It was Friday afternoon and it was pissing down,half scaring the shit out of people due to the prevailing news that any rain that'd come from April 21 onwards would be acidic bringing forth skin diseases and even cancer. While half of the population was worrying over the atrocity of an acid rain, I was contemplating if I would come to the "Penitential Walk in honor of Our Lady of Peace and Good Voyage". I should awfully feel ashamed of myself to admit that my idea of this incredible feat was just mainly for pure fun clearly sidestepping the true essence of the century-old tradition. The walk was due at 11pm and I started fidgeting like a horse in heat at 6pm. Should I still come?
A friend told me a story of a man he knew who promised to come to the walk but at the last minuted bailed out, the man's right foot swelled for days, giving a clear testament to the ineffable power of the Virgin.You see, I am not a highly religious person who dances to the beat of cymbals as if being eaten alive my hundreds of fire ants while holding out a replica of a saint, but I have my religious streak, albeit an inconspicuous one, and besides a swollen foot was enough for me to join even the 250-kilometer Death March. I got into my most comfortable get up,packed my bag and went off.
Okay, what will you do if you are in the company of people who know practically everything there is to know about saints? And who insistently talk about it, leaving you feeling like a complete moron slash pagan who worships trees and goes head hunting for food? Surely, My knowledge of saints is shamefully scarce it cant even fill a vial of a tubercular dwarf, and I was afraid I would just hassle them mercilessly with endless questions leaving them want to run away from me like headless chickens, so I just decided to shut it and observe.
Scores of people converged and their faith and their sentimental attachment to the saint was palpable it was almost too painful to watch, they walked barefooted, some even carrying poles half their own weight. The devoted ( and able bodied) ones were carrying heavily festooned 'carozas" onto which their beloved saints were rested. Being a hopelessly clumsy human that I am, A news headline that says "One Moron Ran over by a 50ton Caroza and Stepped on Beyond Recognition by 10 sweaty Men", would not have come as a big surprise.
The Penitential Walk doesnt only attract the faithful, the mere curious and the "what-have-I-gotten-myself-into", it also lures teenagers who wear sweaters in a 29degree celsius heat, and funky shades in 3 in the morning (maybe they found too much candle light blinding?) , and I am constantly amazed with the industrial amount of product they put on their hair! 4 hours into the walk and their hairs were still fighting the law of gravity!
The most challenging part of the walk was the uphill way to the city proper, I vividly remember because everytime my friend saw me nearing the collapsing point, all the colors drained out of my face, and toungue sticking out and wagging like a pendulum clock,he would tell me that we still yet to walk through the most difficult part (perfect timing! its as if telling someone who is suffering from a left leg tumor that another tumor had just sprouted somewhere in his right leg)I was huffing and puffing at this time so hard, it caused a series of tornadoes in East Africa.
I was tempted to tell one friend, "dude, If I just drop dead at any second, Can you drag me by the ear to the cathedral and have my knackered body blessed?"
When we reached the cathedral, people held out their white handkerchiefs and vigorously waved them at the oncoming Virgin. The guy in front of me was a bit too enthusiastic he was practically whipping my face with his towel that reeked of comedones, perspiration and sanctity. It would have solicited loads of eye rolling and snarling but even I was transfixed by the wondrous effect of the Virgin to the people, including, admittedly, myself.
to be continued.
