Aki vitu nimeona ( a diary)
9th December 2020
Afternoon. Bustling Nairobi. I am seated by this parking lot cum skating lot on Sundays located just at the intersection of Harambee and Moi Avenue. The sun’s glaring rays have been fortuitously tuned down, lest we are scorched. There is a steady stream of cars, but no traffic yet because people are yet to leave their work and crowd these roads so badly that one’d be tempted to walk home under the strenuous delays that Nairobi roads are all too accustomed to at mornings and evenings on weekdays particularly.
Like me, there are many others who line up the ledge surrounding the lot, probably waiting for someone too or just simply tired from navigating the labyrinth that the city can at first present itself to be. From far away a preacher can be heard and on closer inspection, he can be seen to carry a bible and be heard to harangue mostly uninterested and tired looking citizens on repentance and sinning and redemption. I am reading (or trying to) a book while waiting for a friend who is yet to arrive. She had confirmed that she was leaving Ngong more than half an hour ago and yet, even before the traffic of cars leaving work, she is nowhere to be seen.
A few metres to my left there’s a young man whose feet bear the mark of trotting around the city barefoot: deep cuts that incisively streak the soles, like the cracks by dried-up mud on a receding lake shore. He begs for shillings from pedestrians passing by and every so often someone drops a shilling into his palm. He seems to skip begging some pedestrians and I wonder if he has a formular on whose generosity to appeal to. His face mask, which must have once been light blue, hangs brown under his nose, covering his mouth. After a while, I notice that he has an audience: two women. One of them is speaking to him and the other one, leaving the conversation to her partner turns to survey her surroundings and soon our eyes meet, at which point I quickly resume reading my book.
A few seconds later, taking my quick glance to be interest, I hear a voice behind me – Excuse me, may I please take a few seconds of your time?
I turn to find the just-made-eye-contact lady with her mask below her nose, as is normal now, who goes on -My name is Carol, I am saved and I would like to talk to you about salvation.
So, this is what they were conversing with my immediate neighbour! Salvation!
Are you Christian?
yes
Are you saved?
yes?
What church do you go to?
catholic
Catholics are not saved. Not in the way I am talking about.
silence
What is salvation? Salvation is accepting the Lord Jesus Christ as your personal saviour. You know a lot of people think getting saved is absconding the life of promiscuity, drugs, alcohol but sometimes these addictions are not in our strength to get rid of, that’s why being saved is allowing the Lord Christ so that He may do his will.
By this point, her partner joins her, introduces herself as Grace and nods vigorously with pontifical murmurs of assent.
Carol goes on, harangues me on the importance of personally allowing Jesus Christ to save me, to wash off my sins, and to have mercy on my errs. All this while, I nod politely and (perhaps taking my nods as encouragement) she concludes her spiel with – I would like to ask if you are ready to confess now.
Confess??
Yes
I don’t feel comfortable professing what I think to be sins now. It’s actually one of the problems I have with being a Catholic…
No no no, I didn’t mean that – she interjects quickly – I meant accepting the Lord Jesus Christ as your personal saviour
I don’t refuse that
Are you willing to say it out loud?
Well, I am still redefining my relationship with God
Are you ready to pray with us?
No, I am not.
Well, you can join us for our Fellowship, you know Tumaini House, the building is close to it, 7th floor, and you’ll find people of all Christian denominations who are also curious about the Word of God. It is at 3pm because you know a lot of Christians go diligently to church on Sundays but if you them what they read they won’t even remember… So, we’ll see you there…Here’s our number just in case…
***
When I finally meet my friend (yes, three hours later) and recount to her my afternoon incident, she says almost immediately – Achana na hao[1]. You know sometimes they drug people.
***
Now here I am, with the number and a venue I could avail myself at any Sunday 3pm. Who knows what might cross my mind this Sunday at 3pm if I find myself close to Tumaini house?
[1] Don’t listen to them