"He is mad", says a jostling onlooker who peddles calendars from 2009.
The decorated "Colonel" of the Isiolo streets was once a cop. His grip on the bleak reality shared by most everyone else around town became slack and he's drifted into another plane. Although retired, each morning he reports to the police station and stands in salute as the young officers hoist the flag. Slowly making his way through a chaotic town that moves like it's frying, he keeps a rare, contemplative ease, smiling and nodding to everyone, surely taking it all in a bit differently. For the past few years, his friend (our ex-mechanic) has been taking care of the Colonel's late-80's Buick Regal, which sits on blocks in the garage yard, doubling as a tool shed until the Colonel feels like driving it again.
In a place like this, madness is a gift.