In the Hands of Highway Robbers

A lady friend called one morning to inform me that her child had been taken ill and hospitalized in St. Mary’s Hospital in Langata. I promised to visit that afternoon. I left my work station at 1.30 pm and took a matatu to town. I walked to Railway’s bus terminus to board matatu number 15 to St. Mary’s. Being in a hurry, I didn’t have the patience to wait for the matatus waiting in the queue to fill in the passengers. If you have been to that terminus, you might be aware of some matatus that do not follow the queue. If you stand on Haile Selassie directly opposite Cooperative House, you might be lucky to catch one.

This was one of those lucky days. It didn’t take me a minute before hopping into a 14-seater matatu. On getting in I realized I was the only passenger, this meant I would spend more time on the road since they would make a stop in every bus stage.

Barely a kilometer away from Railways, we made the first stop. It was at the Kobil Petrol station at the junction of Haile Selassie and Uhuru highway, just next to Neno Evangelism Church of the famous apostle Nganga. We were there for about 5 minutes that to me seemed like an eternity. Immediately the driver cranked up the engine so we could start moving, the conductor shouted something in a signature soprano Kisii dialect (Btw how does a choir made up of only kisiis’ sound?) and the driver engaged a reverse gear for a few meters inside the petrol station.

Seven gentlemen boarded the matatu. One sat in front with the driver, two occupied the seats behind the driver, one besides the conductor, one besides me (I sat behind the conductor, the seat that is detached from the rest to allow for a path to the back seats) and two in the back seat. The two in the back seat had bags and so was the one besides the conductor. One of those behind the driver, had a brown A-4 envelop and he seemed to be in his 50’s. I realized they knew each other when the conductor asked for fare and they started contributing like they were holding a funds drive. I handed the conductor my 50 shillings and kept my cool. 

It was towards the tail end of 2016 and politics in the country had started heating up. There was a bit of traffic between Bunyala Rd and Nyayo round about. They started discussing politics saying how their victory would not be stolen again, that gave me a hint what side of the political divide they supported. Besides, being in a matatu No 15 is obvious, hiyo huwa inaelekea bedroom ya baba, yawa! One of the gentlemen seated behind me asked who I was supporting for the presidency and without hesitating I said Baba (Of course I lied, I was fully supporting the dynamic duo. You know! We like experimenting. We wanted to taste choices served with raw consequences. We are now full and vomiting. Don't ask me questions, am still recuperating). He rubbed my head and said, ‘wewe ni wetu.’  We made a stop at Nyayo bus stop. No one boarded. By this time, I had sensed these people were not good guys, I could read the face of the conductor and tell all was not well. I became more observant of the glances they exchanged and realized they were communicating something.

On arriving at Madaraka bus stop, a young man approached to board. He had a nice brown leather cross bag. I must say from the onset that he must have been a friend to the gym or probably he fed well. I could tell from how his chest and biceps filled his black round necked t-shirt. Remember the two guys seated behind the driver, the one next to the door, the one with a brown envelop and looked in his 50’s? He alighted and pretended to be going to the front (This I later realized was to ensure that the young man didn’t seat in front). The young man sat behind the driver, where the old man initially sat. When he got settled, the old man came back from the front door where he had been standing and requested him to move (The seat behind the driver accommodates 3 pax). Now the young man got sandwiched between the two guys. 

A few meters away at Shell petrol station just next to T-Mall, one of the guys faked a call and pretended to be talking to someone saying, “Wako hapo? Eti wanashika watu juu ya mshipi, eti wanaitisha elfu tano?” People in the matatu started scampering looking for their safety-belts to avoid getting arrested and parting with 5 thousand shillings, myself included. I was lucky though my seat was detached from others so it was easier to fasten mine. I could see the two men wrestling the young man saying, “Hii ni yangu! Amka! yako ndio hii hapa” and such like stuff. I literally saw their hands in his pockets. Nothing was in his pockets. I saw the old guy with an envelope open the young man’s leather bag and get out a nice-looking phone, fold it with the envelop and hand it to the man behind him, the one besides the conductor. He immediately slithered the phone together with the envelop in his bag.  The man behind me grabbed me by the neck and warned me to keep my beak shut. I obliged, I pretended I saw nothing.

On arrival at Wilson bus stop, the old man who took the phone, followed by the one he gave and the two guys behind me alighted. It is then that the young man realized that his phone was missing and immediately ordered the conductor to shut the door before the rest could get out. He suspected the guy seated next to him at the corner. This is where the gym we earlier talked about came in. The guy got grabbed by his ninii. Kizaazaa kikazuka! Remember the guy next to me? He jumped to the seat in front so he could help his counterpart. By this time the driver had requested the young man to give his number amid the squabble to call and get to know if the phone was still on. The driver called and the phone was still on though not in the precincts of the matatu. By this time the vehicle was on the move. Hapa ilikua kama movie I tell you! The guy in front was literally fighting with the driver for the wheel. The drivers elbow got into the guy and he surrendered. Btw we almost got into a ditch. My guy was still wrestling the guy that was seated with him. The conductor and myself tried getting hold of the other guy so he could not reach the young man.   

Luckily during that time, Administration Police used to mount a barrier just outside Amref offices as you head towards town. The driver made a quick calculative decision and crossed the road to the other side where the APs barrier was. All this while we were shouting wezi! wezi! and the driver was hooting continuously. 

Thank God there were no oncoming vehicles at that particular moment, otherwise we would have been crushed into minced meat. We alighted from the mat and the 3 guys immediately got handcuffed. I almost got cuffed too, the conductor saved me. The matatu drove off towards town after dropping us, not before the driver explained to the cops what had transpired, he also assured the young man that he would pass by Langata police station to write his statement. Good driver that one, and his conductor. Real Kenyan shujaas, a rare kind. God bless the work of their hands.

The young man called his phone one more time, this time someone answered and informed him that he had dropped his phone at the bus stop in Madaraka while boarding the matatu. It was a lie! A fat naked lie! I had seen them take the phone; the conductor saw it too. Their accomplices informed them they were in hot soup.  The reason they decided to surrender the phone, to get their friends off the hook. The AP called Langata police station, we sat there waiting. A gentleman that was seated behind me in the matatu came with the phone pretending that he was the good Samaritan that had collected it at the bus stop. He got cuffed too. The victim vowed not to forgive them despite having gotten back his mobile phone. Being the only witness, I assured him that I would accompany him to the station to record my statement as well. This did not sit well with the thugs, they kept telling me not to meddle into other peoples’ affairs. “Wewe kuna simu yako imepotea? Jipe shugli kijanaa ama utaumia bure!” They kept telling me. I decided to give them a deaf ear.

The OCS from Langata police station, then a lady, arrived about 30 minutes later. She got a short brief of what had transpired. I remember her instructing us to take several photos of the criminals and told us to publish them in all our social media platforms so the public could get to know them by their faces (Don’t ask for those photos, I lost them). We later boarded the blue canter to the police station. It was my first time to board a police vehicle. The criminals were thrown into a cell just behind the OB desk where we wrote a statement. It is while writing the statement that I discovered that the victim was a doctor at Riruta Health Centre where Kim, a friend of mine worked then. I told him that I had a friend who worked there, he acknowledged knowing him. However due to the tension and the complexity of the matter we didn’t get to talk much. The police man on the OB book insisted that he should leave the phone as exhibit. By this time there were three guys who had come to see the bad guys and I saw them talk pointing at us. At this point I was so shaken. 

It was about 5.30 pm and I was so confused. Didn’t know whether to proceed to the hospital or go home. We exchanged numbers with my guy and we agreed should the case proceed to court I would be available to testify. I left him arguing with the police man on leaving his phone behind or going with it. I jumped onto a motorbike at the stations gate and made my way to the hospital to see my friend’s son. I never received a call from my good friend on what transpired thereafter. I however searched him on Facebook and we are now “friends”! Ain’t sure if he remembers me though, maybe he just accepted a friend request just the way we all randomly do without caring who they are. I will however tag him here so he could tell us what happened later. 

Doc, you denied me a lifetime chance of testifying in a court of law, I even had my script ready mehn! Hapo hata haungehitaji wakili! my testimony alone would have seen them gnash their teeth for a decade in manyani.        

 

   

 

 

The King’ero 14

A few years ago, a friend of ours invited us for a house warming party at a place called King’ero in Kabete. 
A month prior to this house warming, we had been hosted by another friend at the foot of Ngong hills in his humble abode for a similar event. 


This set a precedent for what was to be a series of house warmings moving forward to give us multiple opportunities to party and do crazy stuff that guys our age then loved to do.  A Whatsapp group that had been set to organize the Ngong event changed name and was given the ‘King’ero guy’s name housewarming’ (Nkome bamung’o), this was to be the routine for subsequent house warmings. Due to the standards that the previous party had set, everyone on the Whatsapp group confirmed their attendance of the King’ero one. In fact, many tagged their friends along and thus the number grew bigger. Being a Saturday, guys had their carburetor wide open to take as much booze as they could since on Sunday they could spare some hours to nurse the hang-downs. At about 2pm my friend came, picked us up and off we went.

We were among the first bunch to arrive at our friends place. We met him in the company of another friend who also lives in the neighborhood and immediately we got incorporated in the ‘special committee’ of fetching booze. We drove to Westgate mall to pick the paraphernalia. Before we got there the 5 of us were already high. Apparently, this guy had some whisky coupled with some other  hard stuff in the car that we took. We purchased liquor and by the time we got back, it was almost 7pm, guys were extremely bored, jeshi ya whisky ilikua imewaangusha. We hurriedly lit up the grill, started chomaing meat and the party kicked off. Guys literally ate raw meat. 

You may have realized I ain’t mentioning names. Reason? Most of us are now husbands/wives, fathers/mothers, teetotalers like myself, pastors maybe! And mentioning their names without their consent might land me in big trouble. I got no money to hire an attorney to represent me against a crowd of 20 or more individuals. Niokotwe Marurui!!!

The party continued till wee hours of the night. The dancers danced, the drinkers drunk, the smokers smoked, the eaters ate, the katiaras katianad, the vomiters vomited and so on and so forth. Sleeping time came and ladies retired to the bedroom, others on the couch. Dudes slept on the floor, some horizontal, others vertical. Let’s just say everybody slept where they fell, Helter-skelter. I slept in my friends’ car in the parking lot.

You better adjust your seat coz this here is the juiciest part of the story-the morning after. I was woken up by noise from the boys making their way past the car I was asleep in walking towards the gate. I joined them oblivious of where they were headed to. I was on the white spongy house slippers (Sijui zinaitangwa aje mimi). I followed my mbogi and when I asked where they were headed to, I was told the neighbor to the host (Remember the one I told you we met when we arrived the previous day? That one!) was taking them for a morning walk to a waterfall that was in his landlords’ expanse land before the ladies could fix breakfast for us.

We got into a small shopping-center across the road. As a rule of the thump for guys who had spent the better part of the night imbibing some cheap stuff, the first thing we saw in between buildings was a bar. “Tutoeni lock” someone in the gang suggested. We called a quick meeting by the roadside, and in unison we agreed to raise some cash, purchased some two 750ml Vat 69 and continued with our journey.

We descended downhill through a dusty path to this beautiful sight to behold. The waterfall was magnificent, a beautiful scenery. We settled besides a stagnant pool in which the waterfall poured and started drinking as we took photos for remembrance. In the group were 3 ladies and 12 dudes. Gafla bin vuu, the dude who had taken us for site seeing stripped to his boxers and immersed himself into the pool for a swim. He almost drowned btw. Alijitosa majini akiwa maji.

An hour and half later, alcohol had started taking a toll on most of the guys and we lazily lay on the grass. At some point there was a ruckus between two guys. I really can’t remember who it was I only remember them exchanging some unprintable words and guys cheering on. By this time I guess nilikua nimeanza kuona mene mene tekeli na peresi. Of the 3 ladies in our company, one was not taking booze, I don’t remember seeing her take anything the previous night either. She was uncomfortable and really insisted leaving, we excused her and she made her way up hill. Before she could even disappear from our sight, we saw four men accost her and instructed her to turn back. She obliged.

Two had AK47 rifles and the other two had pistols. One cocked the gun and directed it towards our direction and ordered us to keep seated and raise up our hands. They identified themselves as policemen and warned that any stupid move would leave us all dead. Walevi ni akina nani! (Remember we are in the bush in the middle of nowhere next to a stagnant pool)  We all removed our phones, started filming and yelling we knew our rights and that we were in a private property but all this fell into deaf ears. They ordered us to pour our drinks in an empty water bottle and carry it as evidence (We destroyed the evidence once we boarded the mariamu-Tulikunywa evidence yote). The dude who had taken us there (the swimmer) was the most vocal plus another heavy built jamaa (He was new, had not met him before) were handcuffed together. I don’t know whether it was intentional or confusion that the policeman handcuffed them right hand against the others right hand and walking up the hill was literally an uphill task.

In our midst was a KDF guy. When we were all summoned to sit down he never did, he kept standing, pulled one policeman aside and identified himself. When we were being escorted uphill, our KDF friend was behind with that one policeman trying to convince him that we were all good guys. We were very confident he would secure our release. Those who had contacts to call, did. We finally made it to where the mariamu had been parked and we were ordered to get in. Our KDF friend sat in front with the driver to continue with the negotiation. The other policemen sat at the back with us. I remember the swimmer threatening the four and telling them by the following day he would initiate their transfers to north-eastern region, “Wewe kesho utakua Mandera, wewe Wajir, wewe Moyale na huyo mwingine Garissa.” He threatened.

We arrived at King’ero police station and first to get out was our KDF friend. The OCS was standing at the entrance of the block. Guys started screaming as the land cruiser reversed towards the door. The KDF friend approached the OCS and whispered something. We heard the OCS shout, “Kijana toka hapa mbio ama nikuitie military police” That is the last time we ever saw him in that compound. Man down! We were now 3 ladies and 11 guys (King’ero 14).

Our screaming attracted the attention of the entire police station. The police came towards our direction breathing fire. One dude and a lady received slaps that almost sent them to the ground. I am pretty sure they haven’t forgotten how it felt to date. Seeing this, the rest of us literally ran into the cell. Guys continued making several calls to relatives and every other person they thought would influence our release as we continued recording our valuables. A few sneaked in with their phones.

A few minutes later, two of the ladies, the ones we had left in the house came to see us. Brave ones, those. Since I had not yet recorded my belongings, I gave them out to one of them. They bought us lots of mandazi, argued with the OCS that we are good guys and that we were harmless (Bless your soul good people, mlitusaidia sana, kwanza the Advocate). The OCS softened but again said he wouldn’t release us until we sobered up. Left with no option, we got locked up and most of the guys slept on a cold dirty floor and even snored comfortably. The rest of us continued with storytelling, making calls, taking photos inside the cell, inscribing on the walls, ‘so and so was here!’ Oh! And there were other three dudes in the cell before we got in, one had long dreadlocks and his right hand was handcuffed against a round metallic knob on the floor, he must have committed a heinous crime that one.

One of our friend whose dad had retired at a very senior rank in the police service a few years before, had been trying to reach him since we got apprehended but couldn’t get through. His dad finally called back at around 1pm and notified him that he had been in church. This call was the last straw that broke the camels’ back. We all knew this call would automatically get us out. Our friend narrated to his dad the whole escapade. I tell you this respectable mzee made calls. Vigilance house was called, Jogoo house B was called and maybe several other places that were necessary at the time. He called his son back asking for our names which he did immediately.

The OCS came to the cell moments later calm and composed. He told us that due to the many calls that had been made from vigilance house, he was afraid he couldn’t release us before his senior who had also been called came. Our matter was now above his pay grade. He requested us to stay calm and wait for the OCPD to come but assured us that we would be released.

The OCPD arrived some two hours later smartly dressed in designer suit, got into the cell in the company of the OCS and two other uniformed police men. He introduced himself, told us he is a man of God and that he fellowships at the Ministry of Repentance and Holiness Church (Prophet David Owuors' church). He confessed that he had never left church before the service is over but on that day he did. Reason? He received many calls from his seniors regarding our issue and so he had to come to handle our case and get to know who we really are that we are of concern to his seniors. He even joked that he had received calls from everyone and he feared the president would be the next on line. Zinaitwa connections! He preached to us about drinking, read bible verses to us, sought to know what each of us did for a living etc.

BTW the reason of our arrest we were told, was that when neighbours saw us in the waterfall and one of us swimming, they thought it was mungiki administering oath. That area was mungiki prone and so they reported us to the police leading to our arrest. Besides, we had congregated without a letter from the authorities and drinking in public.

The preaching went on for another like two hours, we got our freedom some minutes past 5pm. No one gave out a dime. Viva! The OCPD invited us to his car after we left the cell, gave us his job card and Prophet Owuor VCDs with his preaching and urged us to go watch, stop drinking and seek salvation. Amen?

We went back to our friends’ home, met the ladies plus of course the KDF guy, ate late lunch/super and left for our homes. This was my first day in cell, but definitely not the last. It was my first day in King’ero and tentatively my last. This was the last housewarming we ever held. Uraibu ulikatizwa.

“Looking forward to when we shall all meet again in thunder, lightning or rain”

Sabina Joy

Photo Courtesy

I was woken up by loud knocks on my door a few minutes to 6am. I hurriedly washed my face and slithered into my favorite black corduroy trouser, a brown oversize t-shirt, colour matched with my brown Hanson kicks.

After a heavy breakfast of two huge sweet potatoes and tea, I grabbed my small suitcase that I had packed the previous night. Mzee-One (Dad) escorted me to Linkurungu where I boarded the famous Ken Silver to Nairobi Cirri.

Although I had been in the big city thrice before, two of which were on transit to other destinations, this was arguably my maiden entry into the place of cool waters. The excitement was out of this world. We touched down at Tea Room International Airport some minutes past 3pm. Mzee-One had sent me to the city like a luggage (Didn’t know anyone/anywhere), and so I had to make calls announcing that I had landed so I would get picked up. I was informed that whoever was to pick me was on his way. I took a seat in Terminal 1 – International Arrivals lounge (Read, Ken-Silver Booking Office) and waited patiently. After an hour or so of waiting, a middle aged tall man approached me and asked, “Wewe ndio Adrian?” “Naam” I answered. “Mimi naitwa Cossovo nimetumwa kukuchukua” He said. “Nifuate” He added.

He grabbed my suitcase and started making huge steps (Alikanyanga kubwa-kubwa) without looking back. I tried keeping up with him in vain. There were a lot of people on the streets. Women selling tomatoes, avocadoes, clothes, mayai mboiro and all sorts of things. I got lost for a minute not knowing where Cossovo had disappeared to before he reappeared, grabbed my hand by the wrist and shouted, “Tembea haraka murume, hii ni Nairobi” 

We arrived at Ambassadour bus terminus where we were to board Citi Hoppa number 24 to Karen. By this time I was so pressed and had no idea how to tell this stranger that I had just met. Mungu naye ni nani! He was pressed too, “Shika hii bag nijisaidie hapa nikuje” He requested. “Hata mimi nimekazwa” I said. He got into the bus, placed the bag on a seat and instructed the conductor who was busy yelling, “Langata! Bomas! Hardy! Karen!” to check on it. 

He pointed into an entrance with the words “Sabina Joy” printed in a signboard hanging by the entrance. I followed him into a dark staircase leading to God knows where. Skimpily dressed girls lined the walls of the staircase leading to wherever it is we were headed to whispering in low tones things I did not care to hear. We made it to the second or third floor, took a dark corridor past a bar full of revelers into a filthy, smelly urinal. I emptied my bladder and as I turned to make my way out I was accosted by a battery of girls pulling me left, right and center hissing in my ears like rattled snakes. Thank heavens Cossovo came out seconds after myself and shouted at the girls before they let me go. (I will tell you someday how I narrated this story to my buddies and they requested that I take them for a ‘field study’).

We embarked on our maiden safari to Karengata, and as if gods had conspired against me, the bus we were in hit a small car and our safari was curtailed for some time. Hunger and thirst were almost killing me at this time and there was no shop in the vicinity. The accident occurred in Uhuru Highway right outside Toyota Kenya. After a while another Hoppa came to our rescue and we finally arrived at Apostles of Jesus Youth Technical Institute (AJYTI) Karen. During our days, after graduating from high school, it was fashionable to enroll for computer courses as you waited to join college. As fate would have it, AJYTI hosted me for this very purpose.

xxx

While at AJYTI, I met incredible people. Danielle Sakayian (Masai) is one of them, a classmate and a friend. Our classes ran from 8am to 1pm. Dan, our teacher, would however give us beginners to teach in the afternoon or help him in the school cyber café. I so much liked helping in the cyber because besides surfing and admiring/stalking girls who frequented the cyber, I would get a few coins for Keg in Mama Blackies or The Yard at Kenol in the evening. Through the networking program that managed the cyber, one would grab a screen of another computer being used by a client using the admin computer and see what he/she is doing. Through this, I would get the names one is using on Facebook or yahoo messager, send a request, get accepted (No one rejected requests back then) and start the chat right away without the person knowing that you were seated right across them. Working in the cyber gave us privileges that other students did not have. For you to understand this I need to paint for you a picture of what AJYTI was like.  

Besides AJYTI being an Institute that offered technical courses, there are multiple other things that it was/is home to, among them; an all girl’s hostel that housed about 30 girls from Catholic University, Tangaza College, Marist and JKUAT – Karen. In the compound there was also a Cafeteria that was open to public besides being the kitchen where girls from the hostel took their meals. There was another section that housed priests, complete with a kitchen and a dining hall that was famously referred to as a ‘Refectory’. At the extreme end of the compound there was a hall that was subdivided inside to create temporary small wooden cubicles. These tiny cubicles were each fitted with a double decker high school-like metal beds and housed male teachers and other support staff in the Institute. 

During my first few days in AJYTI, I stayed in the dormitory together with other boys who were taking technical courses. It was only Masai and myself who were taking computer studies and so we felt out of place, other computer students were day scholars. Luckily for us, we managed to get a vacant cube that we occupied amid resistance from some staff. This cube became our house till we cleared our studies. Staying in the same place with the staff made us become close to most of them. 

Stay around for fascinating escapades from “Babylon” as one teacher, Mr. Matandi referred AJYTI as.