By Silas Nyanchwani
In 2007 or thereabouts, at the Arboretum, during the Sawa Sawa Festival.
Various guys were performing. Underwhelming that day was Sanaipei Tande, then my crush. She was in plain jeans and yellow top. Nothing remarkable about her. I learned the TV really exaggerates the people’s features.
Later in the day, Burning Spear, the Jamaican Reggae maestro arrived and I was near the VIP and I stood next to him. He was in plain jeans, dirty sport-shoes, and some Rastafarian cap. I wanted to shake his hand, but I generally shy away from superstars.
Eric Wainaina delivered a good performance and Atemi Oyungu was his dancer and I loved her body then…
And then, it was time for Hugh Masekela. JESUS. I knew Masekela, and it was part of the reason I had gone there. On that sunny Saturday afternoon, he blew his trumpet and the women in the sunny floral dresses screamed so hard, so ecstatic, so mad, so crazy, so sexy, so wild, so eclectic, I was scared. And incredibly happy.
He blew it again. And again. The arboretum was on fire. Man.
Rest in Peace Hugh Masekela.