The volunteer Easter ‘safaras’

Other than Jesus, who came to suffer and die for our sins, that part of his mission was clear enough, there are many real and wannabe ‘masafara’ (people who suffer) in the sense that the lash on their back is almost masochism (the opposite of machoism) and if you look into their machos, the way some people do, you’ll see shilling signs, you’ll see two crucifixes.

The first of these kind of persons are the mad ones, especially in the Philippines, who try to completely copycat the crucifixion of our Lord Jesus Christ.

You will see them on TV, stripped to the waist, having grown their hair long, being ceremoniously whipped as they go somewhere where they are gently crucified for a little while.

Yesu lynched life a thief

This for me is taking the seven ways of the cross a little too far, and acting like a wanna-be martyr. In short, these guys are voyeurs.

They should be properly whipped like Lupita in that film, 12 Years a Slave.

If it was today, Yesu would have been lynched like a thief, the way the Romans crucified him next to two thugs (one of whom asked him a very annoying question: “If you are the Son of Man, tushukishe kutoka hii mbao!” So these crucifixion thespians should get a taste of mob justice, just to modernise and digitalise the scene.

Other wannabe sufferers are the Somalis now being rounded up and herded into stadia, including neighbours in South C.

If they were not safaras, by now they would have given up the names of all the grenade throwers of all shades, including those with genuine IDs and who have names like Ouma, Kamau, Wafula, who reside in their midst and want us to suffer, suffer kabisa.

Why take them to the stadium, then not bring a team like Gor to entertain them, in the spirit of Cecafa? God knows our wannabe soccer players could do with more friendlies against East African neighbours, and here we have thousands of them crammed into Kasarani.

 I am sure they would like to stretch a leg, instead of raising their arm(s) against us.

Other wannabes who actually enjoy being labelled ‘masafara’ are those guys who make msafaras to go see musicians like Konshens, not that there is anything wrong with Konshens, I must hasten to add.

It is just that these wannabes enjoy telling other folks how ‘conscious’ their music is, even as their eyes drift unconsciously due to their smoking of bhang, and they repeat their sentences on loop, like a bad tape, until one just feels like stuffing mogoka in their mouths and shouting out to ‘sharrup.’

That talk about oppression, Zion and Babylon just doesn’t make sense, at any smart level, least of all to a drugged Kenyan who can’t spell Babylon. I feel rather sleepy as I write this, but a wannabe msafara would probably tell me it’s tsetse fly,  and it has given me some sort of sleeping sickness.

Gallbladder worn down

It will be like the old man in the Joshua Ferris short story.

“My gallbladder is ruined. Dr Klutchmaw says it has to be removed. First, a low-glucose plasma concentration, then, my heart, and now the gallbladder, which is now worn down like an old tyre. Klutchmaw has a man who means to remove it, but that means going under the anesthetic, and I may be diabetic.”

Can you imagine listening to some hypochondriac manic wannabe go on and on like that, about their health? I do have an Easter message for us all wannabes. Whatever it may be, our sufferings are valid.