A Name So Good

Thou Thou. A name so good it’s repeated twice. A name so good that Word wanted me to delete a repeated word, is the name of my brother. A1 from day one, and an inspiration to many.

Today is his 27th birthday and I know he will be playing, on repeat, his favourite songs: See You Again by Wiz Khalifa and Beautiful Girls by Sean Kingston. And on this day, the 24th January 1994, the world was blessed by the presence of an angel. What you notice about Thou, when you first meet him, is that he has a smile that slowly inches closer and closer to reveal the beauty of his spirit and his kind-natured heart.

I don’t normally talk about my older brother. I don’t why that is, to be honest. Is it because I’m ashamed to reveal a part of myself that is still coming to grips with his diagnosis? Or is it because every time, at the mention of family, his image comes into my mind, with all the near-death experiences and journey he has gone through, while my corresponding teary eyes are stymied to prevent a deluge of emotions? Is it because of how protective I get when people pick on him? Or is it the sympathy that I receive, and do not deserve, at the mention of his diagnosis? Or is it a combination of all the above?

Thou has an intellectual disability, diagnosed epilepsy, schizophrenia and bipolar disorder. I remember the first time when he had a seizure in our family home. I was in the kitchen grabbing a Ribena from the fridge, while my mother was washing the dishes. Thou was drinking water from a cup, and then suddenly, everything slowed down. He violently fell on the kitchen floorboards, and in tandem with this fall, I saw my mother’s face contort and change into a shocked demeanour. It looked like she had all this accumulating stress that was revealed, as if she had reached for and put on a mask of stress that was not present only seconds before. Thou began convulsing rapidly with tonic and clonic movements, and his breathing was irregular and deep, almost as if breathing was a new concept to him. I didn’t know what to do at the moment. I froze and watched. I watched as my brother’s arms and legs were flailing all around, with no intention and no control. I watched as my mother’s tears joined Thou’s saliva that escaped the body’s convulsions, on the kitchen floor-boards- a symbolic joining of mother and son. And I watched too, as my father challenged competitive sprinters, and ran into the kitchen, my mother’s screams superseding the starting gun of the sprint. Thou was not present with us for a full three minutes, while he was laid on his side to prevent the tongue blocking his airway. Slowly, ever so slowly, he regained consciousness, but confusion and a sense of unknown remained. I had never seen a seizure before and didn’t understand why a family member dropped so suddenly without any precipitating factors. From that day on, my family’s life completely changed, as the inchoate stages of Thou’s diagnosis and time spent in medical clinics began.

Living with a sibling with a disability and mental health diagnosis affects family members in different ways. For me, I was guilty of comparing Thou to other friends who had older siblings, who were ‘normal’. They could all get advice about high school, the best restaurants to eat at, and where the latest hangout spot was. I was selfishly thinking about what I was missing out on, that I was not cognizant of the gratitude and love that Thou brings into our family home. He never complains about his medical journey, nor expresses his frustration and anger because things turned out the way it did. He is respectful of others and shows the gentlest of his nature to everyone he meets. For my mother, and other siblings, we have all become extremely protective of Thou. My mother consumed the caretaker role of Thou, and still makes sure that he is routinely adhering to his medications that need to be taken at specific times of the day. I will always remember seeing my mother in an intimate moment of prayer. It was in the early days of Thou’s epilepsy, that one morning, I saw my mother kneeling on the side of her bed praying. With tears running down her dark skin, she whispered and prayed that her son get better and that he not be impeded from life opportunities due to his diagnosis. That was a paragon of a mother’s love that I saw that early morning and a display of how my mother personally dealt with my brother’s condition.

It was this reason that the last time I remember being engulfed by anger, almost in a state of rage, was when the police abruptly knocked on our family home at 4.30am. Thou was having a schizophrenic episode that led to him almost breaking into a neighbour’s house 200m away. Now of course, the neighbours were distraught about a break-in and called the police. The neighbours knew that Thou was harmless, and the police brought him back home, asking us some questions about his diagnosis and mental condition. I was happy to comply and answer any questions, but I wasn’t impressed when a policeman, when leaving, savagely said “next time, why don’t you keep him locked up” Bruh…WHAT! Next time, why don’t you see these hands! (not really)

The unmitigated gall and the audacity to say that to anyone, let alone a black man with a diagnosis of a mental condition, in the midst of a falsified “African Gang crisis”, is just blatantly repugnant. Oh, I was fuming. I wanted to vehemently reply to the policeman, but I was disabled by the amount of anger I felt. The only saving grace is that Thou was not in earshot to hear such disgusting words.

Thou, happiest of birthdays my brother. You have gone through so much, so early in your life. I hope you read this blogpost day and realise that you are loved dearly by your family. I’ll always have your back bro.