Nairobi "Schooling" - Villager's Edition

It's been long since I blogged; not for lack of material, just been caught up in the paper chase to fuel my "metabolism" while helping pay my Landlord's mortgage that ensures I have a roof over my head. The Njoki Cheges' of this world will rank me middle class and swiftly bypass me in pursuit of the affluent. I have less time to spare for such warped thinkers; in the meantime, I'll stick to the comments' section of their pieces. I have been trying to ignore politics too.. It's the state of insecurity in the country that is worrying. We need to rethink our intelligence before we can chest thump boasting that we've gone digital. In this regard, my heart bleeds every time I think of the sickening Mandera massacre. May the victims rest in peace. Amen!

Lest you associate me with the brand of people who unnecessarily prolong a simple food prayer by first praying for travellers' journey mercies, the local chief, the sick etc... I swiftly digress. Ahem! Y'all have heard enough accounts of first timers in Nairobi. Back in primary school, we used to study a subject called GHC - Geography History and Civics. It's in the Civics section I believe that we used to study the effects and motivations of Rural to Urban migration. Bam!! Before you say "GHC", I found myself in the urban set up called Nairobi. Call me mshamba, but previously, I had brief encounters with the city, including when I took my first breath three decades ago in the then leafy suburb of Pumwani which I understand has since degraded into a "leaf-eating" suburb. My most memorable trip of all to the city was back in 1992 to attend my elder bro's graduation ceremony - I stood all the way in a face-me school van to ensure nothing passed my "rural eyes". Well, it's almost 15yrs since I've been a resident of Nairobi and my rural eyes are still not fully acquainted with urbanity.

Any villager who ventured into Nairobi before the advent of google maps and other navigation apps will tell you that KICC building was the reference point for directions; a true north of sorts. While growing up in the village, it took an approximate balance of 5ksh in the pocket to make my Sunday. We walked to the nearby Runyenjes town to do what my mum calls "gutira duka" (meaning to prop up the shops literally ...yaani idling). The 5 bob could buy mandazis to eat as we watched reckless miraa pickup drivers speed past speed bumps with impunity. While still very fresh in Nairobi, I decided to take a bus to town one Sunday afternoon. Just like any other newbie in town, Uhuru Park was my first stop. I then took a stroll in town applying the "look right, look left and look right again" rule while crossing the roads - even on one-way streets.. sigh!! I got too engrossed with the buildings, cars and fast-walking pedestrians that before long it was 5:30pm, time to go home. Could the villager remember what stage he alighted from? ...NOPE! Could the villager consult anyone where the Embakasi stage was? ...NOPE! everyone was a suspect :) Could the villager still remember the route number for the bus home? ...NOPE! Did the perplexed villager have a mobile phone? ...Nope! What to do?? ...guess my way around while occasionally stopping to refer to my "True North".

Wacha nizunguke tao kama wazimu!! I spent the next one and a half hours lost in the concrete jungle, alleys and downtown streets of Nairobi. KICC was disappearing and re-appearing as I crossed the streets. I can now vividly remember having gone as far as University way, Globe cinema roundabout, Race course road, Nyamakima and even at some point almost crossed the Nairobi river at Grogan.. All this time I was on the constant lookout for the magic word: "Embakasi" on matatus and buses that drove by. In such situations, time really flies. I was looking at everyone with increased suspicion; never mind that I barely had anything worth stealing. I must have been walking along banda street and on getting to the point it branches to Muindi Bingu street I saw a bus number 34 ..Embakasi!!! That was the closest I've encountered a real miracle; forget Kanyari and his now famed Potassium Permanganate. My village skills of sprinting after Pickup trucks and lorries and jumping aboard paid off that day. Thank heavens the stagecoaches' had two doors... out of breath I managed to hang on to the second door at the back of the bus, Phewks!!! Few months after, I could navigate my way in town with eyes closed. Little did I know that I had barely graduated from "Nairobi's pre-unit" class.

Ever been conned in Nairobi? I believe everyone has; few admit though. My first mobile phone was a Siemens A35. Back in the day, the gadget oozed class. Need I say I was within the first million subscribers to get a Safaricom line.. the real 0722. You know whaaarrrrrraammsayying?? When the cheapest airtime voucher was worth Ksh250 and mobile data network was non-existent locally. Siemens A35 preceded polyphonic tunes, it had ringtones akin to those produced by musical success cards. Other outrageous features included the SMS app which had messages scrolling from left to the right when the user is reading.. na pace yake tuuu!! The memory capacity could only handle 10 messages. The above notwithstanding, a phone call back in the day was a celebrated event, especially if it was in a public place. Let me make you understand: I am sitting at the University of Nairobi's JKML library sometime in 2001/2002 when my phone rings prompting the attention of fellow students in that section. Just like some present weird Kenyans with irritating personalized skiza tunes and ringtones do, I let my gadget ring for a couple of seconds as the students' gaze with admiration. Then I stand and walk off with an extra springy effect by letting my heels linger a few more milliseconds in the air. After the call, adjacent students suddenly acquire instant respect and looks that appear to say: "you are my role model". In that era, one could just exchange numbers with strangers just to make a few more phone book entries and shorten the time in between calls - One could last a full week without a phone call. I'm done bragging :-)

Within no time, polyphonic tunes' phones were the trendy gadgets in town and my Siemens was up for sale. One evening an acquaintance of mine by the name Erico claimed to have a ready buyer and in seconds we were walking towards the buyer's direction. In the meantime, Erico asked for the phone so he could familiarize himself with the features. On nearing some stage along Outering road, he directed that I wait as he fetched the buyer. Big mistake!! Ten minutes later I realized he had boarded a matatu for Umoja estate. Guy was a cheap thief and a con. You see, 99% of men have no idea where their friends reside; Sadly, I am no exception. After mourning for days I acquired a Nokia 3310 which was considered a smart phone then. You won't believe it, after a couple of months I was conned off the 3310 by smart cons with a believable Meru accent and dusty clothes to boot. Chaps had allegedly won Ksh250,000 in the Kenya Charity Sweepstake draw and decided that I was the most honest and smart guy along Tom Mboya street that morning to assist them redeem their ticket for money. My 3310 remained with them as I took to the stairs of Kenya Charity Sweepstake house two at a time in a rush to get the cash and subsequent commission. Few minutes later I went down the flight of stairs four at a time out to teach the Meru cons a lesson... wapi!! They had vanished in thin air. To date, given a chance I'd still nominate them for an Oscar. Err-mm come to think of it, were the cons so smart or was I too dumb and outright gullible? well, that's debatable.

I was too ashamed to admit my gullibility and lied that the phone was snatched from me along Parliament road which in my book is one of the safest streets in town. Ever told a lie so many times that you convinced yourself it was the gospel truth? Getting conned twice in a year was enough schooling for in the ways of the city. I am the few guys who sympathised with Pastor Kanyari's victims the other day when #JichoPevu exposed his con ways because I too have had my fair doses of Potassium Permanganate from people driven by personal and collective "targets" respectively. I am wiser now. My brief stint at Safaricom's customer service centre exposed me to a thousand and one ways that Kenyans get conned every day. Former schoolmates and college-mates, please take this as a disclaimer: next time you bump into me in the streets of Nairobi and happily go out of your way to high five or hug me... don't be surprised by either a fleeing brother or a stone-faced snob walking on unfazed. Especially those of you who have since reared Osama-like beards, accumulated weight in triple digits or developed humongous pot bellies to unrecognisable dimensions. Sorry guys, gotta cut me some slack :-)

Eid In a Police Cell

I always look forward to Ramadhan. Not because of my Islam affiliations and liasions - and they are few, but for the promise of Eid-ul-fitr holiday. Yes, I know no one loves holidays better than working Kenyans including yours truly. A week earlier, as I was "accidentally" perusing the Kenya gazette for "gossip and EPL transfer news", I stumbled on the gazettement of the 29th August 2014 as public holiday and I whispered fervently Al-hamdu lillahi rabbil 'alamin!! and conveniently scheduled a few pending tasks for the Eid holiday;  because I am not the average Joe who will bum all day and watch the "idiot box" - err-mm I mean TV. Chief in my to-do list was to service my lovely VW Bug.

THE ARREST

Eid-ul-Fitr is here!! I wake up at 9am despite having planned to be changing my bug's fly-wheel seal and wheel bearings by 8am somewhere in the foothills of the breath-taking Lukenya hills - blame it on the holiday. I abhor superstition and all his/her relatives, but looking back now, premonition (who in my book is superstition's closest relative) had me swallowing double my daily ration of breakfast. It turned out  that friend who's new to driving had recently acquired a pick-up and had chosen to make her maiden drive along Mombasa road that day taking advantage of the low-traffic highway thanks to illustrious Kenyans still hibernating beneath their duvets. Owing to a number of motivations; chief among them being that the pick-up was manual (I love manual cars), I decided to offer the otherwise expensive services of a VW Beetle chase-car for free.

Picture me whistling as I cruise down Mombasa road behind the pick-up without a care in the world; with my hazard lights on to keep off unruly truck drivers whose susceptibility of scaring off rookie drivers into a roadside ditches is always high. The pick-up in front is doing just fine with occasional sways while being overtaken by 18-wheelers. I easily get carried away and overtake the pick-up at GM (General Motors) in a bid to flaunt my superior skills to the kurutu pick-up driver and her co-driver while acting as a route sweeper. You must be thinking, a VW Beetle sweeper or wannabe?? Well my Betty  has two horns, a normal one and a Pararira (trumpet) that can easily match an 18-wheeler's and that has successfully bullied one or two unruly drivers on our roads * chest thumps!! *

I used my pararira thrice; twice successfully and the third time successfully but with grave consequences. Success 1: Imara Daima junction parariraaaaaa!! successfully tamed cars trying to join the highway thus ensuring an easy passage for Betty and the pick-up. Success 2: Parariraaaaaaa!! successfully prevented a Matatu from rejoining the highway matatu-style; we passed with ease. Success 3 AKA Failure 1: Parariraaaaaa!!! Just past Cabanas on our way to Embakasi. Successfully thwarts a matatu from rejoining the road carelessly. Beetle passes but matatu gets in the way of the pick-up. Riiinnngggggg!! I decide to answer a phone call while allowing the matatu to overtake so we can continue with the beetle-pick-up cruise. BAD MOVE!!! Matatu overtakes and cuts into my lane blocking me instantly: "Wewe kiyana weka hio gari kando mara moja!!" three traffic cops from inside the matatu shout in unison. I strongly condemn Israel's shelling of gaza, but if mainstream media's claims that Israel is making calls to target buildings or using roof-knockers to warn occupants' of imminent attack are true, me thinks it's a humane idea and I too expected some kind of arrest-warning from the cops. Shock on me!!!! A common misconception by cops and wananchi is that if you are driving a classic car you are poor and can barely afford insurance; the hungry cop pounced on my windscreen and clearly saw his face darken on realizing he couldn't nail me insurance-wise: stupid cop!! "Kiyana unapigia sisi horn kama ya train halafu unaanza kuongea na simu ukiendesha gari??" A cop asks as he jumps into Betty's passenger seat. "Endesha gari twende polisi, unaona nissan imejaa polisi na unaendelea kuongea kwa simu" he asks. I promptly answer "Afande mimi bado ona Nissan imebeba polisi, nilidhani ni abiria, si tuongee tu kama wanaume...". Cop explained that his boss was in the Nissan matatu and being a "traffic operation" I had no choice but drive to the police station.

THE CELLS

We get to the OB section and "my cop" points me to his boss and says "ongea nayeye". The hungry boss asks: "uko na pesa ngapi" ...I hate giving bribes, and if I have to, I stick to a few hundreds. I answered: "afisa niko na mia tano". The furious boss shouts "andikia yeye!!!". I am left at the mercy of what I consider the rudest cop in Kenya; a very ugly lady who I believe makes up for the lost beauty by insulting and being rude to newly-arrested Kenyans - especially if you seem to being doing better than her in life. She points me into to some cubicle full of foul-smelling shoes. Free advice: if you ever enter such a cubicle, don't stress your lungs by holding your breath because you will still breathe in that foul smell ultimately. Maybe you might want to stay further away from some multi-coloured-I-have-never-been-washed-since-I-was-bought old sneakers. By now you must know that it takes an criminal/traffic offence plus one shoe to get yourself into a cell. The other shoe is left in some cubicle. Inside I find people frantically making calls and visibly yet to come to terms with their newly acquired status as "guests of the states". I get flushed out of the stinky room in the middle of my third call.

The ugly cop snatches my phone off my ear while hurling obscenities. In turn, I engage the two cops in an argument explaining to them that I am just informing friends and relatives of my arrest. The impatient cops pin me to the wall and frisk me off my wallet and keys, book them against my name and toss me into the cell without explaining what I'm in for, reading me my rights or even bothering to give me options on what to expect next. Inside the cell I am met with all manner of stares from weary faces. Having heard enough stories of bullying in cells, I immediately change my facial expression from frightened to a mean I-visit-police-cells-more-regularly-than-you-visit-the-loo kind of face. Guess what, it works and the first guy to open his mouth in my direction says "you are lucky they let you in with both shoes". Which immediately jolts me alerts my nose of the new extra-foul smell from the feet deprived of one shoe by the aforementioned cubicle coupled with body odours which get worse by the minute. My self pity quickly wears out on learning that some people have already spent a night or two at the cell. Approximately thirty of us are standing in a corridor in between cells on either side. I peep into one cells and see some people already resigned to fate in deep sleep on the concrete floor.

We take turns to peep on a small opening on the metallic door separating the cell from the OB section. All this time, a tall cop opens the door in intervals of 10mins to admit more people. Every time he admits a woman into the women cell, he brandishes a belt and whips his way among any man standing in his way; a scene reminiscent of slavery days. I plead with the cop to fetch me my phone and ultimately he gives in saying "na ujue utalipa". I make a few frantic calls to people who know people and to small fish who know big fish. Just like the last time I got arrested for a traffic offence, I quickly realize that the so called big fish rarely get you out of trouble with cops because they are either "mteja" or don't answer their phones in the first place. My reliable VWA Club  friends promise they are on their way to rescue yours truly.... phewks!! On seeing my phone, the cell-mates quickly befriend me and queue up literally to use my phone. I'm dumbfounded that some have spent the night there and it's the first time they're informing relatives, wives and friends. We use my phone to make a minimum of thirty calls which forces me to "okoa jahazi" in the process making me an instant celebrity. An Indian man is thrown into the cell for a traffic offence and some cell mates are quick to vent out their frustrations by taunting him in broken Swahili heavy with Indian accent: "mhindi, wewe iko fanya nini??... Pita huku uoshe choo kwanza... Wewe nafinyilia sisi kwa kampuni yako na kulipa sisi pesa ndogo sasa ona tuko na wewe hapa, pita pande hii, sirry!!" I use my newly-acquired celebrity status to calm the situation. If only news of #MyBukusuDarling had reached us by then... All this time, cops get into the cell and call out two or three names and leave in a huff ignoring my plea for cash bail... Lunch is brought in a bucket and some hungry cell-mates queue up for the badly-cooked ugali and cabbages.

After three hours in the cell, my friends bail me out and as tired and famished as I am,  I'm elated to breathe the fresh air of freedom. I floor Betty's accelerator pedal on my way out as if daring the cops to re-arrest me. I swear never to use my phone again while driving and instead invest in a hands-free gadget. I am not sure either whether next time I'll stop so easily for cops in a jalopy to arrest me... God forbid any future arrests. That friends is how my Eid holiday was wasted. Wondering what happened to my friends in the pick-up? Sema kuachwa mataani :)