away their metallic boxes or having breakfast. One of them, Malcolm, was his neighbour back at home. He said excitedly, “Perfect, today we eat fries!” Because moms brought money and money in the boarding school could get you fries from across the fence at games time when the prefects were not watching.

Without a word to each other, Gordon and Malcolm walked through the dormitory blocks, past the botanical garden, past the massive tree on which bees had one time tried to make a home, behind the big store that all the pangas and jembes and all manner of farm tools were kept, and at the intersection turned left and went further down, turned a left and 100 meters away, they saw Gordon’s mom, seated on a bench by the library. It was early morning, a misty morning. A Mourning Dove cooed occasionally. The grass was wet from a slight drizzle the previous night. He smiled at his mom as he neared. She was wearing her african fabric dress. The one she liked. The one she preferred to attend weddings in. And funerals. And church. It was blue and yellow and green and purple. She was holding her brown purse on her lap. The one with a magnetic buckle that was once gold in colour but was now faded. Her shoes were the proper shoes that you wear when you are driving 340 kms away to see your son in school. Driving shoes. The old comfortable type that women like to drive in. The type with a small hole where the little toe is. The type that used to be blue but are now grey because mom is clean and mom gets the help to wash them every week even when she doesn’t need to clean them every week.

Mom sat upright, like she normally sits in church.

As he got closer to her with his wide smile, his father’s smile, she placed her purse beside her and slowly stood up. It’s the way she stood up that he knew something was wrong; she held her knee with one hand and pushed her body up. She was only 43-years, in as a good shape as a mother of 43-years can be, but she stood up as a 72-year old  would, like the very act of standing up bothered her back. All of a sudden she was the spitting image of his grandmother. The likeness was uncanny.

They drowned into each other with a hug. It wasn’t a normal greeting hug, it was a hug of solace. He felt it in her body before he heard it from her lips. He was only 16-years old, but he could somehow feel the tragedy in her body. How she let her whole body and weight dissolve into him. “She wasn’t hugging me…she was…I can’t explain it.” Gordon says. But I get it. I get what he was struggling to articulate; she was introducing him to her weakness. She, through the weight and resignation of her hug, was saying ‘Help me handle this weakness, my son. You are the only one who can understand this pain because you are my only child.”

They stood there for what seemed like two campaign periods. Clinging onto each other. It’s the longest they had ever hugged. He heard the sound of the truck that brought food for the pigs in the farm reverse somewhere, three administration blocks away. With his head buried in his mom’s neck, he smelled her. She smelled of his mom. He can’t explain that smell. You are the only one who knows how your mother smells and it’s not a smell that you can describe. It’s not like you can liken it to a mango. Or a liniment. He didn’t have to describe it to me. I can look at an old picture of my mother and remember her smell by just looking at the dress she was wearing in that photo. Your mother smells like your mother.

When they broke that hug and he held her shoulders, he tried to look into her eyes, but her head was bent and she was avoiding his eyes and he touched her chin and raised it up a bit, and he noticed that she was crying. “What is it, Mom?” he asked in panic. But she couldn’t stop crying. She lowered herself back on the bench. He sat next to her, one hand around her shoulder. “What is it?” he asked again, not wanting to know the answer but knowing that things would never be the same again for him or her.

“It’s Daddy,” she said.

He called his father “Daddy.” She called her husband “Daddy.” Even in the house, she always addressed him as “Daddy”. Daddy, do you want tea? Daddy, your food will get cold. Daddy, can you please put down the newspaper when we are having a meal?

He let go of her shoulder and leaned back against the cold brick wall of the library. He felt deflated. He looked at their family car; an old shape Prado that had been owned by four other people, the last owner a Borana man who had a big black golden ring of a puma on his little finger. He saw Malcolm, his roomate, walk towards them, and as he neared them, see his mother crying, and then stop, unsure whether to come say hello or bust, then unsurely, turn back and walk towards the main gate but then realise that he’s going towards the wrong direction, turn back and walk towards the admin block, raising his hand in a wave or a salute at Gordon because maybe he felt like he had to do something. He heard the assembly bell go off and the rising sound of teenagers and their broken voices move towards the assembly point, beyond the red roofs, like a herd of migrating beasts. In the still quietness of the school in parade that he heard his own heart break. Then he cried. Because there was nobody else to see him as everybody was in the morning assembly, he put his head on his mother’s laps, and he cried there, and he wanted to sleep there and never wake up again, never attend another assembly, never again read pythagoras theorem or light up another bunsen burner.

They buried Daddy the following week.

I make him describe the feeling after the grave had been covered but only to see if I can relate with the day we buried my mother. It’s not the same. How can it be the same? Grief is like fingerprints. It’s not the same also because he’s Kikuyu and they bury and make a move. Nobody lingers after the burial. At least not physically. “My father’s parents have never really accepted my mother,” he said. “So shags has never been a place that I go to feel the love. So we buried at midday and we set out, back to Nairobi at 2pm. My aunt, my mom’s only sister, drove. I sat on the passenger seat. My mom lay on the backseat, her feet up on the seat in her funeral shoes. She cried all the way to Nairobi. I cried too.”


Ten years later, I received an email from Gordon’s mother. I don’t know it’s his mother, of course. It’s one of the readers. She started by saying that she started reading me when I lost my mother. That my articles “finally mirrored what she felt about her own loss and grief.” She then said something about my forehead. Because everybody who writes me an email feels compelled to mention it because they think it’s hilarious when it’s not. It’s like an email signature. I wonder if hunchbacks get their hunchbacks mentioned in their emails. I bet not. So why us? Why do people feel the need to mention our foreheads?

Anyway, she said that she has a son called Gordon who has been reading me for a while and is going through something challenging currently and his birthday is coming up soon and she wonders if I would be kind enough as to surprise him because he thinks the world of me? Of course, because I’m a scatterbrain, I read this email in the middle of something else and forgot to mark it as unread so that I could respond later. So I forgot to respond. She probably waited and thought, “What a jackass! He can’t even accord me the courtesy of a reply to say no?” But since she’s a church lady, she didn’t use the word “jackass” she probably just said, “What a nincompoop” because “nincompoop” sounds like a word God would allow the truly faithful to use to express anger or disappointment.

Five or six months passed. Then I received another email from her. A very kind email. She asked politely if by any chance I might have seen her earlier email. That she was still keen to have me meet her son now more than ever. She gave me the reason which I won’t tell you at this point because it will ruin the flow of this story. I replied and said, “Sure, of course. I’m sorry I didn’t respond to your earlier email, I meant to, but then I forgot, I hope he had a good birthday blah blah blah.” Basically things only a nincompoop would write.


Here is how some cookies crumble. When you get to your house after a Friday night out, six beers in you, you strip and get in the small shower of the house your share with your housemate. When you hold your folded leg on your other knee to scrub it with the pumice stone, you feel some sharp pain in the side of your stomach. It’s a pain you have felt before but ignored. Now it’s sharp, urgent, begging for attention. You don’t give it attention. You have a life. You give your life attention. One day, you press “G” on the elevator at 7pm coming from work. That’s the last thing you recall. Because you wake up in the hospital at 9pm.  Your mother is seated on the small chair next to you. You turn and ask her where your phone is. Because you are 25-years old and God forbid that you should miss a tweet. Or a picture on the gram. Your mother tells you that someone from your office block rushed you there, called her using the emergency number on your phone, and that doctors are monitoring you. She looks worried. The bright overhead light shines on her hair that looks disheveled. She holds your hand and smiles. You smell antiseptic. Doctors and nurses in scrubs walk about. A doctor with a beard, an Indian doctor, comes and as he writes on his pad, you look at the beaded necklaces on his neck.

Your name is Gordon. You buried your father nine years ago; he died in road accident. As the only child, you became the man of the house and your mother’s rock. You finished university, got a job and moved out because you couldn’t bring girls home. You collapse in an elevator when leaving jobo. When the elevator doors open on ground floor, a gentleman who had forgotten his lunchbox in their office kitchen upstairs finds you sprawled out on the floor of the elevator,  your right hand clutching tightly onto your laptop. He has seen you around.

You are admitted. Tests are done. You go home. A few days later, maybe even a week, a round-faced doctor with a sharp moustache tells you and your mom that you have cancer. Stage one. Your mom almost dies from worry and sadness. She moves you back home. You refuse treatment. You tell your mother that there is no point of treatment. That you would rather die than lose your hair and feel your skin burn and feel the sores in your mouth. You have read all these things on the internet and that’s not “how you want to go.” Your aunt talks to you. Your priest talks to you. You are adamant. No treatment. You quit your job. You don’t leave the house. Your mom emails me. Because she heard you laugh at something you were reading on the phone one day and when she asked what that was; it was an Instagram post I did about the lawyer who carries a girly purse.  She emails me again.

And here I am, standing at the door of one of those old government houses. The one that smell of old furniture and the ghosts of the ‘82 coup attempt. Gordon is not expecting me. I told the mother that I’m not sure if it’s a good idea to ambush him, maybe you should give him a heads up. She had said he would be thrilled. She opens the door and leads me in. She says I don’t look like the way I write. She expected an old person. I tell her I’m an old person. She laughs. The interior of the house doesn’t look like a government house. It’s well-maintained. Homely. It has a clean fireplace that hasn’t seen fire in decades. Over the fireplace is a plethora of framed photos. Old photos. Most of them are of Gordon when he was a child. Gordon on a bike. Gordon on a tree branch. Gordon on Daddy’s lap. Gordon on mommy’s arms. I pick one of Daddy. It was taken at a seminar or something. He has a plastic name tag. Big shoulders. Big man. His face shines. I turn and ask her, “Where did you guys meet?” That question throws her off even as it surprises me. She’s seated on the arm of a sofa. “Wow,” she laughs. “Uhm, we met at KMTC, back in the day.” I put back the photo and sit. We chat. She asks about Tamms. Everybody asks about Tamms. Nobody asks about Kim. Poor Kim. If they knew he has gorgeous eyes, they would ask about him.

She tells me Gordon is napping. He never goes anywhere. He stays in his room. She thinks he’s depressed. She has tried everything to get him to seek treatment. To get him to talk to a therapist. Nothing. It has been four months now. “Maybe if you talk to him, maybe if he sees you, he might listen to you. He admires you.” I feel odd. I feel self-conscious. I feel pressured. She makes me herbal tea. She tells me that her honey comes from the government honey plant, that the rest are fake. Just small talk, as we wait for Gordon to wake up. The house is cool inside. There is no TV in the room. There is a big dining area with a big round dining table. I wonder why they need such a big table if it’s just the two of them.

As we are talking about my book, I detect movement behind me because my back is to the corridors leading into the rooms inside the house. She looks behind me expectantly. I turn around and walking towards me is Gordon. He’s sort of frail looking but not the frail of sickness, the frail of lack of food and worry. He doesn’t look sick. But he looks haunted. His hair is uncombed. He’s barefoot. He has on black track bottoms and a rumpled grey t-shirt. Something Kanye would have sold as fashion. He looks at me without interest. I stand up and say hello. His hands are cold. I hang onto his hand as his mother tells him, “This guy is here to see you.”

“Oh, okay,” he says, looking at his mother and looking back at me. I let go of his hand before it starts getting awkward. Before I start sounding like those uncles from shags who meet you at funerals and hang onto your hands saying, “My goodness, how big have you become? Do you know me? You people from the city don’t know your uncles.” Then he walks you down the family tree as both of your hands sweat in that heat of shags.

“I’m Biko.” I tell him. He says, “Biko?” I say, “Yes. I’m a writer.” He makes a sound that is a hybrid of a grunt and a chuckle. “No way.” he says laughing, “you are Bikozulu?” I say I am. He says, “No way,” and looks at his mom laughing. I say, “I can show you my ID if you want. I have a terrible picture, though. But then everybody has a terrible picture on their ID. I can bet yours is worse.” He moves a step back laughing, “Oh, jeez, is it you? How did you get here?” I say, “Your mom called me.” He turns and asks his mother incredulously, “You have his number?” I cut in and say, “No, I have hers.” I’ve turned the charm all the way up to 8 because I’m trying to move as far away from being a nincompoop as possible.

He laughs and sits down shaking his head. His mother smiles broadly. I smile broadly. Hell, even the pictures of Daddy seem to be smiling broadly. The room is filling with smiles. A smile aquarium. He shakes his head looking at me. The mother, hands on laps, asks, “Can I leave you two? Let me go run some errands at Junction. Biko, will I find you here when I return?” Then she’s gone and I’m left with Gordon who doesn’t believe that my name is Biko.

He tells me about his father and how he died and how that made him feel. He tells me about how his death, although a long time ago, continued to be a source of grief for him. He asks me if it’s true that my dad remarried and how my dad feels about me writing about him on my blog. I tell him I’m safe because my dad is the only person I know who has zero footprints on the internet. “He still uses SMSes,” I tell him. “That’s like using TDK compact cassette.” Then I laugh because in my head it’s funny. He asks what that is with a polite grin. Oh crap. These kids don’t know what a compact is. I Google it and show him and he says, “Oooh. I saw this in a museum once.” Ha-ha.

“Do you like your stepmother?” he asks me.

“I don’t know her enough to dislike or like her. But my dad likes her, so I might like her,” I say. “What would you do if your mom introduced you to a man who she wants to marry?”

“Actually when I walked in I thought for a second that you were that man,” he says. We really laugh at that.

We josh around, talking about serious stuff but then going back to the jocular mode. We tiptoe around the elephant in the room, then finally I ask him, “How do you feel? What does it feel like?” He’s sitting with both of his legs pulled up on the sofa. He’s silent for a bit, his chin on his knees. He’s good looking. I think I’m allowed to say that because I have 39 words left of my gay quota this year. He’s one of those people who don’t look like their father or mother.

“Are you going to write about this?” he asks. I say only if he’s funny and witty and interesting, and so far he’s not any of that. He laughs and says “If you write about this, please don’t write about my name or my mom’s name or where I work or what I do or anything that will make someone know it’s me unless they are very close to me and they know about me and my mom.”

“Cool,” I say. We sit in a brief punctuated silence. I wait.

“I don’t feel sick. Not physically. I feel sick emotionally. I want this disease to kill my spirit before it kills my body. That way I can die faster,” he says. I’m not paraphrasing this statement. It’s verbatim. I’m not paraphrasing it because it was so brutal, so disturbing to hear it from him without any preamble to it’s depth that I didn’t know what else to ask. That while his mother was out running a small errand at Junction, this boy, this man, was talking about death in this casual but profound manner.

“I don’t want to be a burden to her,” he continues. “I don’t want to be a burden to myself. I don’t want living to ever be a burden. I don’t want to lie in bed and for people to come and see me and think I’m not going to make it to Easter or Jamhuri day or Christmas. I….” he pauses. “I just want to go in peace.”

“What about your mom?” I ask. “Why don’t you give her a chance to try and save you? Why don’t you give her that peace?”

Still looking at a wooden sculpture in the corner of the room, hugging his legs against his chest, he doesn’t say anything. I wait for an answer but it never comes.

“Every time I feel nausea or pain on any part I wonder if it has started,” he continues and these feelings, these words start pouring out of him, unprompted and not in any chronology. “I feel like my life has shrunk to my sickness, to this house, to my little room. I read about Jadudi and I thought I’d never want to do anything like that. I’d not want anyone to save me. I’d not bother anyone with trying to save me.” He pauses. “ I’d feel like if they saved me, I owed them my life. I don’t want to ever feel like I owe anyone my life. “ Another pause. He adjusts his legs. “And why bother if you are going to die, anyway?”

“Because nobody wants to die,” I say.

“ How is he doing?” he asks.


“Jadudi,” he says, still not looking at me.

“He’s alive,” I mumble. “I ran into him in Kisumu last year. He had a walking cane. He had a slight speech impairment. But he was alive. He’s still fighting.”

We fall into silence.

He has the same dream often, but in different variations. That someone comes to his room, sometimes two people, sometimes three people, sometimes many men, and they take away his stuff as he stands in the corner of the room. They cart his shit out into a waiting van and he begs them to stop while phoning his mother, but his mother doesn’t answer.  “I cry when this happens,” he tells me. I don’t say anything. I wait. “What do you think it means?” He eventually asks me. He never looks at me even when he’s asking me a question, but from the corner of my eye I see him observing me when I’m not looking at him.

“I don’t know what it means,” I say. “What do you think it means?”

He doesn’t know what it means.

“Talking of mothers can I tell you something crazy?” I ask him. He looks at me fleetingly and says, yeah. I tell him that since my mother died, five years ago, I feel that death doesn’t hold much power over me like it did before. That I’m consoled that should I depart I will meet her on the other side. That there will be someone special waiting to receive me. “But sometimes I don’t want to die, even though I think she is waiting for me on the other side. I want to live to see my children as adults. I want to live to see what 70 feels like. It doesn’t matter if my mom is waiting. Life is for the living.” He stares at the carpet for a while, not saying anything. Then he looks up at me and looks at me for the longest time for the first time since we started talking. From behind his folded legs, chin on knees, he holds my stare until I look away. And I rarely ever look away. Maybe I have said something to offend him? Maybe I have crossed the line bringing up death when I don’t have cancer, when I don’t know what it means to contemplate it daily and live with its immediate possibility.

“What about your kids?” he eventually asks, filling this dead air between us with a voice.

“My kids can bury me. I shouldn’t be made to bury them,” I say. “Nobody should be made to bury their own children.”

He looks away, maybe not being able to confront the fact that he doesn’t want to live for his mother. He places one leg on the floor and leaves the other on the chair. “Well,” he says, rubbing his toes. Then he doesn’t say anything. Normally when people say “well,” they follow it with a thought. Not Gordon.

“What’s the plan here?” I ask, “What do you plan to do? And I ask this respectfully.”

He bites his lip. “I don’t know.” he sighs. The help walks into the room and asks if she should warm my now cold herbal tea. I say no, ni sawa, I will drink it cold. She leaves. “I find it useless to fight this. Nobody has won this fight.”

“That’s not true,” I say. I tell him that countless people have. “And you have a chance to. No?”

He shrugs. “I’m scared,” he whispers. “That’s the truth.”

“Are you scared to fight and lose?”

“I’m scared to die,” he says.

I sip my tea. It tastes terrible. Maybe I should have had it warmed it.

“You are barely 25,” I say. “ If you were my brother, I would ask you to fight. You have nothing to lose fighting. If you can’t do it for yourself, then do it for your mother.”

He is silent. He’s now lying back on the sofa. He’s blinking rapidly. I know the sign. It’s a sign of tears. I know he doesn’t want to cry before me. I don’t want him to cry before me so I ask him if he can show me his room. We go to his room and I stand at the stoop. It has  a 5 by 6 bed, unmade. It has got a desk with a flat screen and a PS4 on it. Wires running around. A small, dirty carpet. Dirty clothes hang from the arms of the chair like a scarecrow. White walls. No painting. A phone charger sticking out of the power socket in the wall. A plate of what looks like leftover rice and a few green peas. The room has a musty smell.

“You live like a pig,” I tell him.

He laughs. “Thanks.”

I walk in and draw the curtains, part the sheers and open the window. Fresh air rushes in. His mom is not back yet, but I have to leave. He walks me out to the sitting room. I notice that he doesn’t want to step out of the door, so we stop and make some small talk there.

“I hope that when you remember this conversation,” I tell him, “I hope that you remember to remember that sometimes the big transformations start with simple things.”

“Like what?”

“Like opening your window. You don’t know what else will come in. Let life in.”

“You are deep,” he says. “Thanks for doing this.”

“I didn’t do it for your ratchet selfish ass,” I joke, punching him painfully on his shoulder. “I did it for your mom.”

Then we hugged and I left and I hope that he will read this and choose life. That he has so much to live for. That he’s young and brilliant enough and funny (okay, not so much) and witty and that he will one day, when he’s 67-years old, think of this trying time and think what a fool for not choosing life because he would have moved up the corporate ladder, bought a house,  met a girl at some event at Rotary Club that he didn’t even want to attend in the first place and they will have a wedding that three people bought them a microwaves for and that he will have two children, one who looks like his mother and another who doesn’t look like any of them. I hope that this October, cancer month, he chooses life.


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    1. Very touching, and deep. Yeah, simple stuff like opening your window to ‘let in life’ could make the difference.

  1. Whoa! This is truly deep.
    The love of a mother knows no boundaries.

    I hope that you remember to remember that sometimes the big transformations start with simple things.”

    “Like what?”

    “Like opening your window. You don’t know what else will come in. Let life in.”

    I pray he chooses life.

  2. Wow!
    But what if he is not ready yet, to choose life.
    He is still processing
    When time comes I hope he chooses life, if anything, for himself.

  3. Been with a stage 4 cancer patient at the hospital for 3 weeks ,she is full of hope,she is sure of being healed.How i pray Gordon Accepts to fight.Even for his mum.

    The very best Gordon.

  4. I hope that you choose life Gordon. Your mom is routing for you. Biko is routing for you. We are all here routing for you. You will lose nothing fighting. An open curtain in the morning. Let some light your way. One step out of the door. One more face with positive vibes. A consoling heart. A new nincompoop ass like Biko’s to rack your brain. You get more every day. A little fuller life. And we cheer on. Because we will always cheer on. Please choose life.

    1. And we will all back up Bikos nincompoop ass

      And when you win this fight Gordon, please come back and tell us your real name. And your mum’s address, that we shall send her flowers for her strong will.

      Thank you Biko, for restoring a mother’s hope❣️

      May she find the strength, that started with one rose.

      1. Those are such heartwarming words Bumble Bee.
        Yes Gordon after you win this fight give us your name, your mama’s name and her address.
        Open your drapes and choose life.

    2. So when I read this article tears hang on my eyes but Wesh your post made them roll all the way down my face.
      If it were possible I would love to meet this young man and share with him how living with a mom who has a brain tumor is like and knowing that we have no control over tomorrow except waking up and putting our best foot forward for the sick for the healthy and for the living. Thank you Wesh. Always choose life. Please Gordon I beg you to continually choose life. Mom loves you and so do we.

  5. What a read! Wow, wasn’t Gordon frank, even if not so funny or witty! He has hit the nail on the head. Fear is what is holding him back from fighting and I pray he conquers his fear and fight this with all he’s got! After all, he has got absolutely nothing to loose. Thank you Biko for doing this, even if it’s just for Gordon’s mom! It is enough! And I agree with Gordon, Biko, you are deep! Cheers!

  6. I hope he chooses life. Please do check up on him again… I feel like his mum placed the burden of ensuring he chooses life on you

  7. Aaaaw!!
    I also pray that he chooses life. Coming out of depression after so many months, I can say living is worth it, though it doesn’t seem like it when living becomes a tedious chore.
    But waking up one morning and for the first time in months noticing the sun shine, is something everyone deserves.

  8. I hope he chooses life too…but I also understand his pain, fear and need not to cause his mother pain..though whichever way it goes his mother is already in pain.

  9. Intriguing,witty and a bit sad but i believe from the last manly talk he’s thought otherwise, as Tori Kely says ” Just fight a little longer my friend, it’s all worth it in the end” and she says again that ” Don’t let the fear make you feel that you can’t fight this on your own”…Pick up the pieces of your life and put something together, this battle have been worn. Dedication- Lecrae- I’ll find you ft Tori Kelly.

  10. Person next to me at this staff meeting: Are you okay?
    Me: *Nods* Of course, why?
    Person: You look like you’re crying or about to cry.
    Me: I’m not crying. YOU’RE crying! Leave me alone!

    Just another typical Tuesday.

    Hey Gordon, if you’re reading this comment just know two things: 1) Jesus loves you so very very (I don’t know how many verys but it’s a lot) much, and 2) There’s at least 1 person out here praying for you.

    In other news, Biko, how’s Kim?

    1. My immediate thought was, what can I do? Then I remembered, PRAYER. Prayer moves mountains. I pray that this mountain is moved for Gordon, however God chooses to move it.

  11. I choose life!!

    I hope Gordon chooses life,,, His name reminds me of the Sunday cartoon Called Flash Gordon, Flash never gave up…

    Gordon chose life man, you have a lot to live for. This story could not come at a better time.. going through some things in life and I also choose life.

  12. Biko, I think you should do a follow-up story. You can’t leave us hanging. I hope he chooses life.

    I love your articles. They are deep and insightful. You are a brilliant writer!!

  13. Deep. Very deep. This story has reminded me of a movie called Irreplaceable you; so much in common with the story line just that the main subject is called Abi. I pray that this young man chooses life.

  14. “I hope that you remember to remember that sometimes the big transformations start with simple things.”

    “Like what?”

    “Like opening your window. You don’t know what else will come in. Let life in.”

    Thank you for this Biko.

  15. Gordon, please give life a chance and let God’s will be done in your life. Prayer for strength to to go the treatment. You are blessed to have such a loving and caring mother.

  16. I know “Gordon” is reading the article and the comments.

    Kindly choose life coz you have so much to live for and nothing to die for. Guys in stage 3 are winning, you’re only stage one and you’re very young. You’ll win but if only you try.

  17. “What about your kids?” he eventually asks, filling this dead air between us with a voice.

    “My kids can bury me. I shouldn’t be made to bury them,” I say. “Nobody should be made to bury their own children.”…hope he chooses life

  18. Gordon, if you are reading this, please choose life. Fight for life. And if not for anyone else, do it for your mum. Choose life. In my prayers.

  19. Awww…I’m rooting for you Gordon…choose life.
    Cancer can be beaten with an early prognosis. Yours is an early prognosis…it was caught at this time because God doesn’t want you to go home yet, and you actively have to resist death. Stage 1 cancer can be treated..the cancer at this stage hasn’t metastized.
    Fight at least for your mum because grief is horrendous and I understand that when a mum loses her son, that grief is like no other.
    I think everyone should choose life, and speak life.
    “Death and life are in the power of the tongue.”
    We are just not human beings having a spiritual experience, we are spiritual beings having a human experience. As long as we are alive, God’s gift to us is earth, and what use is it to be on earth for 25 years then enter into eternity. It’s better to stay here, hold out as long as you can because the next world is a forever world, it’s make the impact you were meant to make then exist the earth when you’re an old frail patriarch surrounded by your children and great-great grandchildren…not now as a young sapling, pretty please not now.

    1. Well said Achieng… we are spiritual beings having human experience,

      were’re rooting for you Gordon.. you can beat Cancer…

  20. Please choose life Gordon. Don’t let death take you that easily. Choose to fight. You will likely come out of it victorious and be even more appreciative of life after.
    I have just prayed for you. Hugs.

  21. When I got the email notification I was tempted to comment “first” but read the part where the mother struggled with standing up n thought otherwise… Gordon if you are reading this I hope you choose life for your moms sake, i can barely stand the site of my mum in a sad mood, anytime she cries, even out of joy, i find myself crying as well. I know non of us in this forum can comprehend what you are going through but it’s better to fight n loose than loose without a fight.

  22. I pray that this young man will be set free from the fear that has paralyzed his will to live. I pray that he starts to have hope, opens a window and chooses life.

  23. How did you walk us through a myriad of emotions?
    Great Great article this one.
    It has many hard truths, a lot of emotions we can all resonate with.

    Choose life, in everything.

    Thank you Biko!

  24. …….”sometimes the big transformations start with simple things.” Fight the Cancer, Gordon…… if not for you for your mum, who would go to such lengths for you to stay with her…..

  25. Biko, there’s a solution by Google called G Suite, you should try it. You’ll never forget to respond to emails, because you can snooze them and they’ll reappear at the exact time you set them to appear, and they’ll be at the very top so you can respond to them. That said, it was noble of you to visit Gordon for his mother’s sake. Mothers are special. When I think of death, I only worry about how it would affect my mother, and for that I pray she never has to bury me. Gordon, choose life.

  26. Gordon,

    Man is of many thunders-(direct translation).

    Fight this,

    and when you are old and gray you will relish the fight.

  27. Fighting is harder than giving up. But good things, the best things, were always harder. Gordon, may you find God an ever present source of help.

  28. Cancer is the worst. I remember when my dad was diagnosed with cancer…had a lump on his neck then bomb he has cancer. Those were the worst months of my life. Here is the thing, it got to a point I couldn’t visit him at the hospital because…Kenyatta Hospital… and boy did NHIF come through because insurance is a rumour at our home. He pulled through though. What was amazing was that he still went to work, so this week he will be at the hospital the next week he will be at work, because we needed the money.
    So the young guy shouldn’t give up…it’s still in the early stages, he will pull through. I look at my dad nowadays and I am like –wow, he had cancer, he is still here with us, all is hair is back, he has even gained weight…it has now been 8 years.
    Please go get chemo…

  29. Gordon, You were given this life because you are strong enough to live it. Choose life. There is hope! We are rooting for you.

    “You live like a pig,” I tell him.

    He laughs. “Thanks.”

    This cracked me up a good one.

  30. Biko your such a great guy every time I drop by on your site I leave inspired and with new energy. God bless you always and may your pen never run dry.

  31. Gordon,
    I was 23 years, in campus and thought my world had ended when I thought I was pregnant, then i got sick, ectopic pregnancy, while at hospital that’s when they found it,on my left ovary…..

    I turned 25 years January of this year, i did it for my mom and my sisters at first, then somewhere down the line i realized that I wanted to LIVE…

    It does get better the minute you WILL it to…

    1. Keep the candle burning, your story is inspiration to me and many more i am sure. different pains they may be but we all suffer still.

    2. Wangeci, you kept hope alive and it kept live. And I’m happy I came and met you.twice. Ich hab dich lieb. From up here.

  32. Tears as usual, thanks Biko, i needed to sob. The young man who has been diagnosed with cancer, i wish i could meet you, and tell you nothing is easy, we fight in this life for everything, please fight the cancer, you will win, please, please fight on

  33. I hope you choose life Gordon. Cried through this, because of your mom. Because, I will never get over my mom standing by the grave side while they buried my one month shy on 20 years brother. Do it , even if not for you, for your mom

  34. A friends brother died in july this year of stomach cancer. they knew in january what was ailing him after doing an endoscopy. From August last year he was being treated for hyplori……doctor after doctor nobody thought of suggesting an endoscopy as he continued puking n losing weight so bad! Stage 4 cancer, 2 trips in india where they kept treating him with chemotherapy. he collapsed during his 7th chemo session and died 2 weeks later.

    But he wanted to live and was ready to try everything possible. Gordon, stage one and two are curable. so please start treatment before it gets to stage 3 and 4. As biko says if not for you do it for your mom. Get well soonest!

  35. choose life Gordon. Thank you Biko for going to see him. You might just have changed his mind. I pray you choose life.

  36. As soon as I read the part where Gordon’sum is contacted through his emergency numbers, I stopped and updated my own emergency numbers. I have never had one of those.

    I like Gordon alot. I know a girl who did not die from Stage 4 cancer. So not everyone dies. Some live. Gordon might just be among those who live.

    I hope he reads this.
    I also hope he chooses life.

  37. Absolutely beautiful. Thanks for doing this for him and the mom. I believe he will choose life and that God will grant his choice.

  38. Today I was going to be a read and go visitor but at the end I felt that Gordon needs to know that we are all rooting for him. It’s better to lose after giving it your all rather than let a walkover be declared. Your mom has only you left, your dying will kill her, therefore please choose life. Give your mother 1 more reason to smile.

  39. Dear Gordon,

    I hope you read this and it inspires you to choose life.
    1. Biko thinks you’re good looking which means you really are because you don’t have a forehead. I’d love to meet you and gauge the magnitude of these good looks.

    2. We just buried an eleven year old pretty girl called Nana Asante, daughter to my teacher and she fought cancer since she was two years old. Please fight.

    3.Nine years ago when your mum drove all the way to your school to finally have a shoulder she could cry properly on, don’t you think she was hoping she’d have that shoulder till the end of her time? Please fight .

    4. Finally, please watch these two girly movies: Me Before You and The Fault in our stars. I am sure you will love the happy socks and An Imperial Affliction.

    5. Do you want to meet up? I mean I do want to meet up. I haven’t seen the years you have but I think I’d love to hear the experience and especially see that long stare that you gave Biko.



  40. I hope you read this,Gordon. And I hope-pray- that you choose life. You need to fight! I don’t even know you,and am crying for you. You need to fight,to choose life.

  41. Life is for the living.. That’s deep Biko! I hope he chooses life. May God be a constant source of help for both Gordon and the mum.

  42. ‘Gordon’, I hope you choose life, not for your “ratchet selfish ass” but at least for your mum. Just as Biko says, “Nobody should be made to bury their own children.” and Nobody should be made to bury their husband and son. If and when death will come, at least you shall not have given yourself so easily to it. FIGHT!!!… LIVE!!

  43. Gordon, you are worried about tomorrow when you have today. Life doesn’t pen out how we want it to be, there are bumps, road blocks and detours but all in all we don’t quit. I hope you are not a quitter because your mother is a fighter.

  44. Thanks Biko for telling this beautiful story. I am positive he will choose life and fight for this monster hit close to home.

  45. Dear Gordon,
    Please, please open the window,
    take a deep breath..choose life.
    Your mama loves you immensely. I can only imagine how scared you are but just know that your mum is your rock. Fight with all your might, for her.
    Ever heard of cancer survivors? You may be one of will never know if you don’t try.
    I have an aunt who is a cancer survivor, she not only saw her kids grow but is living to see her grand children have their own.
    You too will live to tell the tale

  46. It’s normal to feel afraid but as Biko said,you have nothing to lose by fighting. We, Bikozens, hope you choose life.

  47. Hey Biko,
    You did a great thing visiting Gordon.It may be your act of kindness that eventually convinces him to choose life.As for Gordon and Mama Gordon,am praying for both of you.

    ION: My girlfriends and I went to Alliance this past Friday to watch Breathe Stories.Such beautiful performance but how disappointed we were that we didn’t get to meet the man of the hour (plus his forehead…Eheeem).

  48. A few months ago I had a similar decision to make but under different circumstances. I chose life. I am still choosing life.

    Wake up everyday and choose life all over again. It’s a difficult choice sometimes. But you won’t ever regret seeing another day.

    Choose life.

  49. “My kids can bury me. I shouldn’t be made to bury them,” I say. “Nobody should be made to bury their own children.”
    Biko the statement above means a lot to me. I lost my wife to eclampsia last year and my second born survived. He’s a year and six months now and the two boys are LITERALLY MY LIFE!. I can only imagine the pain Gordon’s mother is going through seeing him surfer.

    Therefore this is my appeal to Gordon. You might be the only reason your mother is holding on to this life and the struggles that come with it, Please allow yourself to be helped, live your life, get a wife and have children , WHEN it works out you’ll both be glad and your story will inspire many more,

    If you have to go down, you might as well go down swinging bro.

    Be the rock you have been since your dad passed.

  50. Gordon may you choose life.. I hope you accept the diagnosis and choose to fight. If not for you for your dear mama..

  51. I think I’m allowed to say that because I have 39 words left of my gay quota this year…this is funny, but I hope Gordon chooses life too.

  52. Gordon I hope you choose life, that you can open the windows and let the sunshine in.That the rays of sunshine will reach your soul and you will opt to live not just exist. It must be so tough to even imagine that there is life after this but there is, and you can conquer but you got to get into the ring. Fight.

  53. This is deep….I hope and pray he ‘let Life in’…
    If he ever gets to read my comment let him know that it’s better to die fighting than otherwise..

    As always #Good_read #Inspiration_galore

  54. Dear Gordon, I pray that you choose life. One day at a time. Little steps. There’s nothing to lose by trying to live a little. I pray that you conquer this.

  55. Had you asked my late uncle I was going to outlive him, he would have laughed soo hard but here I am 9 yrs later. Talk of fighting for life I really fought the misdiagnosis 35kgs lighter, thinning hair, very very fast heartbeats, diarrhoea, vomiting, weak joints, almost disabled, couldn’t stand heat “ata ya gas” loss of breath I mean it was bad. All the time I wished someone put a name to this misery so that I crush it and boy oh boy did I vanish the hyperthyroidism in my system. 4yrs down the line was drug free and 2 more great boys. Now my only worry is how long does these 6packs take to form! Gordon take the challenge heads on

  56. Gordon, the big C word is terrible. But you need to fight, the world is beautiful. You will have more beautiful moments, you will meet new people, you will find something new in you, if only you fight. You need to assert that you can do this. It starts with just telling your mind that you can do it!

  57. Gordon’s story reminded me of my exact sentiments after been diagnosed with cancer.. thinking of how I would be a burden to my family and how I would feel indebted to everyone that helped. Its now almost 2 years after diagnosis and treatment. I look back and think of how much I would have missed had I not agreed to treatment. I chose to fight.

  58. I have cried reading this. Mostly because I am also grieving my father. Anyway, Gordon, in case you read this I want you know one thing; we’re all going to die at some point and some of us will not really have the choice of fighting to live. But at this very moment you have that choice. Your mother loves you and you are all she has. Do it for her. If you die you die (let’s be honest), but at least show her that you tried. I will pray for you and I will pray that your mum will get the chance to have grandchild named after her. I will pray for courage and patience. You and God got this!

  59. Biko,

    Great read as always. i like this life “stories” that you give, they remind me to sometimes open the window and let life in, remind me that am not the only human being dealing with struggles of all manner in life, that am not the only one dealing with loss and its aftermath.
    I do hope that Gordon did choose life too. Whats there to loose after all.

  60. Gordon may the Lord give you strength to fight. For the Spirit of God has made you, and the breath of the Almighty gives you life. Job 33:4
    God Bless you Bikozulu

  61. Hey Gordon screen ya simu yangu inanisumbua but I will tell you one thing I have learned at my 21 yes of age, strong soldiers don’t quit.. Your mama is still fighting …

  62. I pray he chooses to live.I lost my mum to breast cancer ten years ago, immediately we got the diagnosis she stopped living,she stopped laughing ,she became a shell of herself and fell into depression .As we were growing up she used to say she if she got cancer she would die she was so much afraid of cancer ,she didn’t fight it at we lost her months later.

  63. Mothers are special. Hope that he gives life a try if not for himself, then for his Mother. Thanks Biko for showing up!

  64. Choose life Gordon. Choose life. Don’t let cancer win without having to fight it with everything you’ve got. As long as you’re alive, you’ve got a chance. Do your part and allow God to do the rest. Much, much love.

  65. Thank you Biko. I lost my Dad last year and I miss him terribly. It’s almost visceral. And the way you speak about your own grief, and here about Gordon’s, well, I feel like you cute open and exposes how it feels to lose a dearly loved parent. Thank you for sharing this gift with us. I’m not alone. We are not alone. And I hope Gordon chooses life too. It’s worth it it in the end.

  66. Deep as always. I pray he chooses life. Please, pretty please, respond to me message as well…. Mine was a facebook post asking you to reach out to my colleague who has an amazing story to tell. I can resend it if need be.

  67. Gordon,
    Some of us are fighting battles that only our silent tears can explain. This piece really bleeds. Great gesture biko you took to visit with Gordon. You are more Christian than I am. I will pray for you to choose life. Baraka

  68. Gordon:

    Katy Perry
    [Verse 1]
    Do you ever feel like a plastic bag
    Drifting through the wind wanting to start again?
    Do you ever feel, feel so paper-thin
    Like a house of cards one blow from caving in?
    Do you ever feel already buried deep?
    Six feet under screams, but no one seems to hear a thing
    Do you know that there’s still a chance for you?
    ‘Cause there’s a spark in you

    You just gotta ignite the light
    And let it shine
    Just own the night
    Like the Fourth of July

    ‘Cause baby, you’re a firework
    C’mon, show ’em what you’re worth
    Make ’em go, “Aah, aah, aah”
    As you shoot across the sky-y-y
    Baby, you’re a firework
    C’mon, let your colors burst
    Make ’em go, “Aah, aah, aah”
    You’re gonna leave them all in awe, awe, awe

    [Verse 2]
    You don’t have to feel like a waste of space
    You’re original, cannot be replaced
    If you only knew what the future holds
    After a hurricane comes a rainbow
    Maybe a reason why all the doors are closed
    So you can open one that leads you to the perfect road
    Like a lightning bolt, your heart will blow
    And when it’s time, you’ll know

    You just gotta ignite the light
    And let it shine
    Just own the night
    Like the Fourth of July

    ‘Cause baby, you’re a firework
    C’mon, show ’em what you’re worth
    Make ’em go, “Aah, aah, aah”
    As you shoot across the sky-y-y
    Baby, you’re a firework
    C’mon, let your colors burst
    Make ’em go, “Aah, aah, aah”
    You’re gonna leave them all in awe, awe, awe

    Boom, boom, boom
    Even brighter than the moon, moon, moon
    It’s always been inside of you, you, you
    And now it’s time to let it through

    ‘Cause baby, you’re a firework
    C’mon, show ’em what you’re worth
    Make ’em go, “Aah, aah, aah”
    As you shoot across the sky-y-y
    Baby, you’re a firework
    C’mon, let your colors burst
    Make ’em go, “Aah, aah, aah”
    You’re gonna leave them all in awe, awe, awe

    Boom, boom, boom
    Even brighter than the moon, moon, moon
    Boom, boom, boom
    Even brighter than the moon, moon, moon

  69. He shrugs. “I’m scared,” he whispers. “That’s the truth.”

    “Are you scared to fight and lose?”

    “I’m scared to die,” he says.

    This broke me….

    Last week I buried my friend who lost a very brave battle with breast cancer. She was so sunny and sweet even in her sickest moment but In a way she won the battle.. Cancer may have taken her body but not her spirit.

    I remember one of our last conversations she told me that she sure that she would beat the illness. She had such faith and encouraged all those around her.

    I hope Gordon fights this illness I hope some cancer survivors can reach out and help him choose life.

  70. “Sometimes the big transformations start with simple things. Like opening your window. You don’t know what else will come in. Let life in.”

  71. Hi Gordon, if you are reading this, please know that I am praying for you. I pray God comes through for you like He did for me. I pray He heals both your body and soul. He will, I promise.
    Also, if you need a chat buddy during this period , i would gladly be one. Baraka.

  72. I have buried three people two to cancer. Choose life and God will make a way. This life has obstacles and the only way to manoeuvre your way is to surround yourself with people who care about you and your mom does. When my mother was unwell, I can count on one hand the people who extended themselves to support me and until today those are the people I include in my prayers. Be blessed Gordon and your mommy.

  73. WOOW!
    Biko, don’t worry.. I have a forehead too. When I was younger, it was so prominent, I was called, “ATIENO-HEADMASTER”.
    Gordon, you did not apply to be born; Now that you are here and the fact that you are still alive, means that God is not done with you yet.
    I know that “C” is an expensive mountain to climb but I also know that Kenyans are kind and generous when it comes to the youth being ill.
    Gordon, think of your mother; Think that she’s been there for you, since your dad passed on, 10 years ago; She could have re-married by now, if she wasn’t thinking of you.
    Think also, that we serve a Miracle Working God. Think that God did not create you, to die a bachelor. Think that some people are diagnosed at “End-stage” . Think, why God allowed your case to be diagnosed early enough, when it can easily be treated.
    “PRAYER WARRIORS ” in the house, lets stand in the GAP for GORDON.
    (EPHESIANS 3;20)

  74. Dear Gordon,

    Let me write you a letter. From an agemate to another. A lot has been said and I will try not repeat. First, I can imagine where you are coming from matters burden. I know the feeling of inadequacy that comes with watching people, especially a mother do so much. The feeling of burden. I cam the thoughts of relief it would be for her not to go through such lengths. Even if she wants.

    I know how deep it can get when you feel like you owe people anything leave alone your life. I know how hateful one can feel for the pity party. I hate the harambees that will have to be done.

    There something though I must applaud you for; honesty. You coming out to point blank to refuse medication. To look your mum in the eye and still maintain your position. That kind of honesty and resolve requires strength. A kind of strength we of your age gap are missing. So whatever you do, don’t let quality go down to waste.

    Medication. There days you wake up feeling like shit. You have many of those. But you come across something funny. And laugh out loud. I guess you have a hearty laughter. And you love good jokes. Because you laughed so hard at Biko’s imagery of that dude with a pouch/clutch bag such that you had to share with your mum. She had to find him to see you laugh again. So when that time comes, roam these streets of the internet and find yourself a meme or pun and laugh at how silly and corny some are. Enjoy that moment. Because such moments give you strength to face the next.

    I must say your mum is ready to put in the effort. For you G.

    I could sign this as the Grandma’s boy but I would sound spoilt. Which we all know I am. Not.

  75. Choose life, Gordon, I’m praying for you. Recieve courage and Grace to choose life. Bless you Biko for writing about Gordon. We are all standing with you Gordon, however you choose. Sending love and light. ❤️

  76. Gordon please choose life. Biko and all of us reading your story are praying for you,your mother is praying for you make your dad proud of you by choosing life he is watching you from above. Both my mum and dad went to be with the Lord but i am still glad to count my blessings because God has been faithful to me and my 4 siblings. It’s darkest just before dawn but the sun will still shine.

  77. He has the best mom in the world who figured you would influence him to choose life. Thank you on her behalf for showing up albeit 6 months later.

  78. This one deep for sure…all the way from Texas rooting for this kid to choose life.
    Biko – may God bless you and your family. We need more humanity on this earth

  79. The tongue carries with it life and death. Biko, you spoke life into Gordon’s situation and I sincerely hope he chooses that path albeit not an easy one. Go Gordon! Go for life!

  80. By allowing you into his world,his fear,Gordon has already chosen life. Secondly he let you into his bedroom where he lives like a pig, his private space, that’s a second step to choosing life. He is unwell and could have very easily said bye at his bedroom door,instead he walked you to the main door. Gordon took three steps already. actually four, because he allowed you to draw his curtains. I am waiting for the sequel to this story, a positive one.

  81. 2 things:
    Gordon since you have made to Bikozen don’t leave the gang, there will be a ton of us praying for you besides mom.
    Biko am pleasantly shocked at the wide age range of Bikozens that read your writing. Keep it up.
    I need to unpack your peeling back emotions and allowing them to be examined in a non-threatening way. I truly wish you could meet all my family and friends at their points of need (not like God but like a doc with a soft pointed scalpel) and help them gently face their fears small and big. And yes bikozenship is a thing now.

  82. Gordon, its almost unfair for you to give up and yet its stage 1. The cancer hasn’t spread which means the treatment outcome will be good.
    Unataka rib yako aolewe Na nani Sasa?

  83. Thanks Biko for going to see Gordon. Did mom call you after her errands at Jackson. You suck me deeply into your stories. Why do they make Chemestry, Physics, Biology and other schools so dull and boring. If they were as captivating as your stories, I would have read all day and all night. Ama this is what chopis in Bush and starehe felt reading any book……

    Choose life Gordon. Stage 1 is very curable and choosing the opposite will break your moms heart and you are the only one she has..

  84. Thank you for sharing your gift of writing with humanity. Keep it up! This is one of the saddest stories I’ve had a chance to read lately. I even shed a tear.
    Having lost my parents i totally relate to most emotions articulated in the story.

    More life to Gordon, you are still alive Gordon….F I G H T ! ! !

  85. Please choose life, Gordon.
    I had a very awful year last year. I was not looking forward to waking up, going to work or church or shags to visit the folks and my siblings. Almost spilled over to this year but 31st Dec my cousin dragged my ass to church and as I prayed during the countdown I realised it is always better to choose life. The bright side of life. The people who make you happy. Choose that. Choose positive energy. Bless up Gordon. Let life in

  86. This is deep! I know the stigma associated with cancer. I first felt the helplessness 23 years ago when i was a form two boy and my mother was diagnosed. Today she’s healthy and full of life even after another bout of cancer in 2012, she’s fought it and i can tell Gordon that there’s power in fighting and believing.
    Sometimes it has been tough doing the tests and the early morning queues at Kenyatta but when the strength resumes after the chemo sessions, life gets happy again and we all celebrate….
    She’s a true testimony brah!

  87. Trust me, you don’t want to die at 25ish…there’s so much to live for, your mum is top on the list then there’s saying no to parties till 3am at 35yrs because your whole body will be aching the next day. My aunt refused treatment, she had ovarian cancer and lost the fight without fighting at all. I know you’re young but try listening to Dolly Parton’s song Try for your mum.

  88. Gordon build long and lasting friendships because they go a long way in this life. Genuine and loyal friends who care for you are an extension of your family. Your mom is your rock, cherish her. And most importantly choose life.

  89. Oh Gordon! I hope you choose to have the treatment. I am probably saying this because I have a 12 year old son and if he was 25 I would want him to choose life? If it is Stage 1 you have a very good fighting chance! Don’t give up man!

    Biko, please get back to us and tell us he begun treatment…Okay Chocolate man?

    And I have been meaning to ask (True story), how is Kim? At least we caught up with Tamms recently. And how is their mum? Are you treating her well?

  90. Thank you Biko for always helping people see the other side of life while sharing out the stories people never easily open up.Bless God for you.And for Gordon just so he knows , no situation is permanent.I know of a God who heals and one never feels like he owes him his or her life but just out of that love he showed to us on the cross , showed to us that he took a way the pain and healed completely, is the enough reason why we live for him.Not because he expects that of us but from a grateful heart we pour our lives for him.I was there in his position with a disease that doctors termed incurable but he healed me of my diseases and now I have life and life in abundance, glory to his Name!Look to Jesus, Gordon and live.Am convicted beyond doubt when you hold this to your heart, you are going to be a testimony and an icon to other people , that Jesus did it again!

  91. Biko, say hi to Kim with the nice eyes!

    Gordon, please fight. Your story has touched our hearts and we’re rooting for you.

  92. Gordon sounds like someone I will want to have as a friend…He is so real and open.He would make a good small bro friend. Gordon ,if you get to read this, just know that stage 1 cancer is easy to handle and curable. Don’t let fear make you miss on being an inspiration to someone else because you will win this and people will use your experience to have hope. Kill the negative voices that have just shown you of people who didn’t make it,look for the ones where people fully recovered for they are there only that they are never highlighted for our media covers worse case scenario mostly…Bill,asante,I know your visit wasn’t in vain.Keep in touch with them.

  93. Gordon, please don’t give up. Just try to keep it together – the fear is very normal, it’s part of how we process things we don’t want to accept. I was diagnosed at stage 3, and 7 years later I can tell you that life did get challenging – the aches and pains, body went to shit, still in debt from all the expenses, lost so many friends along the way ’cause I got too weird and needy. However, I seem to enjoy these hard days way more that I did the better ones, didn’t know how good I had it then. The new awareness of your own mortality can be kinda liberating.

  94. Wow, deep. This made me cry. May he find peace and joy, and I hope he knows just how much his mother loves him. Thanks for visiting him Biko, you are a great man. And thanks for a great read.

  95. I hope he chooses life too, there’s so much to live for even for those whose lives seem bleak. God has a plan for all of us.

  96. I hope Gordon chooses life!
    My Mum at 72years fought so hard to fight it,I pray that Gordon chooses to fight it!

  97. I pray that Gordon chooses life….
    Have some hope. You can make it…..You will make it…..
    It is not over yet, fight my dear, fight……….

  98. Biko kindly give us Gordon and his mom’s address so that we can all show up there and convince him to give it a try.To try the treatment,,,sorry because i know its hard on him but may our Lord give him His strength from above.Gordon you will be in my prayers

  99. Eh boss, you don’t pull those damn punches, do you? This particular article(and the person it speaks about) is like a loud shout from creation. And it speaks of life. I hope you choose to fight Gordon…for your mom yes, but for yourself too….and us. I will be rooting for your unfunny self all the way. And thanks for letting Biko share your story…and opening the window too.

  100. Thank you Biko for speaking life into that young man, sometimes all we need is someone with a different perspective to tell us we can do it…..

  101. I always dread reading Biko’s articles. The way he loops me in with all the nitty gritty details, and humour and odd descriptions…and I keep thinking…he’s just about to break my heart…. And then boom!!!

    We love you, Gordon. Give it a shot. Stage 1 is early enough. You will see your 67th birthday, your two babies plus your beautiful future wife (hopefully a Nurse coz you sound quite stubborn and need someone to get you to follow your doctor’s instructions). Take the leap of faith.

  102. “I hope that when you remember this conversation,” I tell him, “I hope that you remember to remember that sometimes the big transformations start with simple things.”

    “Like what?”

    “Like opening your window. You don’t know what else will come in. Let life in.”

    “You are deep,” he says. “Thanks for doing this.”

    May life win

  103. Gordon, the big C really is a female dog. This is from somebody at the trenches and one thing that keeps me fighting is my loved ones. Gordon do it for your mum you will take her down with your refusal for treatment than if you went through the horrendous side effects. Honestly Gordon and am coming from a place of a lot of compassion and empathy ,I will tell you ,it really is selfish to only think about yourself at this time.You are one person I would love to meet . Chose life!

  104. This is deeply emotional. I strongly believe that once he read this, he will have another perspective of life; fighting rather than giving up. My prayer that he chooses life.

  105. And I remain confident of this that you shall see the goodness of God in the land of the living, Gordon you are Gods child and you are loved and because God could not possibly be everywhere He created Mothers who when you are ill and you cough he will pass you water at 2am and pamper you to sleep even when you are 40yrs,mums are God sent and am so certain that your mum will walk with you through all this, and Biko will, and we will also if only you allow us will stop by to play PS even if we are bad at it,go for ice cream or a movie and slowly you will realize how letting life in feels so great.. You can do this Gordon like a champ I promise

  106. Thanks Biko for sharing such stories. You uplift many out here.. Even without ever meeting us. I’m around the same age as Gordon and many are times we think that we have all the problems in the world. Until you read such stories and realize you are doing fine.

    I hope and pray that Gordon chooses life.
    I could relate to this because I’m around the same age as Gordon.

    Ps: If I ever get to meet you last, I’ll ask about Kim,hahaha.

  107. I hope that you remember to remember that sometimes the big transformations start with simple things.”

    “Like what?”

    “Like opening your window. You don’t know what else will come in. Let life in.”

    Gordon, Choose Life

    1. Dear Gordon,

      Please choose life. Nobody was born to be the ultimate survivor, we are all wired in such a way that we need each other, we help each other up, we support each other, and it is okay. That is the beauty of relationships and how exactly how God saw it fit for our existence. I hope and pray that for that beautiful woman, full of life that you call mum, for Biko and Kim, 🙂 and for the rest of us who don’t know you but have such a connection to you through Biko, that you choose to fight, choose to live and come and tell about your journey and victory.
      Hugs to you and mom, and Biko, thanks for making me cry in office. Gordon, Choose to live, and you will win.

  108. stage 1 have a fighting chance-take it!!!!
    choose life…….but choose it for yourself,not for your mum.
    She is a hero..but every one deserves life for themselves

  109. Gordon,
    you can fight this. you need not worry what people will say, how they stare at you. your focus is to get well and live to bury your mum as the only son. all those commenting here are all behind you we want you to fight your fear and take the first action by seeking medical attention, you will get well and tell yourself so. open your windows to breathe fresh air and receive sunshine it is life. please choose life.

  110. Gordon, you were born for a purpose and you were meant to fulfill that purpose here and now..I understand your fear, I empathize.I feel you. But remember the greatest tragedy in life is to die without fulfilling your purpose. So please overcome that fear, give life a chance.
    There is Hope for everyone who is alive.
    Choose life

  111. Choose life Gordon..look and live!!! just take the first step and embrace help..for you, for your mum..for us. you are in my prayers

  112. Gordon choose life…also know that during hard times God sends you angels to help and support you, people who will not say or even think that you owe them your life…starting with your amazing mom. Praying for you.

  113. Gordon, please choose life….none of us know when we will leave this world. Take each day as a gift from God…..fight with all you have. You have a strong and lovely mum. Choose life. I am praying for you.

  114. ​I almost took my own life last year. I was 33 and the nincompoop that I was couldn’t get a job 8 years after graduation​. And I​ dared to believe that ​my continued existence was not in the best interest of ​my widowed mother and ​my then four children (​four different mother​s​​ at that​). Drafting ​my suicide note, ​I happened to​ wonder what it would ​be like if they​ (my prospective employers)​ finally called​ me​ ​for that job but could reach me because I was ​safely tucked away, ​six feet under.

    And call they did, two months later, and now things are looking up.
    I get to proudly pay for my mum’s m-kopa solar​ powered TV​. I get to buy my daughter a skipping rope. ​And my son one of those remote controlled toy cars I saw for the first time on Home Alone ​back in the day. ​​

    I feel like super dad​ and I really like it​.​ It is one of the many amazing experiences I would never have had had I thrown in the towel back in the day.

    ​That said, my wife is now HIV positive. We suspect it happened when we went our separate ways in May 2015. We had planned to first visit the VCT centre when we reconciled late last year but we somehow ended up not doing so. We learned of her new status on her first ANC clinic at the end of her second trimester. In retrospect, I went on to have another baby with someone else; she went on to contract the virus.​ ​We ​had ​both brought baggage with us.

    I like it when she tells me that the cure for the AIDS virus could be finally discovered in 2019. She also plans to go to Alleluia Ministries International soon. She believes pastor Alph Lukau can help us fix it all. We watch him on YouTube a lot. I am on PrEP and my face is now all pimply. Our 3 weeks old daughter has had to be given some medication since day one. ​

    ​We choose to cancel the burial​ and​​ live​ instead​. ​ We strongly believe that we can help make the lives of a handful of other mortals better by staying alive. ​​So can anyone.

    ​​I see you when you get there.

  115. I’m still stuck at, ” met a girl at some event at Rotary Club that he didn’t even want to attend in the first place ….”

  116. Dear Gordon, life is precious to live. I pray you choose life. You might think you don’t want to be a burden but you don’t really that you are cutting your mother into pieces. Read this and choose life.

  117. Reading this has made me realize that we all need a support system at a certain point in our lives. That a mother is the only human being who will cross that river with the crocodiles for her children. And that when we feel defeated, there’s always someone who will try to come to our rescue, maybe it’s Biko, maybe it’s you. That we should choose life at all times because people whom you don’t even know care and love you and want the best for you. I hope that Gordon chooses life.

  118. Reading this has made me realize that we all need a support system at a certain point in our lives. That a mother is the only human being who will cross that river with the crocodiles for her children. And that when we feel defeated, there’s always someone who will try to come to our rescue, maybe it’s Biko, maybe it’s you. That we should choose life at all times because people whom you don’t even know care and love you and want the best for you. I hope that Gordon chooses life.

  119. Gordon should you choose to read this please please know that i am praying for you for everything; for the will to fight, for the strength that will be needed, for the mental fortitude to go through the treatment, for positivity because that will help with the recovery process and for peace, peace that surpasses all understanding. If you find the time please listen to Jonathan McReynolds’ God Is Good and Travis Greene’s Made A Way

    Biko thank you for taking time off your loaded schedule to bring some sunshine into this young man’s life, may God continue to sustain the heart in you to reach out to those who need it.

    1. Amen to your prayer for Gordon. I pray with you.

      Travis Greene is my favorite artist…and yes, God will make a way for you Gordon. Also listen to another of Travis, ‘Be Still’. You are healed.

  120. Biko did the KQ flight go with todays script.. I have reloaded this page enough times thinking i missed the email alert !!!!
    See my life.. people who live for Tuesdays doze of biko
    Now we cant function.

  121. I have a very special friend who was undergoing some illness….i had to tell her that sometime you have to be strong for the people who care most about you ,,it tears them apart to see you giving up..I am praying for you,,,Choose Life my friend

  122. I have sickle cell anemia,worse part of it is that it has no cure,and when crisis hit you wish you were dead,I have been in this bondage for 25 years now,I didnt choose life it chose me,even though there are sometimes I wish I was dead to escape the pain,there are few better days but many of them worse,but I gota live for my family,you have cancer just be glad it has a cure and you’ll live healthy again,unlike me who has to carry this burden until the day it kills me.,because I dont have a choice,but you do#ChoseLife

  123. Aaaaaih Biko!!!kwani how hard has it been to find Toni?if anyone of you knows any quick leads to where she might be,give the poor guy so he updates us.Biko we(well, I )look stranded.tutaambia nini watu??

  124. Gordon, thank God that your cancer is at stage 1. Fight on, do it for your mother who loves you so much and do it because the world needs you. May God give you the grace to go through the treatment. Out there, you will meet other courageous fighters who will encourage you and urge you on. Go for it young man. Biko you are amazing.

  125. “I didn’t do it for your ratchet selfish ass,” hahaha “I did it for your Mama” le gang… I raise a glass to you for choosing life in advance.
    Chokolata Man THANKS LOADS for listening to Gordon…

    Mama shout out

  126. Gordon, please choose life. My family has 2 survivors of that challenge. both diagnosed in Stage 1 like you. So, you can fight it and win it. There’s a reason why God wanted it diagnosed in stage 1 and not 4. For your sake and your mum’s, seek treatment.

    Biko, what a moving story. Gordon’s mum has gone through major tests in life from losing her love and now her only son is unwell and reluctant to seek treatment. May God’s grace be upon her.

  127. You are truly deep…my mum was diagnosed at stage 2 and she’s still fighting…I really do hope Gordon chooses life..

  128. My mum passed on, ten years back. I remember the day after the burial. I woke up at around 10.00. my aunties were in the sitting room. The sun was shining outside. It could have been a beautiful day, cheerful ….but all I felt was nothing. It was empty, I was empty. Blank. Void of all emotion. I just stared….at nothing, at her grave, and I saw nothing, felt nothing. She had battled breast cancer.

    For almost all my 20s and late teens, she was sick. From radio to chemo to hair loss, to no appetite, blackening of nails and feet, to nausea, to the US for treatment, remission, back again, name it. But…

    She never gave up, she did what the doctors asked. She took her medication. Changed her diet, ate even when the food was tasteless, tried all manner of experimental drugs, she cooperated, she kept hope alive. She truly believed that God would heal her. She was hopeful. And bore her pain with grace.

    And she graced us with more than 10 years of her love, care, beauty and smile. More than ten years after her first diagnosis. She lived long enough to hold her first grandchild in her arms -they share a birthday by the way- she made the selfless decision to live. For herself and for us too. For this, We are eternally greatful to her for the sacrifice and purity of love.

    Gordon,thank God for the early diagnosis. first stage cancer is curable.

    I pray and hope that you chose life. Its beautiful. Your mother will cherish that. She will love that. Every moment with her is worth it. And no, you are not a burden. You are her son. And she your mother.

    Thank you Biko for this platform. For many reasons. Some you may not even fathom.

  129. One day I would love to hear our story Gordon, a story of victory, that you fought and won won for you, for your mom, and for these strangers here who are cheering you on!!

  130. I had Quit Biko November 2017 because, well, the stories were morbid and I felt helpless amidst all that pain (Been reading only the most trending stories and not clicking on the ‘You will also like’ link). This story is sad but hope inspiring. I am back to the subscription list.

  131. “I don’t feel sick. Not physically. I feel sick emotionally. I want this disease to kill my spirit before it kills my body. That way I can die faster,”
    Gordon, this cancer has nothing on you, you’ll defeat it.

  132. Biko you are great.that golden heart for mama.Gordon you felt mama”s weakness when she hugged you.give her that smile the prayers for you

  133. Dearest Gordon,
    i have a little boy,2 months old….and i cant imagine life without him. He is a delight,just the way you are to your mom. Please choose life…for that is God’s will and promise,that we may have life and have it in abundance. Fungua dirisha.

  134. Fight Gordon. Fight so that someone else may find hope and live like you lived. You are not alone in the ring. There is your mom, the nincompoop with a forehead (plus The Gang) and your resilience

  135. Dear Gordon, i hope you get to read this comment. If you do, please follow the link here and listen to that word

    i pray that you choose life.

  136. This gave me all the feels! Rooting for Gordon. I hope you choose to fight, because fighting gives you a fighting chance. Biko, thanks for doing this for Gordon and his mum. I love the way you broke it down for him, “sometimes big transformations start with simple things”. Oftentimes things can seem insurmountable but when you break it down into simple steps the insurmountable seeming gets done. You gave him a starting point, instead of looking at the end game (death) you showed him a way of starting to look at the alternative (life). Please write a follow up on this story some day, maybe in a year, let us know what happens with Gordon.

  137. I don’t have cancer, but like Gordon, death is very welcome. This coming year I turn 40, I want to turn 40 but not to live it. Happy holidays to the living.