Previously
Onkwani could not just stop.
Onkwani could not just stop.
“Ebu
toa hizo documents uwaonyeshe!”
You
would think the buffoon was the OCS!
“By
the way, Kijana ebu toa kila kitu, wewe ata tunafaa kuwa tukiongea ukiwa pande
ile ingine.” (Referring to the side where suspects were locked up) “Mnajiona
wajaja sana siku hizi.” Said one of the officers.
I
stood up from my sitting position where I had crossed my legs like a boss and
walked over to the desk. I emptied my pockets of everything I had. I was a
half-baked suspect at this point.
“Kijana
mbona unadanganyana?”
“Wewe
sasa na wewe, umeniskiza ama ni kurukia maneno tu? Umeniuliza swali nikakosa
kukujibu ama nikakudanganya? Kikosi relax.” I responded
“Na
wewe ni mjeuri!”
“Jeuri
hujua jeuri mwenzake,” “Haya ndio hizo! Ukipata kitu imeforgiwa uulize! Sio
kusema hapa ati nadanganya!”
My
pockets were pretty loaded. I had my passport, my Student Pilot License, My
Wilson Airport’s Airside pass, a yellow fever certificate that was just two
weeks old, my driving license, School receipts, my certificate of service aka
the ‘Green Book’, My national Id, my NHIF card, an ATM card, and a passport
picture in pilot’s uniform inclusive of epaulets. I also had 150/-, a data
cable, earphones, handkerchief and a generous piece of tissue paper.
“Kijana
una maneno, hizi votu zote zilikuwa kwa hio mifuko tu?”
“Yup,”
“Sawa,
rudi sasa uketi ukoo!”
So
I took my seat, bench rather and allowed them, to peruse my pile of documents.
Everyone was stretching out their hand to get to the documents, like kids who
just seen cookies for the first time.
“Mimi
hata hakunionyesha hizo zote! Si nilikwambia wewe ni mjanja sana Maina!” Said Onkwani.
“Ujanja
gani sasa na wewe? Si ulisema unataka documents tatu na nikakupea tatu? Shida
yako sasa ni gani?”
“Wee
kijana ulikuwa jeshi mwaka gani?” This was the second cop. He had a Kamba
accent. He was holding my Green Book.
“08
hadi juuzi tu.”
“Mbona
sikuamini nanii?”
“Hio
sasa ni shida yako, mimi nimekupea kila kitu.”
“Nauliza
kwa sababu hii green book siiamini. Hii River Road unajitengenezea tu! Unajua
hakuna haja utundanganye na uko station, hii ni fraud na impersonation. Kwanza
askari jeshi hio ni mbaya sana! Utaozea jela nanii!”
“Maina
sasa wewe, hii kesi yako ni kubwa.” Unajua mtu akisema ulitaka kuiba gari yake
hio ni maneno kubwa sana?” Said Ndung’u.
“Fanya
hivi… Unaitwa nani? (Referring to Onkwani) twende pale OB, uandike statement
alafu hii maneno tutadhibitisha kesho.”
“Ni
sawa” said Onkwani.
“Sasa,
Ndung’u, hii jamaa unajua hii ata sio kesi yetu sasa. Huyu anafaa aitiwe
Military Police.”
I
was there on my bench acting like I was not in the room.
“Maina,
wewe, hii maneno yako tutangoja mkubwa kesho atatue.” “Andikisha hizi vitu kwa
evidence na ujazwe pale kwa OB. Leo wewe ni mgeni wetu.”
I
must admit I am clueless to these police things. The reason I was not worried
was because, I had not done any crime and I had been through worse a cell… ‘This
is nothing’ I told myself. Whatever magic took place in the next 30 minutes
couldn’t stick in my head. However, I remember my documents were picked and
placed in one old envelope and locked up in a nearby chest of drawers. I then
walked to the occurrence desk, Ndung’u wrote a very large paragraph on that
occurrence book in the lines of fraud and impersonation. I then gave all my
items. As for the wearable, I removed one shoe and my belt, and watch. The 150
shillings were also recorded as my property. At this point, the nice language
was gone and a few insults escorted me to the cell at the farthest end of the
block. They said the case would be handled the next day. Asked if I wanted to
call anyone, I said no need. I would be okay.
So
here I was in police custody. This was not rehearsed. The cell was unusually
clean. Not as I would have expected it to be, considering the stories that, I
had heard from friends and read from newspapers and other sources. I do not know
why I was so calm, maybe because I was innocent. There was this bulky Kale cop
who was on shift and he was unusually vulgar and loud. For some reason he hated
me, or he was in just a bad mood. A cop’s mood can be triggered by anything
including missing the chance to do the usual nightclub or wines and spirits joint
patrols collecting the “daily returns”. The words he had used on me were still
ringing and stinging. I was worried and wondered what I would tell my friends,
family or those who are genuinely concerned with my welfare.
“Kijana
hauna wa kupigia simu?”
“Apana!
Wako lakini sitaki!”
I
knew what they wanted. The faster I got someone to come get me, the easier they
would have made their take for that day. I wanted to think this and other
things through. It had been a rough time for me and maybe this induced seclusion
would be a good thing.
I
was all alone in the cell. It had been washed and had traces of water on some
spots that had yet to dry. Actually, this is the type of floor that does not
dry easily. The non-plastered floor that you would find in old school bathrooms
so that you do not slip. Not these smooth plastered ones that have to be fitted
with rubber mats to reduce the risk of falling. Anyway, I am in a cell not in a
bathroom. The windows were almost nonexistent. Two or three spaces of grilled
space high in the wall that were half a foot in height and reinforced with
thick metal rods. I do not even think the rods were necessary considering a man’s
head could not even fit in the space. I could not read graffiti. It was too dark;
I would do that in the morning. I paced within the cell along the wall in an
awkward limp. With one shoe, limping around the cell would not help me in any
way. It would not even contribute a grain of an idea to my head. So what would I
be thinking here… Nothing, so I decided just to settle. The shoe-less foot was
already getting numb.
I
could not tell the time because I had no watch. It was at the occurrence desk.
After the limping session, I took a corner and sat down. I only had a shirt on
me and it was extremely cold! Allow me to blame the devil here because he had
found his idea of Job… It started raining. The cell was also located near the
busy highway and every passing vehicle echoed in the small cell like a bad
nightmare. A nightmare inside another one for that matter. I tried to sleep but
I could not sleep. Alternatively, I slept, but I could not tell for how long I
had closed those eyes. My derrière was numb from the cold hard floor. I stood
to relax a bit and I bet I heard one of my joints creak. I tried doing some push-ups,
a few squats and rubbed my palms to my chest, to try warm my body up.
After
a while, I heard a commotion outside and my curiosity walked me to the peephole
on the heavy steel door. Curiosity and boredom. I saw around seven guys of diverse
ages and social class being guided towards the door. From the peephole, a waft
of alcohol breath and cigarette smoke reached my nostrils. There was also a
hint of the holy weed that came through the same medium. They were all unruly
and one was bleeding from the nose. They were being guided towards the cell
that I was in.
“Damn!”
I cursed to myself. I was not so sure I needed company at this point… But again
this was not my bedroom.
Intoxicated
people of different ages and origin with unknown intentions in one cell against
one sober, hungry and cold guy. ‘Did these guys even get searched!? Someone might
have smuggled a pen knife here!!!’
The
Kale cop sarcastically knocked on the door and went ahead to unlock it. He barked;
“Maina
jeuri! Nimekuletea Wageni!”
“Asante
Siiiiiiiir!!!” dragging it out as sarcastically as 9 month old recruits after
getting a reprieve from a killer physical punishment.
“Ata
nilikuwa nimeanza kuboeka!”
“Wewe
ni kichwa ngumu sana! Sawa, mujuane basi!”
With
that, he banged the door as he locked the cell up. At first, I thought this was
some version of that thing they do in prison movies. Where all the guys then
come to you and start sniffing & sizing you up like a freshly rolled joint.
Some nasty part of me even told the other innocent part: ‘see why you leave
belts at the reception…?’ then by instinct my venturi* just tightened.
OH
NOOOO!!!
In
movies, it’s normally the big guys who bully the small guys or the old guys who
bully the new inmates. The good thing is that here, none of that happened. I
mean, me against 7 people. No thank you. You see, this was an “uptown” jail, so
the choice of suspects was also “uptownish” – a little more civilized if
anything. It also dictates the nature and size of any exchanges that should
secure a release. The new team did not bully me. As I had mentioned in my other
incarceration story, inmates do not bully or fight each other in real sense. In
any case, they are friendly to one another. You never know where you would meet
in the future. I may even have a cell phone which we can use to communicate and
plot all sorts of evils with the outside world. After all, people won’t be here
for long. Just a night maybe. However! I don’t promise you such peace at the
central police station or Kamukunji.
“Freddie
nilikwambia upatie hio fala thao ukakataa! Ona sasa!”
“Ulikuwa
unataka nimpatie thao alafu bado tuingizwe ndani?”
“Wewe
ni malenge sana!”
“Usinilaumu!
Si ungempea wewe! Tutatoka tu! Hii sio mara ya kwanza tunaingia ndani!”
“Hii
ndio shida ya kuitiwa pombe na hukuwa na mpango ata ya kukunywa hio siku! Tungekula
tu nyama na tukunywe supu!”
The
last statement was actually a mumble or a soliloquy of sorts. But it fueled the
argument. Three of these guys were together and the other four were arrested at
different locations. Two were at the end of an NTSA equation, one did not have
a national Identity Card and the other guy was just silent. He never said what
he did. The three rowdy ones were drunk and disorderly. I think they also
insulted the cop or refused to “toboka” to secure their release – according to
their argument.
“Wee
mjamaa na venye unakaa msafi, sio mlevi mwenzetu, umefanya nini?”
“Kesi
ya gari tu…”
“Gari
aje?”
“Suspect
wa kuiba gari”
“Na
wewe ni ndume! Peke yako ama wengine wako wapi?”
Another
added,
“Hapo
una miaka kadhaa mjamaa”
They
all broke into a laugh and only a smile to the silent guy who seemed not to
know where he was or could not believe he was in a cell.
After
what felt like an eternity, the bleeding guy – one of the guys who was caught
while driving under the influence said;
“One
day this car will kill me!” “Hiiii gari! ItaNiua!”
“Gari
gani mzae? Uko jela bana!”
We
all broke into a laugh. The guy opened up and said that he drove his Voxy into
a ditch saying he thought it was a puddle. He did not even have his seat belt on
and that is how he banged his head onto the steering wheel. The police found
him there with a broken nose, bloody all over his face and smelling like a
distillery. Police are ruthless, though! Yaani instead of taking a guy to
hospital, they bring him direct to the tin…
Other
stories flowed through the night. Mostly of prostitutes, alcohol influenced
escapades, bar brawls, estate drama, a little bit of politics and business. Two
of the guys hit it off on that front and I heard them promise each other to
link up after they secured their release. Two more drunk men were pushed into
the cell at some point later in the night and they immediately fell asleep on
the cold hard floor. We also heard women shouting in the cell block and we all
ran for the tiny hole in an attempt to see what was happening. These could definitely
not be people’s wives. They were definitely late night business ladies… They were
all in mini - skirts and dresses with colors that catastrophically clashed with
the rest of their outfits. They were drunk and loud. In this weather, anyone
wearing such outfits was probably a jiko on the inside. From a hole almost an
inch in diameter, the men had already cracked open these women. They had even
decided whose farm had been cultivated the most in the most recent season. That
is the few hours before their fate.
“Lakini
enyewe maisha… yani kasichana kanatembeza ngozi mzuri hivo na kuna mwanaume
mahali anangoja apate bibi?”
“Wewe
sema hivo na wengine hapo ni madame wa watu na mama za watoto mahali!”
The
women inmates really excited the guys, me included. Rather it added to my many,
many thoughts that could help me see morning. For a very long while, the
conversation turned to women and sexcapades. The stories were just outrageous. I even
started thinking of women myself. Started ranking the unmarried ladies in my
circle and eliminating them in my own conception of The Bachelor in my head. At some point the cell got warmer, the
drunk guys sobered up and the cell got cozier. The next time I opened my eyes, the
sun was up already.
Thank
God! Nobody stabbed me.
To be Continued...Hi. Same Old Drama, Different Day. This blog is about me and others, nature, life, blah blah and why everything I like is great even the hurting - still great. If you disagree with anything you find on this page, Well. . . You are probably right..
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