Notes from Denver
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First Winter’s Snow by Pius Kamau
This winter’s first snow, I cast my mind back to the first winter snows on three continents. Whenever it snows in Colorado, I am transported back to my childhood in Kenya where I was born at the foot of Mount Kenya. Though the British didn’t believe snow could exist on the equator, I saw snow each morning of my childhood. Indeed in 1936 Ernest Hemingway wrote, “Snows of Kilimanjaro,” a story for Esquire. Whenever it snows in Colorado I think of the year round snow on Mount Kenya.
Snow brings excitement to kids who love tobogganing, among other winter fun things to do. As a child, I could not imagine anyone skiing down Mount Kenya; a mount often invisible, hidden behind a thick white cloud. On clear days, wisps of thin clouds waft across the snowy cap like the spirit of Ngai, the Kikuyu god, that roved across the mountain peak.
On getting to Colorado some four decades ago, I was fascinated by the incredible enthusiasm of skiing aficionados, for whom winter’s cold was welcome; a season to bundle up and go skiing. It is not that I think that gods are disturbed by man skiing across the snowy paths. Only that altitudes so high across slippery paths couldn’t be salutary.
I decided soon after arrival in Colorado that I would not go skiing. The Kikuyu God of Mount Kenya’s snows, and the danger that snowy mountains presented to my thinking closed all desire for skiing as a hobby. Furthermore I was informed that I would have to take lessons before I could ski down slopes, upright and intact. I couldn’t see this tall, Black frame, struggling with skis on those mountains.
How anyone is able to ski down tall, abrupt slopes without giving in to gravity, or to fright, beats me. And to be honest, I was busy chasing patient referrals that first decade of my Colorado medical life. I was qualified and had hung up my shingle in Denver – not Nairobi where I had planned to go. So many reasons prevented me from going back there. Like many immigrants here, I was met by many hurdles and resistance. I told myself I had a duty to fight as hard as I could for my young family; and to remain healthy.
Before long that first winter, a young doctor with a young family accidentally skied into a tree. He was killed by the impact. His death was a good lesson for us not to tempt fate. And then of course, my mind began thinking of old Kikuyu lessons and tales: of faith and fate. You don’t tempt nature in ways that are unnecessary, a small voice at the back of my mind kept telling me. Certainly hurtling down a slippery mountain of ice without ability to stop, is tempting fate even though multitudes do it on Colorado ski slopes.
What was puzzling to me was the way my hospital coworkers talked about their dead colleague; about how stupid he was to ski into trees. It was no way to talk about a friend who had just died, I thought. It made me even more determined not to be a subject of similar gossip.
And then another surgeon who had laughed about the dead doctor, went up there and came back with shoulder fractures result of a fall after losing his balance. The accident meant he couldn’t work for at least two months. Luckily, he had insurance that covered the months he was out of work. As a member of a large group they covered for him for the time he was away. We talked about him in the same vein as we did about other men who’d met the same fate. His shoulder never quite got back to normal again. He stopped work and went on disability.
Many are the stories of doctors who ended up going the wrong way on the slick, icy surfaces, or down steep moguls. Their tragic stories made me shiver, grateful to continue walking and traveling, from hospital to hospital, on flat land.
But don’t mistake me: I admire Olympic skiers’ courage, their physical fitness is amazing and incredible. I have no desire to emulate them, and doubt they will ever want to do what I do inside the human body. But we have one thing in common: we are good citizens of Colorado, who take good care of our families.
We Want to Hear from You
We’re inviting community members across the state to share their own stories of living in Colorado —of identity, discovery, and what it means to belong.
Tell us about a moment or a place in Colorado that changed how you see yourself or your community.
Share your reflections at ambassador64@rmpbs.org
This is part of Ambassador64, our statewide listening initiative to ensure public media reflects the voices of all 64 counties in Colorado—starting with yours.