CRUSADE

CRUSADE

A ghost.

Lost in the multitude that line the street on my way home. In the fading light of the picturesque african evening. a stranger among a thousand other strangers who are brushing shoulders literary pushing one another out of the way. Over the periphery of Holden mall providing the backdrop, stalls are erected all along with small time opportunistic businessmen plying their wares. Smells of all kinds of frying foods mingle in the light evening air that is already ripe with various human smells escalating into that cocktail of smells that is synonymous with overcrowded camps.

A worldwide crusade is being staged here by some religious nuts. The strangest looking people are here with the ever ubiquitous Karl Marx’s exemplified drugged by religion types. “Mungu ni mwema! yaaaay!” A man suddenly shouts in the street throwing his arms up in the air and almost hitting a few passers bys.

Traffic has ground to a halt. a few jerks as it opens up a little to let through one car and then halts. In this fashion, the bored drivers of the Kisumu- Webuye road look out of their windows with through tired exasperated faces of, “when will this madness end so we can go back to normal?” Boda-boda’s weave in and out of the almost stationary vehicles. broad chested men on bicycles forming the majority of them as motorbike riders patronise the road shoulders hooting continuously to force their way through.

In this din I get to the stadium where folk are camped keeping vigil and praying for their poor souls. The prophet was here today. That is what the faithful refer to their religious leader. A bigoted preacher who enjoys demigod status among his flock. A resemblance of a presidential motorcade comprises of his fleet of cars complete with hard faced security and a chain of ushers that see to his every whim. Red carpet pavilion. So he performed miracles, the deaf were granted hearing, the blind vision, the cripples hobbled up and down the stage throwing away their crutches and wheelchairs in jubilation. Faith, how amazing! At this rate it may not be long before someone is resurrected!

By the University gates, the faithful throng the stalls to grab their supper before going back to their fires to brave the chilly African night. A bath costs sh 40 in n enclosement of curtains. the water is cold. People are queuing to bathe in between the eateries where these baths are located.

I meet a few people I know walking home or going to town. Normally the town is never crowded as it is now. They all seem to have that irritated look on their face as they mingle with these faceless strangers who have come to invade their space. Annoyed, as they have to jump over puddles of dirty water that the ‘hoteliers throw out, being shoved out of the way and the noise.

The crowds have thinned by the time I get to lurambi. Darkness has  set in the sun having retreated behind the clouds on the Horizon to await another tomorrow. The night is pitch black, no stars or moon for you tonight. The usual suspects hover here, the barber chatting amiably with the salonist. Alfa Cafe is open and full, The Mutura guy Outside Karumaindo is laughing at a joke with the gathering around him. A lone Waitress stands Opposite the Butchery making a phone call. There are men with potbellies leaning on bonnets of their cars outside Karumaindo clutching onto their Tuskers.

I am reminded of a story I read in one of my High school class readers. The title of that story was “who cares for the new Millennium?” Its New Year’s Eve after all!