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Kidero has employed his ever money hungry boys and girls to oversee the running of the city. They are ubiquitous and infamous city askaris. Altercations with them are not rare as they man the major streets in the CBD tautologically. A friend once intimated how they were nabbed while walking at night yet they never knew what wrong they had committed. They were from club hopping in the many joints in Nairobi town where you go catch some pints then head back home using a cab after shaking dem legs or intoxicating the system to the brim.
They were forced inside their sordid vehicle and the next thing the askaris asked was how much they had to grease their palm for early release. The askaris are usually paid peanuts but you will find them depositing thousands of shillings with some covert Mpesa agents in town. You wonder how they have pot bellies that rival those of the men in blue. You are again left to wonder whether they can be able to sprint in the event a situation arises that requires urgent action. Still they carry on their duties like ants knowing full well something handsome will be got when the day dawns.
The askaris wanted Sh. 20000 in order to release my friends. Upus! Where on earth could they get that sum yet they were from using the few shilling they had to party? Luckily they had a lady who had accompanied my pal and his friends. One of the askaris became smitten by the lady who he said was curvy and well-endowed hip wise. He asked the lady for her phone number and since the lady was really scared and frightened of being taken in, she contritely gave out her number to the goons who pretend to enforce the law in the city but fleece hardworking denizens of their hard earned money.
The askari then opted to flirt with the girl in the company of my pal oblivious of the fact that she was with other dudes. As usual, the askaris usually want company during the boring night shift where they are to ensure law and order within the CBD. My friends company was hence their luck. Why they never go for the typical twilight girls who openly parade their wares and who operate with abandon on the notorious Koinage Street is a misery I have never understood. Perhaps they work in cohorts with such women who when situations look grim can call you for a quickie in the dark allays that are infested with stools and you part with some few bucks.
Once I was from town at night, maybe it was past or a few minutes to midnight. I had left my phone and watch in my room aware of the goons who terrorize guys at night next to St Paul’s Catholic Church. I was heading back to my hostel room having gone to town to take late supper. I remember the lights had been shut down by the ineffective Kenya Power while preparing to eat late as I usually did since my utensils were also dirty. In the process I could not be able to cook, something I loathe, so I had to make it to K-chick, a popular eatery with campus students and proletariats of stumpy wages.
While heading back, I saw one hooker in one of the streets. She was in between two cars and a watchman who was manning the vicinity had just finished talking to her. It looked as if they were friends or some sort of thing. I was just past Java and had noticed them talk.
Quickly having noticed that I was headed in the same direction, she went ahead and positioned herself strategically in a position where she could be able to call me. For once I knew what she wanted and I sauntered on towards her like a peacock ready for whatever came my way.
She was in an inviting minidress, one that could allow you to quickly pull up and you were good to go for the quickie. Her thighs were ywelo, and though she was not bootylicious, she was kind of having the tyres (she should have tried rollers). Her face was thick with make-up and so was her lips that were Dracula red with lipstick and lip balm.
While I approached her, I pretended not to have seen her and she called me using the “tsk tsk tsk” sound. I turned and saw her. I was pretending not to have seen her and it had worked. This was strange. Ideally, these whores never easily call students. The experiences I had previously was that they ran away the moment they saw students in multitudes who were coming from night raves.
“Ntakufanyia na punch tu, na utapenda.” I approached her to see if we could haggle over the price. Inwardly I remembered of a Christian book I had read about the filth you leave on your body after making out with a person of her ilk who had entertained so many customers after opening a quarry, the maladies that I was exposing myself to and the imminent loss of stature and esteem if someone knew I had stooped too low to make out with a call girl even though the uptown ones are not that shady.
My mate in the hostel was so used to sleeping with them and when he was once cut using a glass for failure to pay up, l knew I would also suffer the same fate. This reminds me of Trevor, whom we shared a room but since it was semi partitioned, you had your own side for your own privacy.
Trevor was dirty like shit and frequented Sabina Joy on a daily basis since he was an arts student. His shoes were stinking like hell which meant I had to always sleep with the window open since he was into cheap liquor that I could never drink albeit there was cold in the night that was sometimes chilling. He also used mirra and bhang with abandon. This ideally meant I could not be able to take my lady friends to my room. I did not understand him because he used to bang prostitutes every other forth night till I forced him to chuck out. He sold the room to a somehow clean outsider who had his fair share with women.
In fact the fight between Trevor and the whore bought the whole hostel to a standstill. My former high school juniors were living in Quiet room next to my room and initially thought I was the one caught in the ruckus. Luckily I was in class and when I went back, I was intimated the details them. Trevor had blood and a cut next to his eye. Still Trevor never learnt and I did give one of the buddies we shared 411 and the guy told me his was a behavior dating back to first year. He lied to him that the cut was from a nail on the wall he had stumbled on at night when the lights were off.
Once Trevor came with a deaf prostitute and they were like three dudes who wanted to bang a single chic. She refused and made some very funny sounds that clearly meant she was not into a foursome. So one of the friends was left to quench his manly sate with her. I came to realize that in Nairobi anything is possible. If there are deaf prostitutes and policemen on night patrols and sots romp with those street ladies, you can be sure there are even more strange things that happen you will never hear of while in the comfort of your room. Have you ever seen the children of street ladies? They look beautiful and handsome, Right.
The chap Trevor sold the room comes to mind. Having forgotten his name, let me call him Matano since the he was from the coastal region. Matano had his own family. I remember his kid coming to my room while I was washing and her calling Matano ‘baba’. My friends who had come to my room were surprised as they found a small child calling my roommate father. She was with her mother and had come to visit their dad who I bet was pretending to be a student.
Matano still had the audacity to have his flings yet he was a dad. Sometimes I would escape in the middle of the night when the heat became too much and seek refuge in my friends room where I spent the night sleeping on the floor with a very thin mattress that was tantamount to lying on the floor as bedbugs dealt with my blood. Since I had no option, I did sleep till morning.
The good thing with Matano was that he was clean and his baby mama came with food from wherever she lived which she sometimes gave me. She would also wash the sheets unaware she was not the only one her beau had relations with. Again Matano never had coitus on a daily basis. He was more civilized and only came with his mpangos during the weekend.
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Concerning the whore I met on the street, I only talked to her and when she realized I had no money. She let me go. I had bargained to appoint where I was at sh.100. Obviously I had spent all the money I had on food and I was on a strict budget which meant that I could not go anywhere with her.
It was really a struggle, I walked slowly to my room reminiscing the experience which was one of a kind.
In relation to my pal, they toured the whole city till morning when they were released. They never paid anything upon their release. Afterwards, the askari who had been given the number called the chic and she organized a fake date with him. City council askaris have money, dirty money. I don’t know how it went on between the two and your guess is as good as mine.
Moving on, I wanted to write about my journey from Kisii. The land of bananas has a very cool climate and is heavily populated. The town is growing at a very fast rate with many commercial banks sprouting here and there, supermarkets are many and the mundane boda boda operators who ply the routes pose an imminent havoc. Reason why so many chaps from this areas are kanges and drivers on some routes in Nairobi could have to do with the dense population back home.
On my way back from Kisii, I remember following a certain Mitsubishi lancer like it was a safari rally race. The chap was what I consider mad you guy. If the speed guns were active, then I would have been incarcerated for overspending. But I bet they were not being used because the roads on your way out of Kisii meander a lot and hence no speed guns are used.
I almost forgot the road that leads to Bomet in the pursuant chase and had to ask at a Petrol Station which was just next to the branch heading to Bomet. The best thing was that lady who gave directions was likeable courteous and also told us of the different routes that could lead us to Nairobi safely. One was via Kericho (who wanted to go back there) and the other via Bomet.
I was well versed with the one that was via Bomet having used it occasionally on my way to Nairobi. My mum went to the famous girls’ school on your way to Bomet. She said that was the place she learnt some bit of Kipo which she prides in every other time she meets Kales who peddle products along highways.
If you are a driver who has never had an accident in your whole life, then you are either a rookie or a driver who drives occasionally another person’s car. Any driver who has been in the road for long has to have either had a mild crash or a major one while driving, it is like learning to walk. One has to fall several times before being steadfast.
Concerning the whore I met on the street, I only talked to her and when she realized I had no money. She let me go. I had bargained to appoint where I was at sh.100. Obviously I had spent all the money I had on food and I was on a strict budget which meant that I could not go anywhere with her.
It was really a struggle, I walked slowly to my room reminiscing the experience which was one of a kind.
In relation to my pal, they toured the whole city till morning when they were released. They never paid anything upon their release. Afterwards, the askari who had been given the number called the chic and she organized a fake date with him. City council askaris have money, dirty money. I don’t know how it went on between the two and your guess is as good as mine.
Moving on, I wanted to write about my journey from Kisii. The land of bananas has a very cool climate and is heavily populated. The town is growing at a very fast rate with many commercial banks sprouting here and there, supermarkets are many and the mundane boda boda operators who ply the routes pose an imminent havoc. Reason why so many chaps from this areas are kanges and drivers on some routes in Nairobi could have to do with the dense population back home.
On my way back from Kisii, I remember following a certain Mitsubishi lancer like it was a safari rally race. The chap was what I consider mad you guy. If the speed guns were active, then I would have been incarcerated for overspending. But I bet they were not being used because the roads on your way out of Kisii meander a lot and hence no speed guns are used.
I almost forgot the road that leads to Bomet in the pursuant chase and had to ask at a Petrol Station which was just next to the branch heading to Bomet. The best thing was that lady who gave directions was likeable courteous and also told us of the different routes that could lead us to Nairobi safely. One was via Kericho (who wanted to go back there) and the other via Bomet.
I was well versed with the one that was via Bomet having used it occasionally on my way to Nairobi. My mum went to the famous girls’ school on your way to Bomet. She said that was the place she learnt some bit of Kipo which she prides in every other time she meets Kales who peddle products along highways.
If you are a driver who has never had an accident in your whole life, then you are either a rookie or a driver who drives occasionally another person’s car. Any driver who has been in the road for long has to have either had a mild crash or a major one while driving, it is like learning to walk. One has to fall several times before being steadfast.
My first accident was after finishing driving school. I am that guy who my old man let me touch his car after going to driving school. I recall I would brag to my high school mates how I knew driving yet I was as green as a child taken to school on the fast day.
Most of my pals believed I knew how to drive a car. I was able to drive a car on the field once and they believed it like a sermon delivered by Christ.
So my major accident was when I hit our satellite dish (those big white dishes you never pay anything on a monthly basis after purchase). In fact the sad thing is that it had over 500 channels but most of them were either Indian or Chinese and one channel would be aired in five different languages making them 5. Like CCTV French, English, Spanish etc. etc.
Luckily it never went crumbling on the car’s windscreen as it landed sideways next to my mum’s flowers. At least my folks were never mad with me. They called a certain pointi well versed with connection of such satellites who apparently had a very big index finger to repair it and a carpenter to repair the mounting where the satellite was to be placed.
So while heading to Bomet, I was hit on the sideways by a motor cyclist whom I bet had lost control and plunged into my car hitting it with a thud. He was from the junction coming from Tenwek hospital. I was not driving very fast as I knew that the place had some crude and incompetent cyclists plus the area was a center and my old man had told me to drive 50kph and below which I strictly adhere to todate.
I remember feeling guilty and disturbed the moment I knew the man had hit me and his passenger had fallen from the bike as a result of the collision. My car had was left with a big dent on the sides and the bumper did collide with a shaft resulting in unrestrained motion that was not smooth as the car paced.
I was with my sisters and my sister in law who also had a child. They wanted to swallow the bodaboda rider alive. Taking after my mum who easily becomes terror when provoked. Especially the youngest. Luckily no one was injured in the car.
However all was not well with the passenger who was a lady. I went to see her and she was placed on the roadside where she was being given crude first aid.
My sisters wanted to see the rider and perhaps take him to the nearest police station. Those guys have modest earnings and while we were checking on how thing were, the other cyclists had whisked the damaged bike away as clearly they knew their mate was on the wrong.
In the melee that ensured, so many people gathered to witness what had gone wrong. This is surely a trait that is synonymous with accidents in Kenya. Bomet-Narok road is a major highway that is maybe prone to other accidents but residents still gathered to see what had happened.
When I threatened I wanted to take the matter to the nearest police station, everyone did cower for I was speculating they would run amok and turn on me and exercise they mob psychology and herd mentality on us. When they realized I was serious, they also whizzed the rider of the bike away without me realizing leaving us baffled and with my car dented there with no evidence of what caused the crash.
I decided to drive on but was in fear and fright the repercussions that lay ahead. Driving a damaged vehicle was a first for yours truly and I felt the heat and onus of during the rest of the entire journey. My most joyous moment was passing Narok without seeing any law enforcers along the way. If I had managed thus far from Bomet to Narok, then I could make it to Nairobi.
The only point I was asked to drive aside was a place near Maamahiu where the police had erected a road block. When I was stopped, my heart skipped a bit. Either way it was something I had aptly been prepared for.
The policeman first checked if the car had up todate cover and the damage the car had. Upon realizing that we had a child inside and only seeing youngsters in the car he asked for my driving license. On realizing we were from the same ethnic group he immediately switched on to the language and asked what had happened.
I told him the story tersely and he was very empathetic about it. I also told him we were taking the car for repair and damage assessment by the insurer and with that he let us go. At least there was no bribe I had to part with, so police never ask everyone for bribe.
I really drove very slowly in order to buy away time and arrive in Nairobi at night. Since I was heading to Kasarani, I decided to use St Paul’s University road that leads you straight to it from Maimahiu road so that I could be able to connect with the northern by pass easily. Then Two rivers was still under incubation.
The Northern By-pass is well tarmacked and there is a roundabout next to Windsor that leads to Garden estate. Usually there are cops with a tedious and old Peugeot police car on this roundabout (These vehicles used to driven by the secret service back then). While passing through that point, I was clenching my fist tight and biting my teeth tight so as not to be noticed and stopped for questioning by them. Since there was a car on my side heading the same direction, I drove beside it and did cleverly avoid them.
The other point that required dexterity in tackling was the roundabout on Thika road that heads to Kasarani. Kasarani police station was my main bone of contention but I was able to smoothly drive past it without any altercation.
When I was immediately past the point where police were no more. Fukes! I did heave a sigh of relief as it was something I had never experienced before. Driving a car that had a wreckage and only being stopped once by police was indeed an achievement. It was a day I remember as I was still in campus and in fact had nothing in my pockets to give in the event they took me to the station.
But kids are like angels, my brother’s kid had prevailed upon one police and as such he could have helped us rein on others who would prey. Luckily it was a good day as things went well till the journey came to the terminal. However it was a journey extended by two more hours. What with the time I spent waiting to solve the dispute about the accident, the police interjection and his questioning and lastly driving slowly to arrive late which meant catching up with the jam that is ever present on Mwiki-Kasarani road.
SITUONANE.
