“Repent NOW!” The man is shouting and screaming like hundred cars shooting up this high road in South London. “When you are in the coffin it shall be too late! Hell fire awaits you!.” As the man waves his hands, gesticulating with fervour, by his side a woman, loyally, hands out leaflets. “Jesus loves you. Take this!” As they charm and plead, ten meters away, two males and two females stand in immaculate clothes. Beside them a table filled with books and a large Jehovah Witness poster. This religion originated in the USA during the 19th century to “correct” classical Christianity.
The four are not screaming or pleading. They just stand there, with beaming, friendly faces. Every few minutes, someone picks a booklet. One drunk man, his trousers almost falling down, holds a can of beer, saunters towards one of the JW ladies. “I shall marry you anytime my deer. You are so praitty. Be, my wife, plays!” His heavy London cockney accent makes the lady smile. “Plays…” insists the drunkard, repeating PLEASE multiple times. “What’s yoh name fabulous? You remind me of Julie Roberts, me favourite actress…the one who ply’ed Pretty Woman. Seen the flick, darling?” Jehovah Witness missus, smiles; her manner calm and neutral. Her mate dives in. “She is already taken, mate.” The drunkard belches. Pulls up his trousers, scratches his crotch. “You can have the two of us Pretty Woman. Two husbands.
One for keeps one for rolls. Ha ha haaagh!” His roaring laughter is filled with phlegm which he spits out. Second female still talking. “Please, become a Jehovah Witness first. You will easily find a wife.” The man takes a swig of his alcohol. “I am a Devil’s Witness (roaring laughter again). Bu’ I jus want ya, sweetpie. Julie Roberts. She. She wuz stunning, when the movie came out in 1990. I wuz eighteen. Today my dream come true.” Laughs and spits again. A mate joins in. “Hey ladies. Is this rascal causing trouble? I can mash him up for ya!” Both of them laugh. The pal is also holding a can of beer plus something that resembles a long white caterpillar. He massages the caterpillar between his thumb and index finger, then taps to release grey-black ash. There is a strong odour as he puts it in his mouth; spiralling smoke leaves his nostrils, accompanied by that familiar odour of London. An odour that most Londoners recognise- without explanation, condemnation, definition.
Anne Berest 46 year old, French author and actress was right when she wrote: “Every city has its own smell.” The unmistakable smell of cannabis, marijuana, spliff or bangi in Swahili. So the man spews the bangi smoke towards the two Jehovah Witness ladies. Ten meters leftward, a table is surrounded by five guys, dressed in white robes, Barghashia hats, distributing Islamic literature. A well dressed man is “reasoning” (as Rastas say) with one of them. “So you dont believe Jesus was a son of God?” The chap asks. “We believe Issa as we call him in Islam was a prophet alongside, Mohamed, Moses and Ibrahim and others, but we dont believe in the trinity, that he resurrected.” The man shakes his head. “That is so ridiculous!” As they chat intensively and politely, further down where we started this story, the Christian preacher has just grabbed a microphone. “Don’t believe in Mohamed and all other fake religions! Repent and follow Jesus!”
The two pals talking to the Jehovah Witness women look towards the man with a microphone. Bangi smoker: “Shu’p! You cant be drowning everyone’s voice with your hatred! Get lost!” The man with the beer wags his middle finger at the Christian preacher. “Get lost! Prat!” Suddenly a third man joins the duo. “Ricky!” Ricky is the man with the Spliff. “Wha?” “Gimme some of dat!” Ricky takes a quick puff. Hands it over. “This is good stuff. You never share yours, idiot!” “Sorry Ricky…times are hard.” Like a starved individual he quenches hunger, desire and thirst all rolled into one. The smell of marijuana is so strong, that the Jehovah’s Witnesses ladies sneeze loudly, in unison. Yes we are in the quarter part of 21st century. Bless your eyes.
