The Bull Fighters of Ikolomani

The day was on Friday, a day that had commenced just like other days yet seemed as though it could prove to be different among them all.

The sun was already scotching despite the fact that it was only nine in the morning. Its golden -like rays landed on the already bare ground with such a finality as though their master above had sent them to turn this remote part of the great Western Kenya into one of the constituents of the Sahara Desert.

The famous stadium of Ikolomani in Ikolomani Constituency and within the very heart of Kakamega County was packed to capacity. People from all walks of life had come; both young and old had converged at the stadium from as early as five in the morning. They could not afford to miss this hilarious and memorable moment in their County. They had all come to witness the long awaited fight between AK47 and Lisasi, the two bulls that had made it to the finals after trampling over all other bulls in the county.

My crew and I arrived too late to find any space that we could set up our cameras for the big event. The only available space was on top of a huge eucalyptus tree, which was not as fully occupied as the rest. Since I was in Rome, I had to do as the Romans did; climb up the tree.

The bull fighting tradition is such an ancient tradition that has existed in Ikolomani and Kakamega County as a whole for as long as the residents can remember. Almost all of them were born and found it into existence. In fact, none of them knows how the tradition begun, but the only thing they were quite sure off was that the tradition will never come to an end, never unless the world itself comes to an end.

Bull fighting was their real being, their real existence and their very only reason to live.

“You kill bullfighting, you kill us,” one of the old men told me.

The commander in charge of the fight, a smiling tall looking man with a small hill-like protruding stomach announced that the two bulls will be escorted into the stadium in a moment. People cheered and clapped on the completion of the information. They all seemed happy.

As it was a tradition, the bulls would not arrive at the same time and they would not also use the same gate either. It was and still strongly believed that letting them arrive at the same time and using the same gate would make them friends and they might forget about fighting.

The beats of the famous and the most celebrated Isukuti drum rose with crescendo turning the whole stadium into frenzy. The beats were a clear message that one of the contenders was being escorted into the stadium. People rose in unison to dance to the tune. Even those who had clung on trees could not resist the urge to shake their bodies. It was as though the music from the Isukuti drums had a secrete magic, the magic that was far, far away beyond anybody’s imaginative world, the magic that just shook the crowd to the root. Such was the power of Isukuti.

A small crowd appeared from the main gate, vigorously shaking their hips to the rhythm of Isukuti. It was AK47 being escorted into the stadium. His fans cheered and danced, with some, especially women, taking off their lesos and rappers and spreading them on the ground for AK47 to pass over them. It was even rumored that the woman whose leso or rapper would be stepped on by AK47 twice would bear a very energetic and vibrant son. Everybody was happy and everybody was enjoying themselves.

Lisasi came into the stadium with a surprise. Nobody knew how he came in, not even the keen hawk-like eye of my photographer saw him come. He was just there, standing like a huge mountainous buffalo with some of his darling fans singing and dancing around him. He did not have as much following as AK47 but he seemed least bothered and proudly enjoying the small gathering around him.

The two bulls were then taken by their guides into the center of the stadium where the scram was to take place.

The whole stadium went into silence as everybody waited for the kick off whistle. The bulls knew the rules too; they would only fight with the permission of the whistle. There owners stood some few meters from them each holding a huge rungu in their hands. The sound of the whistle rented the air. The fight was now officially on.

The bulls did not engage at once. They toyed with each other as though borrowing a leave from the ancient legend boxer, Muhammad Ali’s famous ring quotes of ‘dance like a butterfly and sting like a bee,’ or ‘exhaust the opponent then attack when he least expects.’

The fight begun and people cheered. AK 47 charged towards Lisasi and Lisasi tactfully dodged leaving AK47 sprawling on the ground. The crowd roared with excitement. There were two camps in the stadium; those supporting AK47 and those for Lisasi. Those for Lisasi danced and jumped with joy as those for AK47 maintained their peace. They understood the saying, ‘He who laughs last laughs best’ and so, they waited for that last laugh, though what they seemed not to be sure off is whether they would laugh the best..

As the bulls fought on and as the crowd cheered on, I discovered several things but above all, I discovered unity. This tradition acted as a bond, it bonded people together. People sat as one, watched as one and cheered as one. In fact, they were all one. There were no political affiliations, no tribal cocoons and no demeaning social classes. They were all bonded together in a one unbreakable bond.

How can this tradition be turned into a lucrative business? This sport cam be turned into a good tourist attraction. The County government of Kakamega can invest into popularizing the sport to other counties and encourage visitors to come and witness. This will attract revenue for the County, employment to the bull owners and investor will flock the County too.

Article by Juma Fred.