A villager in the city: on the wrong side of the law

April 1999, during the first school holidays after joining form one in a national secondary school in Nairobi, I decided the village was going to miss their hero. I would pitch camp with my cousins; I would stay at my father's elder brother home in Nairobi. My Baba Mkubwa had two sons and three daughters; my cousins. I will tell you about how these Nairobi people would stir up the village whenever they visited during the December holidays some other time.

I had to hide my poor report card from my father
I had performed dismally in the first term exams, I was ranked fourth in my class of 32(thirty-two) students.  I was the fourth from the dumb bottom; precisely twenty-eight out of the thirty-two students. I had never been anything but position one to three during my primary school days.  My father was like the man-eaters of Tsavo when inspecting his children's report cards. You either maintained a top-three position or improved your marks. I thought of visiting river-road(downtown Nairobi) to create a new report card to earn a peaceful pass back to the village. I struggled with the moral aspect of faking a report card and suddenly I had an epiphany. I could just spend my holidays at my 'Baba Mkubwa's house. This would also save me from farm work: my parents operated a small labor camp. April is the time Tetuians weed(how do you say 'palilia' in English?) the maize crop. The exercise involves a fork jembe and one has to dig around each maize plant meticulously without ruining the crop and uproot all the weeds choking the plants. Then there are the zero grazed cows that require feeding, watering and grooming. You would spend time searching for grass in the forests to the ever-hungry herbivores. Ferrying manure(cow dung plus compost) in sacks to the farm was the most back-breaking task. While you would drag the sacks down the slopes, it's the trek back up the ridges that would take out the energy out of you. There was never a moment to idle back in the village: leisure time was not in the village vocabulary.

The plan
When the bugles were blown and the flag brought down, the April school holidays had started in earnest. I had my 'A-Point' bag with the best selection of my clothes stuffed in. I boarded a Matatu '4B' destined for Makadara area of Nairobi. This would be my second time to visit my cousins, who then resided at Hamza. The matatu weaves its way through Gikomba- the most crowded market on the planet then through Huruma slums, Maringo, Ofafa Jericho and the prowling slums seem to end abruptly at Ofafa Jericho border with Buru Buru. Makadara is part of the slum but the residents seem to deny this fact.  Most of the houses are semi-permanent built with mud walls or iron sheets with a concrete floor. There are open sewer trenches between the houses and the first lesson visitors learn is to skip those trenches. At night one has to use intuition to avoid the sewer trenches in the dimly lit streets full of muggers. I arrived unannounced as is the trend back in the village. We don't bother to inform our kith and kin that we have plans to visit, we just arrive. And when we arrive, we don't announce that we have come to pitch camp for God knows how long. It is taboo for the hosts to enquire of our itinerary; the hosts are left to pray and hope that we shall leave at some point in time, hopefully soon.

I became a born tao; finally I belonged to some clique
The first week of camping at my cousins was blissful, no reading, no assignments, no school sweeping/cleaning duties. We spent most of the time loitering the streets, returning to have our meals and for lodging at my Baba Mkubwa's house. We spent my remaining pocket money eating Mandazi Pasua. Mandazi pasua is a delicacy in which you split one edge of an Andazi to create a pocket into which potato chips/french fries are stashed and ketchup is poured generously to complete the package. For some mysterious reason, anecdotal evidence shows that the tastiest foods are street foods. Those who have never been at the shorter financial end of life and have never tasted foods cooked in those shacks have no idea what they are missing. Those expensive hotels cook expensive foods, not necessarily the tastiest but I digress. In the informal settlements, boys have something called a 'base'. A base is a place where a gang of boys hangs out and do usually absolutely nothing., talk about girls, their exploits whether real or imagined. We called our base 'freemantobase' which was just the linked version of the phrase 'free man to base' that we had picked from the movie Escape from Sobibor. I finally belonged to some clique; let's just say the barrier to entry were fairly low or non-existent. Remember my struggles fitting in during the school term? Our base was like all bases located behind the kiosks that lined up the road. A base required some concealment for a reason that wasn't apparent to me initially.

The incident
We would hang at the 'freemantobase' whenever we were not busy loitering the streets of Hamza. One day afternoon, we were four of us at the base: my cousin namesake, and two of his friends. We were in the middle of a juicy story when all the three bolted out after shouting a warning 'masanse'. I
barely understood what 'masanse' meant but I clearly knew there was something that warranted running away.

I was naive and decided to stay put while the three boys disappeared into the alleys. I couldn't see the reason to run, there was no imminent danger nearby and I knew beyond doubt that  I had done nothing wrong. After a few confusing seconds, I decided to walk from the base towards the street to inspect what was eating the other. Just as I was walking the five or so steps to the road past the kiosks, I was grabbed from behind by my waistline and hoisted up like a flag.  I thought I was being mugged, my only solace was that I knew my pockets were absolutely empty. "Kichana unacharibu kutoroga?", the police officer hoisting me upside down like a bat asked in the police accent of those days. It then dawned on me that 'masanse' are police officers. I was visibly shaken and I replied that I was not running from anyone. "Mbona wenzako wametoroka? mnavuta bangi?", his colleague asked me. "Hapana, mi mimi mimi sijui mbona wametoroka", I replied as the officer hoisting me allowed my feet partly back to the ground. At this point I was tiptoeing since the police man was still hoisting me by my trouser's waistline. Remember am only fourteen(14) years old and tiny as an atom, I may have weighed slightly above twenty kilos same as a mature goat.

The Mama Mbogas started to lament "mbona wanashika kijana mdogo wa shule? hawa watu wanasumbua sana". The patrol police are the worst kind of police to encounter. They are foot soldiers who are supposed to stroll around ensuring order. When they arrest you, they simply want you to pay them. They are as hungry as hyenas. Should you not have money, you will trek as part of their squad until they handover to the next duo. This could mean you trek the entire day or night with them and they may still deliver you to their base police station.

The village hero is being frogmatched along the roads in Hamza as if he is the common chicken thief. My cousin, my namesake had deserted me or rather procured my predicament. Male cousins are to be loathed forever, they are unreliable and can land you in trouble. No one had ever hinted to me that we should run from police even during the day(during the night that is common knowledge that you should run) on this side of the country. I had begged the police to release me, I had narrated the truth of why I had come to stay at my cousins. I even repented and promised to never come back even if my grades were outright 'E's. These law enforcers couldn't hear any of that, the fact that I was penniless wasn't helping. No one listens to a penniless man notwithstanding how intelligent or wise the man may be. I had forthwith retired to my fate: I would be in the same cell with robbers, murderers and all scum of society. I would sleep on a cold cement floor, sh*t in a bucket and be infested with lice. I had heard of tales of how small boys are abused by sodomists in those cells. I was scared like hell, I prayed to the God of Jacob, Isaac, and Abimelech to create a miracle for my release.

Mekatilili wa Menza resurrects
Word of my plight had reached my female cousins. The eldest daughter of my Baba Mkubwa was two years older than myself, the second one was my agemate and the lastborn daughter was two years younger than myself. In essence these three ladies were more or less my age and physical stature. They swung into action and pursued the two police and their suspect - yours truly. They caught up with us before we got to Hamza town centre and unequivocally demanded my immediate release. The police men called their bluff "wacheni vihere here, tutashika nyinyi mkaozee jela! nyang'au nyinyi!". The eldest cousin, Wamuyu is cut from the same fabric as Mekatilili wa Menza, she was burning with rage. She told the police "sisi hata hatuogopi risasi wacha huto tucells twenyu! Lazima muachilie cousin yetu". The police sternly warned my cousins not to interfere with their work or they would be arrested as well. Wamuyu went on to tell the police that she was going to report them on how they collect bribes to some authority; I can't remember which one she quoted.  At this point the heated argument had attracted a crowd and the crowd was siding with the afflicted. I could hear some people in the crowd mumble "hawa polisi wametuzoea sana, wanatusumbua na hizi hongo na hawashibi".

My escape from Sobibor
I think the only reason the policemen released me was fear of the emotions Mekatilili wa Menza had already stirred in that crowd. I was escorted away by my three female cousins: I was relieved but knew this news would ripple my entire village. The village would know I had been arrested on suspicions of either being in possession of bhang, selling or using it. When I reached the house, the idiot was there laughing hysterically, "wewe ni fala na uko na ushamba sana! Wah! unangojea makarao badala ya kuhepa". In conclusion, I ceased my membership at the 'freemantobase' and lay low to pass the remaining time to school opening. I started hanging out with my female cousins, washing utensils and doing house chores. The risks involved in hanging with them were manageable.