CANDID TALK: In ‘Nairobery’ during elections time
I am missing Uswaz already. I have been catapulted to the eye of the storm – to a country that has for the last five years has been unsuccessfully holding elections. I am in Nairobery (or Nairobi if you like).
Kenyans named the city so because robbers, muggers, “technicians” (pickpockets who steal your wallet snugly stashed in your jeans pockets as if by remote control) as well as other blokes who considered their ordained duty to help the devil in his malevolent work.
Kenyans embark on their campaigns as soon as the General Election end. Disgruntled parties take to the streets as the police do what they are trained to do – crack open the skulls of the demonstrators and occasionally shoot one or two to prove that they are not joking.
The boys and girls from Kiganjo College for cops (regular police), their skull-cracking counterparts trained on how to clobber rioters to near-death experiences and the no-nonsense General Service Unit (GSU) in speeding cars and horsebacks are something from horror movies. Ok, after the nullified elections, men and women on ganja and chang’aa (very potent brew that can knock down a dinosaur) have decided that Nairobery is a suburb in hell.
They dare by wielding real rocks with which they whet the appetites for bloody action from bored cops who in turn unleash terror on them. What is amazing is that the next day, what they purport to be their constitutional right to hold peaceful demonstrations will end up shambolic looting of supermarkets and food outlets giving impression that such excursions give them opportunities to eat well – at least on days earmarked for rioting.
The poor imprudent loafers end up getting with broken skulls, limbs trying to please their “masters” who are often guarded by armed bodyguards. They are members of a certain ethnic group who would do with training on how to think individually.
Last week, I found myself in such a scenario where, comparing Bongo riots and demonstrations, ours is a child’s play. For one who grew up on the shores of Lake Victoria and became a son of Uswaz by default, tear gas canister exploding a few metres from where I stood perplexed was something I had never seen before.
People ran helter skelter as fast as their legs could carry them. Women too hitched their skirts and I bet they would have beaten Uasin Bolt as they dashed off to unknown destination. My salvation came when I ducked into an alley leading to nowhere!
