Live Life In Technicolor.

Jama believed in first impressions. A jaunty red hat. Flamboyant red shoes. A suit with an extravagant air, stitched out of a psychedelic dream. Fingers adorned with rings with stones as big as the rock of Gibraltar. It was a fashion statement that made other fashion statements wither away into nothingness. No wonder Jama cut a rather dashing figure as he waltzed through the busy Portobello Road. A merry hop, skip and jump away from where a bumbling Will bumped into the poised Anna. An incident that resulted in many young men dream about opening their own bookstores with doors that chime when a Hollywood actress walks in.
Jama, however, was no less than a superstar than Hugh and Julia, in Notting Hill. Unlike most movie icons weighed down by PR-made reputations, box office expectations and their own elevated sense of self-awareness, Jama walked around with a carefree air. Visitors lined up to take photos with him. Residents exchanged a joke or two. His million-megawatt smile dispelling clouds overhead, and in people’s heads.
After a series of selfies with his fans, Jama stopped for a breather at Ci Tua restaurant (hygiene rating of 5, authentic Italian delicacies). He draped his lanky self across a chair, flanked by two tables covered with red & white checkered tablecloths.
One doesn’t need to take a photography masterclass to recognize a photo-op. I asked him for a photo. He happily obliged. We exchanged fist bumps. As I thanked him and was about to walk away, he asked me to wait for a second.
Jama fished out a wallet from the depths of his many-hued coat. He opened it with a deft movement and handed over a card to me. The card had his contact details. Seeing my quizzical look, he flashed a smile. ‘I like it when people take photos of me. And I’d love it if you mail me the photo you have taken.’
I have no idea who Jama is or what he does for a living. What I do know is Jama makes a tiny part of the world a happier place. And sometimes that’s all you need to know about a person.