THE EMBERS-:Sketches from the outskirts.

Sun wanes down over the plain-side hills,burning red into that amazing glow,its rivalry beating gold and silver-smith’s craftsmanship in glaze of fire.

Down and dusted from the wary path of dust and bumps,a mixture of highs and lows,super dips and clutters all through the way.The energy is too much to miss and warmth ebbed up by the heat of the day.

A path where gulleys don’t only brace the pages of agriculture and geography texts but come to play in total array.A splay of deserted cactus and dry end trees fill the way.A total reminder of my early year stories of ghosts in the dark in shapes of faced trees:-the stories I actually fell for.

So a city boy is hand-plucked from the middle of the crowded city,and here finds himself in the middle of an expanse,so intense he is wowed and tempted to dine with the king of the jungle himself.

Down in the jungle the city reigns no more for every square has its own ruler.From the obnoxious and endless honks of unending traffic of cars here comes a quiet yet purpose-filled dominion.The rule of the jungle.

From the bands of rough shoulder shrugs,brisk encounters,traffic lights and commuter touts harassment,PePa encounters warm welcome,royal treatment and ultimately kingly invite.

And down before he settles the passion of the wild blows right through to him,with shukas(shawl) of red and spears in hand they welcome him with the famous swahili “Karibu”.

The joy is unrivalled and shines right across his teary eyes..tears of joy they are so no sorrow is found bound in him.His year lies on his back and along with his friends the fireplace becomes solace.Solace of heart and escape from the commotion of the year previous.From the noise and the constant hoots,the consternation and apprehension.

The cold bites through the evening as the stars gather into constellations,the moon has no say to the might of the twinkles across so gives way and beauty is reborn in the heavens.A mix of that and the unwavering fire crackles is a warmth so deep no love can match.

To top the ice are spikes of staff into the soil topped with chunks of dripping meat.The long journey down the rift now turns into quakes of joy.Filled with laughter and tales of introductions from the diverse cultures over and above the scattered social cultures

Deep within,city boy surely belongs and even grows a yearning of not ever leaving…Snap back he does and is welcomed to the chants of the local Maasai morans.Beautiful men I must say.Pepa is actually drawn by the relentless neat and reddened dreadlocks running down bald heads.

To complete the outfit are beautiful shawls of red and a clasp around waist with a sheath for their machetes.True warriors these are.A spear in hand and the chant as they jump up and down in war songs,these would sure scare even the mighty lion into the bushes.

As the fire crackles and the circle of chants makes round the fireplace,City boy is thus drawn into endless fantasy.

Welcome to the Mara PePa and let the embers of the fire draw you in.

(Pepa)

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