That afternoon, Rose stood on top of the escarpment, close to Aureus Lodge, in Borana Conservancy.
Chris held up a wine glass, filled with ash from the cremation, and toasted his father with a small speech. “Dad, we may have had our differences over the years, but I am grateful, and thankful, that we were reunited and we were able to spend some precious time together.”
He paused and then continued, “Your life was not always easy, and from early childhood you fought to overcome adversity. I now realise that you only ever did what you thought was best for me, and for all of us. We have been flooded with cards and messages from your friends and colleagues, which have led me to understand how important and influential you were in so many different areas. In farming, you developed sustainable systems to grow crops on marginal tracts of land. You worked on the conservation, preservation and integration of wildlife within the community, and you served on many local committees, including the North Kenya Polo Club and the Mount Kenya Horse Show. You will be remembered for all the great work you did, and you will be sorely missed.”
He raised his glass to the sky and then emptied it out over the escarpment. The ashes danced and swirled as they were caught by the gentle breeze.
Heather was next. In a strained voice, with tears running down her cheeks, she said, “Oh, Dad, I’ll miss you so much. I wish I could have spent more time with you this year, but I have my family in the UK, and the girls are growing up so quickly. They loved their visits here and I remember when you taught them to fish and you all ended up in a reservoir. There was so much noise that I was worried someone had drowned. And there were the amazing game drives you took us on with sundowners at the rocks overlooking your beloved Laikipia. I can’t believe you’re gone.”
She stopped and wiped her eyes with her sleeve. “Goodbye, Dad.” She tipped her wine glass of ashes over the edge of the escarpment, turned back to Chris and buried her head in his chest.
He wrapped his arms around her and said in a soothing voice, “It’s OK. It’s good to grieve and not bottle it all up.”
Rose stepped forward and surveyed the open savannah in front of her. She raised her eyes from the far off Mathew’s range to the clear blue sky. A bird circled above her and, as it came closer, she recognised the white undercarriage and the red tail of the augur buzzard. It k’werked at her several times before rising higher into the sky.
“I see you,” she murmured. “You’re free now, my love. No more pain, no more immobility, and no more reliance on other people. You can do, feel and see whatever you want. Watch over and protect us, and when I’m about to do something rash or stupid, please remind me to stop and think. We’ve had over forty wonderful years together, and even when life was hard, it really made us appreciate the good times.”
She looked down at the ground and then back out into the savannah, and said, “I’ll really miss you, especially at breakfast on our patio, when we’d watch the inquisitive red-cheeked cordon-bleu birds land on the stone bird table, under the bottlebrush tree, and peck at whatever offerings Kipto had left them. And what shall I do with all your crossword puzzles? I’m not sure Thabiti will be as interested now you’re not around to help him, and I’ve never really had the patience, or inclination to complete them.”
She paused and smiled to herself. Heather was still wrapped in Chris’s embrace. “Goodbye and safari salama.” She stepped to the edge of the escarpment, raised her glass to the heavens and emptied it into the wind.
The remaining ashes from the cremation were contained in a wooden box. Chris walked further along the escarpment, placed the box on the ground and removed the lid.
Returning to Rose and Heather, he said, “The wind will gradually catch the ashes and bear them away.”
They turned and walked back to the lodge.