The bleaching sun necessitated
those conscious of their looks to apply sun screen. It was pretty hot. Dust
rose as feet trampled upon it like horses heading to war. I sat on a high stool
as the pot bellied shoe shiner fixed my shoe. I had had enough of people
telling me to mend the shoe. It was gapping on the front showing an alligator
like smile. Being deaf to them was unbearable anymore. My lover had also warned
me of dire consequences if I didn’t fix it. That was all I needed to sit here
and be given old slippers to put on.
I wondered where he got the belly.
A shoe shiner who survived on peanuts owing to a culture of bare foot that had
encroached my locality. A pot belly! It was funny. He dipped his sewing needle into
water to moisten it and expertly attached the sole and the leather covering.
Passers-by passed pleasantries to him. And they were many. It was a market day
on this part of the country. People came out in numbers to make the day worthy
its title; mothers tagging half clad kids, may be to buy them cheap clothes,
girls strutting as boys ogled sheepishly behind them and those who had courage
had the day to fulfill their concupiscent desires, boda boda riders having a field day (I bet they sometimes wished a
crippling disease would strike this region) and idlers had a weekly chance to
see so many people at a time.
This chap knows his tools well. He
had even erected a stall and covered it with polythene papers. He tried to
engage me in a conversation unsuccessfully (most writers are introverts). As I
watched his hands intricately approach the last part of the gaping shoe, a van
pulled up a few metres from the stall, loud music blaring from speakers mounted
on the roof. Had the new law been implemented then it would have been impounded
there and then. A short stocky man emerged when the door slid open. He was
dreadlocked, a Rastafarian in the making if he wasn’t already one. Another one
with tattered
Clothes followed suit. His
ruggedness and the paint applied on his face made him look centuries old. He
had a microphone in his hand. It turned out they had been hired to attract a
huge crowd.
“People will fill this empty field
in seconds,” the burly shoe shiner spoke with a childish grin written all over
his face. Sure enough people were craning their neck to have a glimpse of the
short dreadlocked man. I had won myself a front row position. Curiosity had the
better of me. The shoe shiner had laughed at me for being foolishly drawn to
something I never knew what it was all about. I am a fool, I mumbled as the
fake old man spoke, his deep Kikuyu accent overriding what he was saying. He
hyped the dancing skills of the dreadlocked short man. The crowd surged forward
to have a perfect view of him. I found myself being pushed forward, severally
being ousted from the territory I had marked years before they availed the
stench emanating from their sweaty bodies. I however obliged to them, the
compact majority was against me.
He danced to the sonorous tune of
Atieno Aloka kanungo, much to the
delight of the audience. They clapped and cheered him contorting his miniature
body. Many were endowed with height but could never rival the dancing skills
exhibited by him. For once he made me jealous of people who could move they
bodies in harmony with the beats and the vocals. I vowed silently that someday
I will learn how to dance and do it better than the best person.
The curious crowd never had the
chance to cure their sudden craving. The music came to a halt and the clowns
disappeared into the van, of course after introducing a man of God. I was gob
smacked. How can a man with such reputation hire clowns to pull a congregation?
He achieved it but got marks deducted from my own social index. He must one of
those rogue preacher he are out to
fleece unsuspecting folks whose social status have made them vulnerable
to get rich quick scam hawked by men of god.
The not so caring started making
way to their interrupted business as the man of God took the microphone. He
tried begging them to hear what he had brought for the sleepy locality, with
evil sprouting like weeds on a fertile land. Some obliged while others just
dismissed him (they may have had enough of such gatherings). I decided to give
him my ear as I waited for my shoe to be repaired.
“Brothers and sisters, I greet you
in the name of the Mighty one. Today I have brought you good news. If you want
to go just go but what you will miss will haunt you for the rest of your life.
You might even wish I could come back one more time….too bad. God has defined
my schedule and today is your day. Am a man ever on the move passing on what
God has shown me. So if you think you are wasting your time just be patient
enough to the end,“ he spoke with so much energy. He asked a bottle of water
from the van. I noticed a slight limp on his left leg as walked around. His
head was almost round with well combed long hair and a scar on his chin.
He cleared his throat for the
third time. All the time the people silently waited in anticipation of what was
about to be witnessed or heard. He cleared his throat again then requested a
song to be played. At that instant the song rented the air as he burst into
dance. The clowns joined him too. I just watched their God send antics without
judging for the fear of being blasphemous. God is to be revered all the time.
The song slowly receded as the
silence took over. It was as if we were observing a moment of silence. They
consulted among themselves then the pastor introduced his crew. He said his
wife wasn’t able to join the evangelistic entourage as she had another mission.
God’s of course.
And the sermon began. It wasn’t an
ordinary one. On the few I had accidentally attended a pastor opened the bible
read a verse and preached basing on the verse. Instead he declared that God had
given him a gift to tell people their problems by looking at them.
He asked an old man to step
forward. He did. He asked if it was true that he had a court battle involving a
piece of land. He nodded in affirmation. He went on by further saying that he
plotted committing suicide on numerous occasions. The grey haired man said it
was very true as the audience was reeling from surprise. The pastor asked him
to stand aside then searched his next client. He implored people’s faces the
asked one man to step forward.
“Even before we go on, you own a boda boda, don’t you?” the pastor asked
him.
“Yes it’s true,” he shyly replied.
“God has spoken to me that you
have been going through a lot of problems recently. Your mother is very sick,
your brothers have ganged against you on the issue of inheritance and recently
you had a motorbike accident, true or false?”
“True,” he was overwhelmed by
emotions. He could have cried had the culture allowed him to. Women were moved,
girls too. Men stood still laughing off the issues at hand. I don’t know what’s
wrong with men. When others are in deep trouble we seem to be happy at them or
do we try to cheer them up or are just glad that their problems are worse than
ours. Women were fighting to hold back their tears.
“Today I have brought you a
solution. Your ex-wife is behind all your woes and today I shall pray for you
and give you my contacts so that you can confirm to me that your problems are
gone. Did you notice that your red shirt has been missing for quite a long
time?”
“Yes, I have been wondering where
it went,” he said with so much relief in his voice.
“It’s been missing since you wife
went away and she took it to a witch doctor and that’s where you troubles
began. I will tell you what you will do to nullify the curse in the name of the
mighty Lord,” he finished with him then went to another person.
I was dumbstruck. Each person he
told to move forward confirmed what he said. I felt like moving away so that he
couldn’t ask me to step forward and spill my problems to the anonymous public.
I got scared each time he passed close by, each time holding my breath and at
times I closed my eyes. Some people scampered away each time he approached
where they were standing. At least I had enough courage to stand firmly every
time he walked close to me.
The setting sun urged people to
abandon unattended business and retrace their steps back to their homes. The
thinning crowd informed the man of God too that he had to conclude his sermon
and get the best out of the faithful who had waited patiently to hear what he
had to say. As is the norm he asked us to plant seeds. He warned us against
defying Gods message. He dared us to go and buy meat to our families and miss out
his blessings which he claimed were worth a life time. I parted with a hundred
shillings though I had sworn against being swayed by such rogue pastors. Many
people queued to hand him the little they had saved or had not used as
budgeted.
It was time to head home but
looking on my feet I had flip flops of different colours. The bellied shoe
shiner had closed his business. I had to contend the stares that people threw
on me. Had I not been smartly dressed I would have acted insane.
As I walked home I wondered if I parted all I
had for a rogue man of God. I thought that if bothered so much about him I
would be stressed for no reason. I left for God to judge if he was rogue or not
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