Muslim wedding on a Good Friday

I was walking down the semi-muddy roads of Njoro with my friend Happy. Still hanging over us was the somber mood of a Good Friday service, having crucified Christ once again. But in the distance we could hear drums and a lively song.

As the drums and song became louder, we could see a large crowd gathered at one small building where, each Sunday, we see and hear Muslim children being taught. Typically, the teacher gives an Arabic sentence and the children repeat as a chorus.

But this Friday, instead of Muslim children, there were Muslim men dancing outside, wearing white tunics. About ten of them were leaping energetically to the beat of the drums, and a master of ceremonies was leading a song through a well-amplified speaker system.

I stood behind crowd fascinated, but within seconds, the crowd became fascinated with me, heads craned backward to stare at me. I pondered their special radar that sensed me hovering behind them. Did I have a magnetic charge or had I stepped in strong dog poop? I waited a few moments for the crowd to decide I wasn’t as interesting as the dancing, but more and more heads popped around to look at me.

My head popped around looking for Happy who had taken off down the road. When I caught up with her, she explained that the master of ceremonies had improvised his song with the words: “And our Mzungu is now watching us.”