The heart is enigmatic, love is odd: But what is death and heartbreak if not brutality?
On Sundays, my favorite thing to do is to stay in bed, with or without food, but mostly without food until I have to get up and prepare for another week of lack of sleep and a constant state of exhaustion. Even though I would rather sleep, my brain works in a different way; so an open eye usually communicates “hey, I think I am done sleeping now”. I stay for hours scrolling on Twitter and juggling through apps. But rest is mindful, so that is usually enough to reset for the following week.
On this one Sunday, the routine was different, I was already exhausted for the week from the previous day, and it was not the best one I’ve had. To be frank, I have not had good weeks in a long time because aside from goodnews emails here and there, every other thing was crushing down. I woke up at 9 am, again unsatisfied with the hours of sleep I had, hoping I could get another two hours. That failed, so I turned around until I could not anymore then picked up my phone – from what has been happening since 2020, I think this is the worst habit I am yet to let go of. The internet is usually a mess and time zones make it worse. Speaking of, why can’t it all be one particular time everywhere? What is the science behind this?. I opened my messages and there was nothing. Then I opened my Twitter, very sure that I would find notifications of people liking my anti-labor and capitalism retweets. And there they were, also with it was a message notification for the win. Yay. My friend had sent me two messages that needed translation, one had an image of Thione Seck with the text “It’s true 😭😭😭😭”. Before I opened the message and because it was from a media account, I thought I would read something like “Thione Seck is the best musician and poet alive”. I wish it was that. What else could it have been? Truly he is, Thione Seck’s music — minus the misogyny in some of the songs — gives people life, gave me life, and he also is an anti-social class advocate. He understands how society works, and how most of our kindness only extends to people who can give and exchange materially. I mostly loved him for that. ( I am speaking about Thione in the past tense, was this deliberate?)
I opened the tweet and translated it from French.
“News Flash 🚨
Death of artist, song writer, Thione Seck.”
That was all, just eight words that have left me completely devastated.
The media, journalists, and social media users on platforms like Twitter have become completely brutal in how they cover and share death or any tragedy. It’s always who sends out the statement or tweet first, even if they are just eight words, let the people digest it, however. There has recently been thoughts on what mourning should look like in a digital age. Essentially, someone tweeting 2 hours after their sister just died is possibly not grieving right. But what is the right way of grieving? What is the right way of processing an end to the life of someone you loved so dearly, so passionately? Even if you don’t know them, or they are not family, but what exactly is family? Who is it, what does it mean, why are we here?
For a moment I did not believe it, I thought that maybe it was just one of those fake death announcements of famous people. Then I remembered seeing someone I could link to Thione tweeting about death and the possibility of seeing a family’s death announcement on WhatsApp statuses. I felt numb. I remember crying into my pillow for 30 minutes after I woke up, then calling my friend because I wanted to know what really happened. I did not go looking for tweets, I would not have been able to take that. I could not really talk so I hung up. I was on the phone again five minutes later , maybe he wanted to check on me, or he just called I don’t know. But I could not stop crying. Thione Seck had died, he really was dead, and I never imagined waking up to that. I got up, showered, and began doing chores -which you all should know that I despise, but on this particular day, I was happy to do it. It was an unhealthy escape for me because I occasionally broke down, and that day when I was tearing up from slicing onions it felt so normal. It felt like something I wanted. I was confused if the tears rolling down were because of the onions or the news of Thione Seck dying.
Relationships, in general, are complicated, and because society has defined a lot of them in very unconventional ways, it is difficult for anyone else to see them outside of those rules and guidelines. For example, the institution of marriage is inherently patriarchal, and so anyone who chooses to engage in this differently is judged and seen as defiant. Family to me is not exclusive to blood, I have encountered trust and love in people with who I have no blood ties, and I value them more than I do those who are “family”. In 2 years, I have fallen out with three of my closest friends and these came with a lot of self-doubts: was all of these my fault? I value relationships, friendships and other dynamics so this was hard for me. And in dissecting how I felt in the last few days, it was also figuring out which emotions are a result of the death and which of them are from heartbreaks from the past months. It was everything running through my mind, and I never dealt with any of it in a proper way. Probably still have not, probably never will. Compartmentalization is my bug: I need to heal.
I said to my friend: “People are calling and texting to check up on me as if my dad had died” because at that time I had started feeling guilty about my reaction. That I was sad and crying over the death of someone I had never met or spoken to, someone who did not know I existed. Was it hypocritical? Was I taking attention and sympathy away from his family, people closest to him, the people who felt and reciprocated his love? When I got to work, my colleague said “Sigil kor wai, sa star bi”. I smiled because it was really gracious to see someone with whom I shared another defined relationship -which was professional — understood what he meant to me. I had always imagined being introduced to Thione Seck and having him play at my wedding, which is weird because I do not plan to have a wedding. Even though I do not know anyone who knows Thione Seck, I still believed this was going to happen. I did not care how it was going to happen. Hours after I saw that tweet, every time I heard his song or a picture I cried and it all felt new again. It’s a week now, and I still feel this way, especially since his song seems to be played everywhere. Why now?
I was introduced to Thione Seck by my dad when I was a baby — shout out to him, the man has really good music taste. Because of how poetic his songs were, I never understood what he was saying, frankly I still don’t understand a lot of his lyrics. Every time I listen there is an ohh moment where I realize I was not saying the right words or had not fully grasped what they meant. They were always life lessons and reflections, said straightforwardly or in disguise. There was always something, that was my favorite part of him and his music. ( God I love Thione Seck). My emotions and heartbreak are genuine, I was deeply horrified. My favorite person in the world had died, and I would not feel guilty because the relationship of my complete love and trust in someone is defined as fanship. It was more than that, and I knew this, and that was all that mattered. In all of this, I know one thing: I passionately admired Papa Thione. Not the kind, the talented, and poetic musician that he was. I loved him, wholly, he had become a part of me. My daily sound in my office room as I worked, my weekends and restful days. I was not just a fan, but you can see me as one.
I finished my chores shortly after 3 pm in the afternoon and it felt like everything came back crashing on me, I felt weak and could not really do anything. I had not eaten the whole day. I tried to sleep but that was a nightmare because I kept waking up every five minutes and staring at the brown walls. A friend took me out on a drive. It felt like someone had taken their hand off my neck, that was how I felt within those four or more walls. Suffocated. Screaming for breath, thinking that no one would understand how heartbroken I was. Thinking that no one would rationalize how I felt because what was I to Thione? Nothing.
My friend made me feel safe, he made me feel like my feelings were valid. So the guilt left, the panic was leaving. It was okay for me to cry openly, for the tears to run without me hurriedly wiping them. I remember sitting there and anytime the car suddenly breaks wishing that had not, that his legs had frozen when he attempted to press the breaks and then hit the next car — with everyone coming out fine except me. Driving in The Gambia is a complete nightmare, it’s like everyone is angry, everyone is hurting and the next person is the only way out for your feelings because no one else cared. The nightmare is normal, the road rage, the cars screeching, the shattered glasses and smashed cars on the side of the roads, the curses at one driver for taking the wrong lane. On this day, normalcy was an expression of how exhausted everyone was in their individuality, and the collective healing for our community looked like rage. It became really beautiful.
My love for him was odd, but the heart is a weird tissue. It can stretch, and break and long for whoever it wants. It is charming in how it can disregard borders, unknowns, and yearn for authenticity, and I love that about it. Love is also truly beautiful, I had created a bond with someone I didn’t even know existed until I saw that tweet, until he had died. I constantly thought about Papa Thione dying and what that would do to me. I did not know it would be this bad, I did not know that love for a stranger could do this to anyone, most especially me: but who am I? what am I doing here, what are we all doing here? and what is death, and a broken heart if not brutality?
Please make a prayer for Papa Thione Ballago Seck if you read this. Bless his heart. Bless his soul. Love you always, and forever ❤.
