I haven’t been to Baghdad for a while.
Kama’s place is unusually crowded today. Groups
clustered together each holding a joint in their hands in the waning African
sunset. Low mumbles and sharp intakes of breath can be heard as the guys chase
the smoke down their lungs with puffs of air. A majority of the guys are
standing while some sit on the grass silently puffing away. Strangers brought
together by the necessity of an addiction or an escapism from reality, or heck!
just the need to lead life from a different dimension.
Baghdad is a pretty little den of all the lowlifes
of Town. This used to be formerly municipal land that lay barren for so long
squatters made it their home. As is characteristic of most shanties, there is
nothing permanent here. Structures composed hastily of mud and poles and iron
sheets to provide a resemblance of a home dot the landscape. The land sits on a
slope that dip all the way to a stream that divides the slum from Juakali an
estate just beyond the other rise of the slope.
Flanking Kama’s little shanty or ‘business place’ or
base as it is commonly labeled in
street lingo, is another shanty that houses a whole family of (not to be
insensitive) prostitutes. Apparently they are all women one of them elderly. The
women have a child about three years old who is normally left in the care of
the elderly lady. The other ladies, I do not know how many of them share the
shanty as I see a lot of them come and go. Kama had told me they all live there
but I never wanted to pry in as much as curiosity was gnawing at my insides.
Baghdad also boasts of its own opinion leader. He is
the official lawyer, village head, landlord,(block buster) sometimes judge and
when the situation fits adviser. Drama is the norm of the day in the shanty,
Today, a woman is dead and they are trying to organize the burial. Interestingly,
the woman had a lot of money by slum standards which is causing ripples through
the society. Everyone wants a piece of this money and yet the funeral has to be
organized. They have found Sh 84,000 hidden in all nooks and crannies in her
shanty. The Chama she subscribes to
also say she has saved around Sh 37,000 in their group. The opinion leader is
at the thick of it telling Kama and anyone who cares to listen how the money
has been budgeted; a certain amount will go the coffin, a little towards
printing pictures and eulogies, a little for radio announcement, a lot will go
towards food and so forth.
It is the Easter weekend and the town is full. Good Friday
people! The town was crowded. “Hata huwezi
jua nani mkirstu nani mwislamu.” Kama
tells me as an ice breaker. “Ehe Arif,
leo watu walikuwa msikiti, wengine kanisa, si tao imejaa,” he tells me as
he hands me a joint. A little while later, a probox parks the nearby. It hoots and some street urchins come calling
him, “unaitwa kwa ile gari” one of
them excitedly announces. “Jeshi, sipendi
hiyo gari, hizo ndio zile magava hutembelea.” He tells me and stoically
stands his ground. A little while later
on, a guy gets out of the vehicle and walks over, “Kama si ukam, ni kina nani wanakuita,” he says. “Oh ni wewe,” Kama responds and continues, “hizi gari mimi sijawaizipenda kabisa!” He walks over to the car,
another transaction in progress. Kama sells to everyone indiscriminately, he is
well known through the town and one could be surprised at the number of suits
that stop at his base!
As I leave I use the path that will lead me straight
to behind the market. The path cuts through living houses, eateries where you
can have your fill at twenty shillings and have your stomach grumble for a
year. Here the refuse of normal food is sold, chicken legs, chicken heads, cow
legs and heads, name them. People are clustered in groups discussing whatever
it is people in groups discuss. I do not linger to find out. The ditch has been
re-dug probably to direct the run-off now that the rainy season is here. Behind
the video showing room where they charge ten shillings to watch a movie, the
woman who sells samosas is busy selling to the crowd gathered by her jiko in total disregard of their
safety. One wrong move and one will tumble into the cooking oil. Fortunately it
has never happened.
By the time I get to the Market place and start
home, the evening light is almost dying away. The stalls stand lazy amidst the
hustle and bustle as the traders pack their wares for another day. Baghdad is
visible in the background, shadows and silhouettes in the young African night.
@mossetti
