Mr. David G. Kamau Courtesy/ Facebook Group image ()

‘Tuesdays with Morrie’ by Mitch Albom, is a shockingly electrifying and enlightening book, which recounts the story of a dying professor and his admirable student (Mr. Albom himself) from college, who comes to see him every Tuesday of his last months in his deathbed.
Reading the book a couple of months ago, made me weigh two issues deeply.

The first issue was death, and how hustling through life everyday— between classes and cafeterias, books and buses— I forget about this whole ‘phenomenon’ altogether.

The second concern was, whether I was sustaining good relationships with my teachers, long after I have got my grades and left their classes.

My conclusion was that, as much a cold shoulder I had given remembering death in every day hustle and bustle, my teachers (as I like to call them on whatever level of education they taught me) did not deserve to be thrown into oblivion.
I vowed to re-evaluate myself on this issue - at least calling them out for lunch, giving them a call or even leaving a text message once in a while- lest I end up meeting my lecturers on their death beds.

And so the journey began. Yes it was a journey: one heck of a journey that was filled with encouragements and inspirations from my teachers to aim high; lunches at the cafeteria that were packed with stories from the latest political developments and discussions of books they have read (President Obama’s Dreams from my Father was the hit); helping out on research activities and even co-presenting on symposiums; and the best of all, attending the wedding of my former English teacher in college, where I was one of several students to whom she sent the invitation cards.

And all this time, it felt like I was on the right track in establishing a long lasting friendship with my adoring teachers.

But no. I was not. And the bullet struck this month. On Easter weekend.

He is David G. Kamau, my first ever media lecturer. He is the man whose class I first sat to understand the explanations of the media concepts, cultural terms and theoretical perspectives; in whose class I wordlessly listened to wonderful elucidations of media audiences and institutions, news, advertising and even reading media texts; in whose class I was first given the bright prospect of becoming what I always wanted to be: a writer.

Mr. Kamau’s contribution to my life is simply matchless. I had taken three of his classes while attending the Australian Studies Institute (AUSI) for my diploma in mass communication.

One of those classes that are memorable to me is CMM 1104: Writing for the Media. In this class, we discussed different areas in media writing from features, to press releases, creative writing skills, developing captivating intros, and much more. He also taught us how to critique stories from newspapers, and also to develop an instinct to write stories that would make great reading for the public. (Writing this story, I can imagine my teacher, David, asking me to change the intro, frowning at some grammatical mistakes that beginning writers like me always make, and also telling me to get more creative with words.)

Another unforgettable class was one that was code-named MKT 1101, or rather, Professional Communication. In it we were taught how to communicate well with audiences both verbally and orally; how to level down our communication anxiety on stage; how to write persuasive memos, letters and emails; and the best of all, how to speak in front of a public.
The camera would always be ready at hand, and he would record the proceedings and give us feedback on what went wrong or right.

Two points from these two classes. One: I was the highest student in both of these classes: High Distinctions (HDs). Second: there isn’t a day in my life that I do not use these skills, whether writing an academic paper, or an article, or even otherwise, presenting in front of a class or a larger audience.
The teachings of my beloved teacher follow me in each day of my life.

Mr. Kamau’s life was brutally cut short after a fatal shooting on the dawn of Saturday 11th April, 2009. But I got the news on Monday from a former classmate. I sank down to a low level like never before when Susan broke the news to me. My heart raced fast and the silence was like forever.
“Abdi, are you still there?” came her voice at the other end of the line.

My mind instantly drifted to the last time I had met my teacher David.
The last time I met Mr. Kamau was around the same time I left his class in AUSI early last year. I had come to bid goodbye to some of my friends when I bumped into him coming out from one of his classes. After exchanging greetings, he asked me to escort him to his office, because he wanted to show me something.
Minutes later, I was reading a letter sent from his Australian coordinator, who was impressed with a feature article I wrote the semester before. And the last words I exchanged with Mr. Kamau were sounded at that moment: “Congratulations,” he said.

“Thanks I said.” I was speechless. I couldn’t say anything else. I shrugged off happily. He just gave me one of his enigmatic smiles and walked away.
I regret never saying anything. I regret never coming to see him again. I really do.

Kwamchetsi Makokha, a veteran columnist with the Daily Nation, who also happens to be one of his students, wrote the following about Mr. Kamau’s character:
“The beguiling cackle and drama were a smoke-screen for a razor-sharp brilliance, his pretended gruffness a mere camouflage for his boundless generosity. … An active soul… revered for his easy creativity, thoroughness and thoughtfulness. ”

Indeed he was a man with a larger than life character. An inspiration to many.
My favorite teacher to the last.
Fare thee well. Rest in Peace.