Bryan Obuna Wayoboya

For Bryan — My Best Friend, My Other Half, My Everything There are some people who change your whole life just by being in it. For me, that person was Bryan. He wasn’t just my best friend. He was my other half. He made the world brighter just by existing in it — with his smile, his laugh, his wild ideas, his kind heart, and his unshakable strength. Even when he was sick, Bryan was full of joy. He swam like a champion — no, he was a champion — and he lived like someone who knew time was precious. He taught me that even when things are hard, you can still laugh, still love, still make others feel seen. The first time we met, I was the new kid. He made me feel like I belonged before I even sat down. That silly moment when he stole food off my plate and called it the “new student tax”? That was the beginning of something that would change my life forever. From that moment on, it was us. Always us. And swimming? That wasn’t just his hobby — it was his life. He didn’t just swim in the water — he belonged in it. We called him Aquaman, and he earned that name every single time he dove in. He was the best swimmer I have ever known. He glided through the water with such beauty and grace, it could make you cry. He had dreams — real, burning dreams — of going to the Olympics. And we were all going to be there, screaming his name from the stands. We believed in him with everything we had. We talked about everything — from the deepest parts of our hearts to the dumbest jokes we could think of. We were obsessed with Greek mythology. Peleus, Apollo, Athena, Achilles, Odysseus… We were in love with those stories and the way they connected to life. I remember that one time in class, I explained the continental drift theory and only Bryan and the teacher got it — and we ended up talking non-stop about mythology afterward, like the nerds we proudly were. He made me feel smart, seen, understood. But it wasn’t just history and mythology. Bryan loved science. Like, really loved it. And the way he talked about atoms and molecules and osmosis — you’d think he discovered them himself. He made it all sound like poetry. He adored how atoms fused, how elements combined to form compounds — to him, it wasn’t just chemistry, it was creation. Science was his art, and every time we stepped into the lab, it felt like entering his studio. He understood every concept so beautifully — and practiced them with such joy. It made learning fun. It made it feel alive. I used to flunk science. I didn’t care for it — until I met him. He changed everything. Now? Science is one of my best subjects. And it’s because of him. Because of the way he believed in it. Because of the way he made me believe in it. He wanted to be a nuclear engineer — inspired by Oppenheimer and all the mysteries of atoms and energy. He said the idea of something so small holding so much power fascinated him. And honestly? That’s how he was too. He held so much light, so much force, in one human body. When we went to Mombasa, we stayed up all night on the phone, laughing and talking. He was there for every single part of that trip — from the Gedi Ruins (where he tried to act cool but I saw how amazed he was) to Fort Jesus where we danced to Giriama instruments and laughed about overpriced water and Monster energy drinks. He bought them for me, by the way. Like the sweetheart he was. He listened to me when I talked about Mami Wata — for him, it was like “YOLO” — a reminder to live fully. For me, she was comfort. A goddess of healing. And somehow, Bryan embodied both: he lived like every day was a gift, and he gave comfort like no one else could. At Haller Park, I told him I was scared of crocodiles. So he walked beside me, blocking my view like a human shield — no teasing, just protection. That’s who he was. I told him I’d pay him for it — but the truth is, I could never repay him for how safe he made me feel. On the train ride back, we sat together with Nick. He asked to go through my phone, and I said only if I could go through his. He laughed at my outrageous playlists and silly photos. He even told me his password. And that meant everything. During Prize Giving Day, I was presenting a taarifa — and he was the first person, other than a teacher, to hear it. But I couldn’t even finish because he had me bursting into laughter every sentence. That was Bryan: he turned nerves into joy, fear into laughter, silence into a memory. We had lunch at CJ’s with our moms. We ordered the biggest thing on the menu and he helped himself to half of mine, stealing fries and smiling like he owned the world. We danced in Naivas to Wadibusa, laughed in the cupcake aisle, watched reels, sprayed perfume, looked at phones we couldn’t afford — and in all of it, I felt like I was living in a movie. One where the world disappeared and it was just me and him. We shared everything. Calculators, broken pencils, textbooks, even rubbers cut in half. And when I shaved bald? That boy did not let me breathe! He joked every single day — until my hair outgrew his. Then suddenly, I was “one of the bros.” I was offended. But I also laughed until I couldn’t breathe. We made a pact to grow our hair together and get twists in August. He gave me gym routines, diet plans, protein shake recipes — he even tried to teach me how to make my veins pop. (I still can’t do it, by the way.) I love him so much. And I don’t know what to do without him. But I do know this: I got to love someone who was rare, real, radiant. I got to walk beside someone who made life an adventure. Who reminded me every day that I was never alone. Who lived like he knew his time was limited — but made every second infinite for the people around him. He was my joy. My safe space. My favorite person. My Bryan. And I will carry him with me — in my laughter, in music, in Greek myths, in the ocean, in the lab, in every bubbling beaker and every science book — and in every moment I live fully, bravely, and joyfully. Because that’s how he lived. And that’s how I’ll honor him. Forever.