Fools’ Express

Coach 2

Charles O. Okoth

Fools’ Express, Coach 2

Published in 2022 by Queenex Publishers Ltd

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Phone: 0727 794 498, 0715 808 200

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ISBN: 978-9966-142-04-7

1. The Arrest

“You are now under arrest!” the tall police

ofcer barked, his big eyes popping out as

if trying to reach out to his victims. His face

seemed to say, almost audibly, that he was not

joking with anybody, and, given the merest

provocation, would kill gladly. “Now, out of

my own good heart and religious nature, may

I caution both of you: whatever you say from

now on may be used as evidence against you, in

a court of Law. That means that from now on,

just you be careful with your unshapely beaks.”

The objects of this barking were two

frightened looking young men, who, by the

look of them, were as the biblical sheep heading

for the slaughter. They were all shaky, wobbly

and ushed, with clearly visible goose pimples,

giving them an unsightly look.

Wanga Osule and Odongo Mukavi, looked sad...

According to the harsh-looking police ofcer,

they had been arrested for serious crimes they

had committed over a period of two months.

The law, the policeman declared to them, was

like a French football defender, who could not

be dodged easily.

“It is terribly insulting that cheap crooks like

you could imagine you can dodge me, pass and

score, using your cheap tricks. Now, I have got

you, and you are going to see the exact size of

your blunder when we reach the station. I tell

you, I will show you dust!”

None of them said anything. Instead, they just

stared at each other, as if they were in shock. They

seemed not to believe that this was happening

to them. They were surprised that in spite of

taking thorough precautions as they went about

their lawless acts, they were now under arrest,

at last. Truly is it said that the arm of the law is

long and will always catch up with those who

break its master, the Law.

The two criminals, Wanga Osule and Odongo

Mukavi, looked sad indeed. They had never

pictured this sort of thing happening to them.

Therefore, they did not know how to act, what

to say, what to do, and even what to imagine!

But of the two, Odongo seemed to be in

the lesser shock. An observer could clearly see

he was the more hardened criminal; but that

observation would be far from the mark. The

fact was just that he had far less to lose, if ever

he went to jail, than his friend.

“There is always hope,” Odongo whispered

to his friend, as they were being led away.

“Remember, prisons and police cells were built

for men. So, if you are a real man, you should not

be frightened that you are going there. People

go to those places and come out alive. So relax,

my brother. You are not the rst one; neither

will you be the last!”

Wanga, who was being thus comforted, like

a baby, did not appear to be listening. He was

thinking deeply. Horrible, nightmarish scenes

presented themselves to him: scenes of what

could happen or not happen if ever the worst

happened, and he was taken to jail. In fact, if

Odongo would have known what those thoughts

were, he would not have bothered to try and

comfort him. A cornered animal does not merely

need to be comforted. Rather, it needs to be

shown how to kick and maul and snarl its way

out of the trap.

Wanga lived in the small township of Shibale.

He had married his wife, Khatienje, some two

years back, and they already had two small

boys: Johnnie Stonnie Lugaku and Rian Kiggs

Brighton. He was a wonderful dotting father to

his sons, both of whom he hoped would become

professional footballers in a major European

league. So he could not imagine them starving

as he rotted in prison. No wonder he did not

wish to go to the police cells.

And no wonder he did not want to be

comforted like a baby. He just did not want to

imagine what it would be like for his young

family when he was away.

But he had to go to the cells. He had done

something that called for his presence there.

It had thus become necessary for the police to

look for him to ensure that he answered to the

call of justice.

After much dodging and hiding, the police

had eventually caught up with him and were now

taking him there, together with his accomplice,

Odongo.

Apart from being a partner in crime, Odongo

was also Wanga’s cousin. There is some truth,

it seems, in the saying that some careers run in

the blood. That is why some families are good

at certain jobs.

As if to emphasize the closeness of their

relationship, in blood and in ‘career’, the two

were enjoined at the hands by strong pieces and

strips of metal, which had things that looked

like padlocks on them. The padlocks had been

locked with much snapping and clinking. As if

that was not enough, a sizeable chain connected

their ankles, making them look and sound like a

pair of practising traditional dancers, for every

step they took.

2. The Crimes – And the Victims

So, what had he done, this married man of

close to two score and ve years, and his cousin

of almost the same age? What had made it

necessary for the police and prison cells to open

their mouths longingly as they nodded in their

direction?

He was, simply put, a man who loved

surviving on the sweat of others. His trade was

very simple and needed no initial capital to

start off successfully, the way we are told some

businesses do.

In fact, the only capital needed was a ashy

overused suit, a sweet tongue that was smoother

than cotton wool dipped in warm oil and rinsed

in pure honey, and a mouth full of words which

could lull an angry lioness to slumber, as her

cubs were taken over by a hyena.

In effect, the business consisted mainly of

making ‘fools’ part with their hard-earned cash.

The ‘goodness’ with him is that he did it with

such a degree of craftiness that the victims only

discovered too late that they had been robbed.

Some of the victims never even discovered

that! There were even those who took it upon

themselves to thank the man for what he had

done – stealing from them. These were those

who thought the man had done them a favour.

However, some victims had found them out

and reported the matter to the police. A hunt

had been mounted, and nally, the men had

been caught. Three of the men they had stolen

from were also right there, helping the police to

escort them to their new ‘residence’.

Even as he went along, chained heavily,

Wanga could not help remembering some of

his wicked exploits.

There was Wanyonyi, to whom he had

sold a cruel, protesting fox, lying that it was an

English bull dog. The animal had indeed been

unique: its teeth and claws were truly out of

Africa, so clearly, it could not be an African dog.

Unfortunately, the ‘dog’ had ended up digging

its fangs deep into Wanyonyi’s hand and eeing

back into the forest before he could even blink a

few times in admiration and wonder. Therefore,

Wanyonyi’s desire to own an English bull dog

had come to nought.

Then there was Abukusi, the businessman

from the town of Kilimimi. Wanga had found

him at Shibale, searching for sugar to sell in

Kilimimi.

It was the time when sugar was very scarce.

The sugar factory around Shibale had been closed

for maintenance, meaning there was no sugar

in its stores to sell to consumers. The little sugar

that companies had been allowed to import

could not cater for the needs of the consumers,

especially when crafty, greedy traders took the

opportunity to make a big kill by hoarding the

commodity.

Abukusi had heard that it was possible to get

some sugar at Shibale. Most of that was from the

so-called ‘black market’, meaning it was being

bought and sold illegally, from wherever the

dealers were getting it. Thus when Abukusi

had bumped into Wanga and made his case,

Wanga had thought very fast and had managed

to secure and sell him urea, instead of sugar.

He had called the urea ‘imported ‘suger’’. As it

was past the planting season, he had managed

to get the urea from Wanyonyi, the farmer who

wanted to dispose of it at a throwaway price.

After all, he had nowhere to keep it. After selling

it to Abukusi, he had made a prot of almost

forty thousand shillings!

The funniest case, however, was when he sold

sugarcane belonging to a sugar company! Being

a resident of Shibale, he admired the sugarcane

that had been planted by the sugar company

in what was called the Nucleus Estate. It was

fantastic indeed; so healthy and beautiful! For

Wanga, it was so much so that he wondered if

he couldn’t gain from such beauty.

So it happened that one day, he made up his

mind to try his hand at it. He intended to use

Odongo to convince some rustics that he was

the owner of the Nucleus Estate sugarcane!

The man who fell for this trick was called

Nabukhamba. Indeed, he offered to pay to lease

some of the cane. Using his gift of trickery,

Wanga agreed, and made a killing of close to

sixty thousand shillings!

Thus did he live. He enjoyed his ‘job’

immensely. It did not involve any hard physical

work, even if one had to really engage the brain.

And it was very protable!

To make it even better, nobody came to

him demanding for his proof of income tax

compliance, or proffering forms on which he was

required to declare his poverty. In fact, Wanga

did not have such things as KRA P.I.N.s and

clearance certicates, all of which he felt were

very bad for his trade as a conman.

The three men from whom he had stolen,

being law-abiding and God-fearing patriots,

had reported their losses to His Excellency’s

police service. The resulting manhunt had netted

Wanga and Odongo, right in the house of the

former.

As a respectably married man, and a father

of two, no less, Wanga had felt very much

embarrassed and inconvenienced. Luckily for

him, his wife and her pretty, bright-eyed sister,

Feyi, who stayed with them, had been out

shopping at the time the police had come calling.

The victims, who had been with the police

all along, were even now accompanying them

to the station, as the two criminals dragged their

heavy metals along.

As they moved on, some villagers followed,

wondering what Wanga and Odongo had

done. Wanyonyi, following the police ofcers’

instructions, was at hand to explain to them in

some detail what this was all about. He knew that

if he mentioned the word ‘thief’, he would have

killed Wanga; for a mob would quickly gather

and snatch them from the police for lynching.

But Wanga’s worst fear was that his wife,

Khatienje, and sister-in-law, Feyi, would

suddenly surface and see him being marched

along in such an undignied manner. Wanga

knew her well enough to know that that would

be the end of their marriage.

3. Abukusi’s Revenge Plan

So it came to pass that the two criminals

headed to the ‘House for the Criminally Inclined’

(as the policemen were calling it). They went

sweating and panting, for they were being made

to trot along most of the time.

The chain that connected them was made of

heavy pieces of metal. In fact, Wanga wished

that it could be used better: to tether elephants or

buffalos which ruined people’s crops at Shibale

and elsewhere. He felt it was being wasted

on such a thin fellow as him and people like

Odongo, who would probably only compete a

tortoise in the shorter races, and even lose. What

a waste of public resources, he thought bitterly.

He could not help cursing the police. The

cowards, as he thought of them, were escorting

them along as they cracked wicked jokes about

their female relatives. They had looked at

Odongo and quickly assigned him a certain

very short girl, who resided around those parts.

The girl was called Maggy Bwibo Sinia. Though

fully mature (some said she was twenty years

old), she was only two feet tall. She was blacker

than the outside of an overused cooking pot. She

was also somewhat deformed; bow-legged, and

with a mouth that was where one cheek should

have been. A few of her teeth peeped uncertainly

from her naturally mutilated nose.

But it was her accent which beat all else.

When she talked, you would be forgiven for

imagining an English woman was talking in

perfect Kiwanga, the local dialect; she had a

wonderful English accent, for her deformity

made her talk through the nose! That was how

she had acquired her other name: Maggy Thatcher.

Needless to say, Odongo was not happy

with the match. He knew and hated Bwibo.

The girl had a very sharp tongue, and was very

competent when it came to hurling abuse at the

likes of Odongo, who she did not like.

Yet when Wanyonyi suggested her as

Odongo’s ‘tarling’ (darling), as he put it, one

policeman warned him that he would have to

stop insulting Maggy, or face the full force of the

Law. It was not to be expected, the ofcer pointed

out, that Maggy Sinia would be denied the right

of choice. Who knew, he said; perhaps Maggy

would feel insulted by Odongo’s advances,

assuming he was man enough to make them, and

she would run away very fast from such a thug.

When Wanyonyi told them that Wanga was

actually married, they laughed loudly.

“What sort of a woman would go for such a

cheap crook?” Abukusi asked. “She must be a

close relative of the one you are calling Maggy;

the one with teeth in her nose.”

“She is actually quite pretty,” Wanyonyi said.

“Are you sure?” Abukusi asked.

“I am,” Wanyonyi said. “I know her.”

“Then,” Abukusi said, stopping and showing

signs of thinking deeply, “I am going back to

that house. Let me take photos of these two. I

intend to show the woman the photos. I believe

she has a right to know the sort of husband she

has. She can then make certain decisions, based

on her ndings. Ofcer, please stop them.”

Wanga protested loudly, trying to turn away

from the camera, and even going as far as trying

to lie down, but they managed to hold him

upright. Abukusi, using his phone camera, took

the photos. He even took a video clip, showing

Wanga howling and struggling against four

men; two of them armed police ofcers in full

uniform. That was even more incriminating than

the still photos.

Even worse, Odongo, who was well-known

to Khatienje, Wanga’s wife, ruined Wanga’s

efforts by cooperating fully, his mouth wide

open in a merry grin.

Having taken the photos, Abukusi requested

all of them, including Wanga, to wish him good

luck in his new adventure with the woman.

Odongo profusely gave his blessings and assured

Abukusi that he would succeed perfectly.

“I know the ki-girl,” he said, looking at

Abukusi with a wink. “You can’t go wrong

where that one is concerned. Just remember

to buy a bottle of soda and some bottled water

and take them along. She will start smiling very

stupidly as she looks at you, pretending to be

very shy. I tell you, some bush girls are queer.

I suspect that sodas and bottled water have not

reached that girl’s village!”

They all laughed, wondering what the real

relationship between the two crooks was. If

they were closely related, and friends to boot,

how could Odongo say such things about the

woman? Wanga was looking at Odongo as if he

could willingly swallow him.

4. Odongo’s Plan

In spite of whatever feelings Wanga had,

Abukusi started going back along the road they

had come. He knew the house and hoped to

get there and avenge the dirty trick Wanga had

played on him.

As Wanga watched him go, he started crying

like a baby.

“No! Oh no! Please! Please, ofcer,” he

pleaded, kneeling on the hard tarmac. “Please,

let me talk to that man. Allow me to negotiate

with him, my brothers! Let me discuss how I can

repay him his money, good ofcers! You are men

and you understand these things. It is my wife

we are talking about here. She is the mother of

my two children, ofcers. Please understand my

feelings. Call him back! I will give anything to be

allowed to talk to that man. Hello my brother!

Hello...!”

“No! Oh no! Please! Please, ofcer...”

Despite Wanga’s pleas, Abukusi just

continued on his way without looking back,

waving merrily as he went. Probably if he had

known the mortal fear Wanga had, he would

have been more sympathetic. Wanga knew that if

those photos reached his wife, he would lose her.

The idea of her discovering that she had

been dealing with a criminal all this time was

unthinkable. It would ruin Wanga completely.

Word would reach his in-laws that he was in

fact a criminal, instead of a boss in the nearby

sugar company, as he had made them believe.

He did not want to imagine the repercussions

of Abukusi’s meeting with his wife.

The others saw his plight and laughed

derisively. None of them showed him any pity,

for he had caused them a lot of suffering. Even

Odongo was looking at him as if he were some

form of manure.

The victims felt that Wanga should be very

grateful that they had not offered him to a mob,

who would have made short work of him, as

they administered their own form of justice. If a

mob knew what the man had done, he would be

worrying about his life instead of the secondary

worry of losing a wife.

The young police ofcer told him as much.

He, the ofcer, reminded him that he had lost

some rights as of then. He was under the law;

the one forbidding criminal activities. So, all

Wanga could do was watch Abukusi go off to

Shibale – to see his wife.

The biggest laughter, however, came from

Odongo. When he saw his friend and cousin

cry, he thought it very funny. He immediately

forgot his own problems, and roared and howled

with mirth. He also thought it was the moment

to practise his wild jokes on the man.

“I never knew I would ever see you cry,”

he howled. “My God, this is a great day – of

miracles! I would have sworn you had a heart

of stone; assuming you have any heart at all. I

can’t also imagine that you actually have tear

glands! I thought they were mere shrivelled

pieces of plastic tissue by now. What is annoying

you? Where you are going, you won’t need your

so-called wife. Let that man go and look after

her and probably give her healthy kids for a

change. Be man enough and face the reality: you

are going to prison; and for very serious crimes

against humanity.”

Odongo, who was semi-literate, happened

to know that expression, which had become very

famous in the media, due to some reason which

this relater of history will leave unmentioned,

by reason of his weed-grown memory.

Even the policemen could not help laughing.

This short man, of no great beauty, certainly had

wit. He also did not seem to bother that the man

he was talking about was right there, tied onto

him by a metal link. He was not even worried

that Wanga was looking at him angrily. Indeed,

Wanga’s chest swelled and contracted with anger

as he breathed. Yet Odongo was grinning from

ear to ear, very happy with the effect his words

were having on Wanga and the others.

“You seem to know very well that this man

is a criminal?” one ofcer commented.

“Who doesn’t?” Odongo responded, opening

his big eyes widely, shocked that some people

could be so ignorant. “Where do you people

come from, very far from here? This person is

known all over this place for his conning ways. I

am sure somebody will write a book about him

some day, telling the world how he has conned

so many, and describing the several methods he

has used. He is horrible, I tell you,” Odongo said,

opening his huge mouth and eyes, and leaning

as far away from Wanga as possible. It was as

if he feared the man he was tied to could infect

him with ‘criminal leprosy’.

“I am wondering how he has managed to stay

out of prison for this long. It is like an animal

being forced to stay away from its own natural

environment.”

Wanga looked at him, horried. The man

was talking as if he really believed what he was

saying. He knew that if Odongo continued this

way, he would have him thrown in prison. It

was as if he was turning into a state witness.

However, as Wanga stared into the unseemly

face, he saw a wink. It was an almost unnoticeable

slight lifting of the eyelid and tightening of the

muscles covering the eye, and he instantly knew

that all was not lost. He now realized that his

friend had some plan that could result into

something happening for their mutual benet.

“Wonderful!” the senior of the police ofcers

exclaimed, winking at his junior. This was going

to be ne. If the short crook would cooperate

fully, they would have an airtight case against

Wanga. “You say he is dangerous, ha? Will

you tell us some things about him?” the ofcer

prodded Odongo.

“I can write ten great books about him and

his criminal activities!” Odongo responded

excitedly. “And anybody reading even a few

sentences in any of those books would send

him to jail for life. You have arrested a big thief

today. This is a great day for Shibale!”

Again, the police ofcer winked at his junior.

In the police force, it was known that

promotion came through such things. An

ofcer always hoped to strike a jackpot – as

far as arresting criminals was concerned. The

more notorious the criminal arrested, the better

the prospects of promotion. The senior ofcer

was already seeing shiny clinking pieces of

metal being attached onto his breast pocket –

hopefully by a very senior person high up in the

government. He saw himself saluting gratefully.

That was what made the job of a police ofcer

attractive; so much so that one could never care

about the dangers involved. If what Odongo

was saying was true…

The senior ofcer went over to the pair and

unlocked the chain, removing the load from

Odongo and heaping all of it on Wanga. The

handcuffs were also unlocked and the bit from

Odongo used for enjoining Wanga’s hands.

“Is that better?” he asked. Odongo looked at

him gratefully, folding and unfolding his sts.

“Yes, this is far better, Ofcer,” he said. He

then pressed his tortured ngers and pulled

them till they noisily snapped back into position.

“This is so nice, my hands being free; and my

feet too; they were starting to develop blisters.

However, the best thing is that I am now far

from that crook, whose smell alone can cause a

vulture to vomit.”

As if at the thought of the horrible smell,

Odongo growled, opening his big eyes and

folding his nose into a huge black bunch, to

show disgust. Only two tiny black holes showed

it was still a human nose.

The whole group almost collapsed in a body,

thinking about smell such as could cause a

vulture’s crop and gizzard to rebel. No rotting

carcase ever did that successfully.

“Woi! Woi!” shouted Nabukhamba, laughing

hysterically. “What sort of smell can that be?

What does he reek of?”

“It is the smell of something horribly rotten

rotting again,” Odongo explained, looking at

Wanga as if the mentioned smell was gaining

in intensity even as he talked. “However, what

people don’t know is that his heart and mind

are even more rotten than his skin and teeth.

His ideas and feelings are actually dead. With

him here, enough poisonous gas is released

from his mind and body to signicantly add to

global warming!”

“Stop! Please man, I beg you to stop,”

Nabukhamba said, holding up his hands. To

him, more than to the others, the jokes seemed

to be especially juicy. “You will kill me. I already

have a clear picture of him as a criminal, man;

but you are making it even uglier! Wah! Please,

let me nish laughing at the present set of jokes

before you release others!”

The whole group had stopped, all attention

given to Odongo. They were having a good

laugh as the joker entertained them.

Yet even as they laughed, Odongo’s mind

was working in overdrive. Already, an idea was

developing. All that remained was to update

Wanga.

As usually happened, any small idea he came

up with quickly blossomed into a perfect scheme

soon after it reached Wanga’s ear. Odongo was

quite condent that they would not sleep in the

police cells if what he had in mind worked. He

knew that just one minute with Wanga would

be enough for him to update the sly man about

the plan.

With his lips barely moving, he whispered

something to Wanga. If the ofcers had not

been so busy laughing like hyenas, they

would have noticed this momentary lull in the

enmity between the two, with the short man

unnecessarily moving towards the subject of

his lousy jokes.

By the time they reached the station, Odongo

and the ofcers seemed to be the closest of

friends. Odongo wanted to use that closeness to

help his friend, whose mind was also working

in overdrive now.

The ofcers, relaxing their guard a bit,

allowed the two to use the pit latrine behind the

cells, in the fenced off area where criminals under

their watch were allowed to exercise and bask

in the sun. To them, that was a small request,

which they granted to Odongo, who expressed

how pressed he was. Wanga was a beneciary

of Odongo’s good standing with the ofcers.

They allowed them ve minutes. That was all

the time they needed to sew up everything.

5. A Criminal’s Tricky Plan

They came back to the report ofce the

bitterest of enemies, for they were quarrelling

hotly.

“I will do nothing for you!” Wanga was

hissing. “Not after you have betrayed me. I

would rather go to jail than help you.”

Odongo laughed derisively.

“You!” he shouted, looking at him as if he

were rubbish. “You are not thinking. You know

I have nothing to lose; but you could still save

your family if you took my advice. Otherwise

they will end up at Kilimimi, in the hands of your

co-husband. I personally want to go to jail to see

what it looks like from inside. How about you,

with your wife who gives birth day and night?”

“Shut up, Odongo!” Wanga said, looking at

him angrily. “Just shut up! One day I will have

to discipline you over what you are saying now.

The more rubbish you talk, the harder I will

discipline you.”

“You can do nothing, you good-for-nothing.”

“Where will you get me, you prisoner?”

Odongo asked, laughing heartily. “I don’t expect

to be in the same prison as you. Everybody

should see that. I cannot do the things you have

done. Moreover, I can get you nailed for a very

long time, my friend.”

“You can do nothing, you good-for-nothing.”

Wanga retorted.

“Are you sure?” Odongo laughed. “You are

desperate, I see. I know a lot about you and I can

testify that you would be better off in a maximum

prison than anywhere else.”

“And what about you?” Wanga said, panting

with anger.

“Me? I have done nothing that could get me

such a long stretch, and you know it. But you!

I know so much about you that if you had any

sense, you would be begging me to spare you,

instead of showing such a lack of respect for

me. Think carefully before you open your beak

while looking in my direction!”

“Can both of you keep quiet!” a police ofcer

shouted. “You don’t seem to understand that

you are under the law. You can’t quarrel here.

If you continue this way, we will be forced to

lock you up in a water bath.”

“What is it?” the senior ofcer asked. “Do

you know I can arrest you afresh and charge you

with creating a disturbance in a police station?”

“I know,” Odongo said. “It is only that I am

trying to help this fellow, who of course doesn’t

know such things; and instead of seeing the

point quickly enough and even paying me for

expert advice, he starts yelling like the jobless

conman that he is. Ofcer, it is very hard to help

a hardened criminal, especially one who is not

clever.”

The police ofcers present and Wanga’s

victims again laughed derisively.

“Wooi!” Nabukhamba howled. “This man

should be sent to State House to be entertaining

the residents there!”

However, Wanga, who was the ‘loser’ in the

resulting laughing match, looked at Odongo as

if he would gladly knock off the mouth spewing

out jokes.

“Helping him in which way?” the ofcer

asked, still laughing. “Don’t you understand

that you are in the same boat? I want you to

write statements and go to the cells. We have a

reception party waiting: special lice and bedbugs.

They have been training on how to feast on

crooks. Part of the training is to fast for weeks

in preparation for a juicy meal. They will know

what to do with you, for they have their own

sergeants and corporals, as well as inspectors.”

6. A Walk in the Net

Odongo looked at his friend, his mouth open

and the big eyes full of sympathy.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” he

asked the equally frightened Wanga. “Being

eaten alive by experienced lice and bedbugs for

a few days? Then going to prison for very many

years and leaving your young family, when you

have all that wealth you can dispose of and repay

these people whose property you have stolen?

Why are you so mean?”

The policeman looked at them, his eyes

opening up slowly by slowly, till they were

quite sizeable. His mouth followed suit. Various

thoughts came to his mind; some requiring a

calculator to conclude, while some needed verses

from the Bible. A lot of saliva gathered in his

mouth, forming a small pool there. He had to

swallow noisily before he could think coherently.

He looked at the two men sitting at the

other end of the room; the complainants. They

were waiting to see what the OCS (Ofcer

Commanding Station) would do about their case.

He made a quick decision.

“Get into that cell, the two of you,” he

ordered. “We don’t allow disturbances here.

I will start by teaching you how not to quarrel

in a police station. You are endangering state

security, especially you short fellow!” he said,

pointing at Odongo while uttering the last part

of his statement.

“Sir, forgive me,” Odongo said, displaying a

posture of humility. “I was only trying to help

this man. Two young children his wife has had,

in two years...”

“You idiot!” Wanga said, shaking his st at

him. “You think...”

“Shut up, you two!” the OCS said, moving

towards them menacingly. “I have already

cautioned you. Now I act. Get in there!”

He went over to them and pushed them into

one of the cells.

The two complainants clapped loudly as the

door was locked on the two champions of crime.

“Gooooal!” Wanyonyi shouted as the last bolt

was pushed into place. “Now they can suffer,

the way we have suffered.”

“Yes!” Nabukhamba said, laughing loudly

again. “Let the lice and bedbugs feast on them.

Let all my stolen money be sucked right out of

their bodies. All the same, I suspect that it will

take the rest of their stay in prison to clear my

money fully out of their system, assuming they

serve for at least ten years. Anyway, I wish the

joker was treated better...”

“Forget about that,” Wanyonyi put in. “That

man is his right hand man. Don’t be carried away

with those jokes. He is just trying to wriggle out

of trouble. But ofcer, how then shall we get

our money? When is the court going to give us

what we lost?”

“That is a complicated process,” the

policeman said, “In fact, if I may be very truthful,

you might end up getting nothing.”

“Don’t say that!” the two shouted in unison,

horried. The thought of losing all that money to

the crooks was unthinkable. They had thought

the court would simply order that some money

be given to them, even from the government.

“It is very likely,” the policeman said. “In

fact, people lose far more than that. I have known

people who have lost millions. Anyway, you

heard what the other crook said. If the main

crook, Wanga, has some property, the best would

be an out-of-court settlement.”

“Yes, I would prefer that,” Wanyonyi said.

“Actually, I know that fellow has a young

family.”

Nabukhamba was also in agreement and

they told the young OCS to talk to the crooks

and see what they had to say.

* * * *

Inside the cell, the two crooks, Wanga and

Odongo, feverishly nalized their plans.

Wanga, like most residents of the area near

the giant sugar factory, owned some sugarcane.

His cane was on a two-acre piece of land he had

rented from a local man, Wavwire Masevula. He

had documents showing he was a contracted

farmer of the sugar company.

Wanga and Odongo feverishly nalized their plans.

But one thing about him was that he never

spent money on his sugarcane farm. That was

too much of work, as far as he was concerned.

He always leased it out to people, even as early

as the third month after planting. Maintaining it

would then be their problem. That is what being

broke did to someone; especially a lazy person

whose head was full of thieving schemes.

One ‘mistake’ he never made, was to release

his contract documents to the ones he was dealing

with. That would make them the real owners of

the cane. Instead, he used his smooth tongue to

make them think that he was a very trustworthy

man and that they had nothing to worry about.

His plan was always to remain the only owner

of the cane.

Now, that type of cane was his only hope.

He could offer it to these people in exchange for

his freedom. It was near the factory, he would

point out. Well-maintained, it would bring about

three hundred thousand shillings per harvest.

That was far much more than what he owed

the people.

Yes, he would offer them the cane, and even

the contract, if need be. However, they would

be in for a shock when the cane was harvested.

As of now, he had already leased it out to four

different people, each of whom thought they

were the sole owners.

One was the principal of a local secondary

school; the school where his sister’s son was

learning. The other was a businessman in

Kakamega town. There was also a police ofcer

from Kisumu and a lawyer from Nairobi.

From all of them, Wanga had taken money,

promising that they would take all the proceeds

of the cane. The teacher and the lawyer had

paid for proceeds for three harvests, while the

policeman and businessman had paid for one

harvest each: the rst cutting.

Wanga had got the full condence of the four

victims, assuring them that the land was his and

that they had nothing to worry about. He had

given them photocopies of the contract, and

that was, as far as the victims were concerned,

enough of evidence. Now, if the present victims

fell for it, they would be the fth lot. Since the

land was not his and as he had only rented the

house he lived in at Shibale, it would be easy to

dupe the victims once more and shift to another

place, as far away from Shibale as possible.

The cane was due for harvesting in about two

weeks’ time, so the men were unlikely to object.

After all, the alternative was the one of losing all

their money, as Wanga was sent to prison. That

option was unlikely, especially if Wanga played

his game the way he was used to.

7. Deal Sealed

Some play-acting was necessary, all the same,

before committing himself. No need to show

eagerness. Otherwise, the fellows, passengers

in his famous train, ‘Fools’ Express’, would

suspect foul play and make many unreasonable

demands. However, if he played hard to get, as

it were, he could greatly increase his bargaining

power!

As the young OCS opened the door, with

much clinking and clanging of the bolts and

chains, he found the two in a hot quarrel.

“You try it, if you are a man,” Odongo was

saying. “But since you are not a man, I know

you won’t. You are lucky that you now have

the protection of the law.” He was looking at

Wanga angrily.

The policeman stood at the door, looking at

them menacingly.

“You are quarrelling again! Did you people

hear what I said?”

“I am not quarrelling,” Odongo declared. “It

is this man who is talking rubbish; but I don’t

blame him. Rubbish is his mother tongue. His

head is full of rubbish. If I am to answer, I would

have to dip my head in a rubbish pit for a whole

day to get to his level. I can’t say the things he

says, or even think the things he thinks.”

“Ofcer, please allow me just one minute to

discipline this rogue,” Wanga said, looking at

the policeman appealingly. “I just want to soak

him a bit. I won’t do much harm; I know where

to hit.”

“Keep quiet!” the policeman shot back,

looking at them harshly. “I have no time to

waste. Let me inform you what is expected of

you. There are two ways of going about your

case: you can either settle with the complainants

out of court, or write statements and be in court

on Monday. So, which way will you prefer?”

“My goodness!” Odongo said, looking at his

friend as if already congratulating him. He then

looked at the OCS and said, “Ofcer, there is no

question about it. He will have to settle this issue

out of court. There is no other way about it.”

Wanga looked at him, trembling with anger.

“What right have you to decide for me?” he

asked. “The farm is mine, not yours. Do you

have a cane contract?”

“So you would rather go to jail, would you?

I am just trying to save you...”

“I said shut up!” Wanga said, looking at him

threateningly.

“Okay!” the OCS said menacingly. “Shut up,

both of you. I have no time to waste. If you don’t

want an out-of-court settlement, it will have to

be an in-court issue. Prepare to write statements.

I have no time for your wicked jokes.”

“Oh please, please,” Odongo appealed.

“Please, let us discuss. I know Wanga is trying

to be hard. He is just being mean. Let us discuss

with the people whose money he stole. I am

saying this simply on behalf of his family. Who

will feed those kids and that greedy, wasteful

woman called Khatienje? I tell you, that woman

can eat a whole goat in a day and even a trained

sniffer dog will not detect any leftovers. She

has teeth and fangs of a lioness, a tongue of a

crocodile, a stomach of a python and the brain

of a cockroach.”

“Stop it, will you?” the ofcer looked at him

angrily. “You have already made your point.

Now, Mr. Wanga, do you have anything to

say, or I give you a pen and paper to write the

statement?”

“I have nothing to say,” Wanga said blankly.

“I will write the statement.”

The policeman looked at him with eyes full

of pity and a measure of disappointment. This

was not going the way he had wanted it to go.

The short fellow, Odongo, had spilled the beans

and he wanted to capitalise on it. After all, what

did he have to gain by the man going to jail? If

the issue was settled out of court, he would be

the chief negotiator, and that would mean he

would have his cut of the settlement cash. It,

however, seemed the fellow Wanga was not

willing to negotiate, which was a pity.

“I hope,” the ofcer began, trying to be as

dignied as possible, “that you understand what

will happen after you write the statement. I will

lock you in cell for the weekend. Then, come

Monday, I will take you to court. You cannot be

released on police bond or bail due to the nature

of your crime. I have an airtight case against you;

and I am sure I will have you in jail by end of

next week. Do you understand me?”

“I understand, sir,” Wanga began, with

uncertainty. “But now, what do I do? I don’t

want to go to jail. Please...”

“Please what? I told you I have no time to

waste. You heard me?”

“Yes, Ofcer.”

“Then what are you trying to say? For the

last time, court or out of court?”

“Please, Ofcer...”

Odongo then put in appealingly, “Sir, call in

the men, so that we can negotiate. I know what

the man is fearing: the amount the cane is worth.

But it can’t be worth more than his family.”

The ofcer looked at Wanga for a short

while and made a decision. The men would

have to hear for themselves. He pushed a small

button. They heard a bell ring outside and almost

immediately, a young policeman opened the

door, stood at attention, and saluted smartly.

The OCS gave instructions to his junior

in a crisp voice. The junior then saluted and

withdrew, returning a minute later with the

victims of Wanga’s crooked ways. He then

stepped back two steps, saluted and stood at

attention, waiting for further orders. The OCS

waved him off.

“Okay, Wanga,” the ofcer said, when all

were seated. “Here are the complainants. What

do you say?”

“Ofcer,” Wanga again started hesitantly,

“that cane is all I have. If I give it out, I would be

nished. It will be harvested in two weeks’ time.

I have already been given a notice for harvesting.

I know I will get enough money to repay these

people then. If they can be patient...”

“You are wasting time,” the policeman said,

probably eager to press his demand. “It is not

me you owe money.” He then turned to the

complainants, “You have heard him. What do

you say?”

“Let’s get this straight,” Nabukhamba said.

“I have been conned once, by this man. It will

never happen again. If this man has cane, let

him lease it out and pay me cash.”

Wanyonyi nodded. Odongo also joined them

and sneered at Wanga.

“You have heard what they have said,” the

ofcer said. “You have to lease out your cane,

yourself, and pay these people cash. So, when

can you do this?”

“Before he answers,” Wanyonyi said, in a

determined voice, “I should probably inform

you people that I am also a cane farmer and

I know that every farmer is contracted by the

sugar company. I want to know if Wanga has

a contract for his cane. That is what will show

that the cane is his and so it can be leased out,

especially with the assistance of the company’s

eld supervisor. That would be as good as cash.”

The policeman looked at Wanga, who was

keeping a studious silence.

“He has a contract,” Odongo blurted out. “I

know it. I was a witness to the contract. Let him

not cheat you people.”

“Why can’t you answer?” the policeman

asked Wanga. “Or you are still reluctant to pay

these people? If you don’t want to cooperate, I

will end this discussion right away.”

“Look,” Odongo said, “even if we went to

his house right now, we would nd the contract

documents.”

“Ofcer,” Wanga said, putting on a pathetic

look, “I have the contract. Please just release me.

I know I can convince someone to take the cane.”

Nabukhamba whispered to Wanyonyi. They

nodded and then Nabukhamba raised his voice.

“Ofcer,” he said, “I have a suggestion, which

both of us are agreed on. We can take the contract

documents and conrm all the man has said. I

am told the company can change the contract to

be in our names. What does Wanga say?”

“As I said,” Wanga was now playing his

trump card, “there will be four harvests. If you

change the contract, what happens? Do I lose

everything? Four whole harvests? Is that fair?

Please, release me, so that I look for somebody

who can take the whole farm for four harvests.”

The two whispered again for some time.

They then requested the ofcer to join them

briey outside. As the door closed behind them,

Odongo and Wanga knocked their sts together.

This was going ne.

When the three came back, they informed

Wanga that they could take the whole farm for

four harvests. They assumed it would be twenty

stacks per harvest. Once they had the contract

changed to their names, they would pay him

the balance; but it would be at the rate of eight

thousand shillings per stack.

“Hey, eight thousand! Instead of at least

twelve!” Wanga feigned shock. “That is almost

half of the real value, Wanyonyi. Why can’t you

tell them? Please, let me get somebody myself.

Look, you can hold the documents and my ID

as I search for a buyer...”

“I think we are wasting public time,” the

ofcer announced. “I am ending this talk. If you

are not interested, Mr. Wanga, you can go back

to the cells. I will book you in now.”

It was time for Odongo to play his card.

“Ofcer,” he said, trembling, “please, let

him go in alone. Must I pay for the foolishness

of one man?” He then turned to Wanga. “Can’t

you talk? Say something. You really want to go

to prison?”

All eyes turned to Wanga. Even the ofcer

turned to look at him.

What the lot of them, except Odongo, did

not know, was that Wanga was playing them

like guitars; tuning them to a level that he knew

was good enough for him.

None of them could doubt what he said when

at last he decided to open his mouth. He talked

for two minutes. It was a compassionate appeal

to all of them to have mercy on him and be fair

to him. He said the cane would bring in at least

fty stacks in total, if they looked after it well.

The land was his, so there would be no fear. He

had also decided to be a good man; he wanted to

start a small business and end all links to fraud.

He already owed them about one hundred and

fty thousand shillings. Even the rst harvest

alone would clear that. He appealed to them to

share the second and third harvests, but they

should let him have the fourth harvest.

“A joke!” Nabukhamba said. “Do you know

the trouble you have put some of us through?

Ofcer, I will have the cane on my terms. We

will give him two hundred thousand shillings

and he will be out of the picture. As soon as he

signs his cane away at the company ofce, we

will hand him two hundred thousand shillings.

That will be all. Ofcer, I have to get back to my

home.”

8. Wanga’s Master Stroke

They were like ve new-found friends going

back home after a well-earned drink, due to the

heavy tasks they had had to tackle in the course

of the day. Even the policeman had removed his

uniform and was in his casual wear.

They were just chatting away, without any

sign of animosity between them. That probably

showed the amount of condence they had in

each other. They trusted and respected each other

deeply. They were men who knew that they had

done a wonderful day’s work and earned their

families something.

For one, Wanga was now out of the police

cells and was no longer slowed by heavy metals

in form of handcuffs and leg chains.

Furthermore, he had managed to gain the

condence of these men. He was going to lease

out his cane to them and they would deduct what

he owed them in form of the stolen money. The

rest, he would be given in cash. They would have

the contract changed to their own names – they

called it a joint contract.

But Wanga would have the last laugh. In

two weeks’ time, they would discover the truth.

By that time, Wanga would be quite far, still

practising his trade – tricking people.

As far as he was concerned, this particular

one was probably the best he had done so far. It

would earn him two hundred thousand shillings.

This was more than all he had earned in all his

other ‘labours’. That was, for sure, reason enough

to be happy.

The policeman was whistling merrily between

jokes. He had mediated this deal and in the

process, earned himself a whole two stacks of

cane.

Ever since he came to his present station, he

had always desired to engage in cane business.

He had been told how protable it was. Someone

could give three thousand shillings for a stack

of un-harvested cane and would earn twelve

thousand when the cane was harvested. If one

had enough money and bought ten stacks,

one could get a prot of over eighty thousand

shillings. It was not bad business, he had

concluded. It had already earned him some

money and he intended to continue with it.

He had decided to take four of the stacks, to

add onto the two he was being given. He would

pay that money in cash, after the change of

contract. The whole thing could never go wrong,

for the man could not just run away and leave

his family land over a little amount of money.

As they were going along, whistling and

talking merrily, they saw Abukusi coming

towards them. Wanga looked at him, horried.

He feared what could have occurred at his house.

Had this man betrayed him? Did his wife and

sister-in-law now know what his core business

was?

They reached him and Nabukhamba asked

cheekily how it had gone. Wanga was breathing

in short snatches.

At the question, Abukusi showed a degree

of dejection.

“I missed the way,” Abukusi lamented. “I

have spent all this time searching and searching,

but my efforts were not rewarded. All houses

and paths in these slums are the same.”

The two friends and the policeman laughed

loudly. But Wanga felt like hugging the man.

What he had said was such a relief to him. His

happiness was now full, even if he vigorously

protested the idea of his residence being referred

to as a slum.

They then invited Abukusi to join them and

Nabukhamba took time to explain to him what

was going on. He was whispering to him as they

went along, but at one point, the man stood and

nearly shouted, “Hey, that is wonderful! It is

simply sweet!”

Wanga tactfully pretended not to have heard

that. He walked on, pretending to look a bit

dejected, much to the satisfaction of the victims.

They believed they had at least succeeded in

making this bad man miserable. They were

going to make a huge prot from what Wanga

had stolen from them and that mattered a lot to

them. Though they knew that they would not

get much in the rst harvest, they would strike

a jackpot for the next harvest, normally referred

to as the ‘Ratoon one’.

Wanga knew that his wife would never allow

him to lease out the sugarcane. So as they neared

his house, he requested them to wait for him at

Shibale market, as he went for the documents.

Odongo remained with them as some sort of

surety.

At his house, he found his wife and her

sister busy preparing the evening meal. He

did not respond much to his wife’s enquiries

about where he had been all day but went to

the bedroom and discreetly put the documents

under his shirt. He then casually walked out.

The next day, armed with the documents, the

four men met Wanga and Odongo, the witness,

at the eld ofce. The eld supervisor listened

to their case. It was a straight forward matter:

willing buyer, willing seller.

He soon effected the transfer and promised

them that a new contract document would be

drawn. The cane would shift from Wanga to the

new owners. The cane delivery receipts would

henceforth be in their names.

...he discreetly put the documents under his shirt.

They left the ofce a happy lot. The others

showed their happiness openly. Wanga kept

his in his heart. Had he shown it openly, the

men would denitely have become suspicious.

He, however, was happy; very happy indeed.

Among all those people, he was the happiest;

and for a good reason: he was the only one who

would benet nancially from all this. Probably

Odongo would also benet, but on a far smaller

scale. Wanga would decide what to give him.

They then went to a shade outside the ofce

and gave Wanga his money, almost two hundred

and fty thousand. The fty was added when the

four decided to act on Wanga’s pleas for mercy.

Wanga pocketed the latest fruits of his ‘labour’

with joy owing in his heart. But outwardly, one

would think he had lost terribly.

9. Night Flight

Needless to say, when Wanga got the money

for the ‘lease’ of his sugarcane, he did not just

sit around, like a sack of potatoes, waiting

for the cheated people to catch up with him.

He knew that the time of reckoning would

come, when they would nd out that they had

been cheated. If he did not plan quickly and

thoroughly enough, he would suffer greatly.

He had taken enough from them to start him

off comfortably somewhere else, as he looked

around and surveyed the ground to see where

else he could con others.

Once again, Odongo came in handy. Odongo

had a plan, what he called his ‘plan of action’.

It was almost fool-proof and Wanga agreed to

it fully.

Probably it is important to point out again

that when Wanga married his wife, Khatienje,

he lied to her that he was a senior supervisor in

the nearby sugar company. For the two years he

had stayed with her, he had kept alive this lie,

telling her he was the boss at his place of work,

and could sometimes stay away for as long as

he wanted. All he had to do was assign people

work and leave it to them. He would, he said,

sack anybody who failed to do his job properly.

Things were, however, coming to a head, as

they say. After stealing from all those people,

including an OCS, he would just have to run

away. Otherwise he would get caught and this

time round, no trick would help him. He would

go to jail and lose everything.

Thus the day he was given the money, he

effected the rst part of Odongo’s plan. He

came home and announced that he had been

retrenched from his job at the company.

“What happened?” Khatienje asked, unable

to hold back tears.

“The company has been retrenching people,

as you know,” Wanga said, his hand supporting

his chin, as he sat on a chair. He looked desolate.

“Many have suffered the same fate, including

senior managers. We will see what to do. I

will have to aggressively look for another job.

Meanwhile, we should prepare to relocate.”

He had some money to spend and from

habit, he spent it. He lived at ease for some

days, entertaining his wife and sister-in-law,

and buying many nice things for them.

However, had Khatienje been keen, she

would have noticed some strange goings-on.

Various people were visiting him that time and

he would leave the house with them for private

talks.

The fact was that their cane was to be

harvested soon; and the people coming to see

him were the ones he had leased the cane to.

True to his calling as a con man, he had not put

his wife in the picture.

“This business should just be between us,

friend,” he would tell them, whenever they

enquired if ‘Madam’ would not object. “The

woman should only care that she is eating. I

have other ways of looking after the family, by

the way. My wife is not troublesome at all,” he

would conclude.

Thus all the four people came, at different

times, seeking his conrmation that all was well

before the harvesting. He assured each of them

on that issue. They would get their cane as per

the promise he had made to them.

He even requested for some nancial help

from them, since, as he said, he was very broke.

They all knew that cane harvesters needed

breakfast and lunch as they did their job, or else

they would not work properly. Some would even

ask for a ‘puff’’ and a ‘sip’, meaning cigarettes

and alcohol. Each of these people was willing to

be helpful; and in the end, he got almost thirty

thousand shillings extra.

The group of Wanyonyi and others had

instructed the former to constantly check on

Wanga to ensure that he played no monkey

tricks. If he behaved in a manner likely to suggest

something shy, he would be arrested and kept

in police cells till all was well with the cane

deliveries. So far, however, he had behaved,

Wanyonyi told the others on phone.

Nevertheless, all that time, Wanga was

scheming on how he would get away from the

place before his trick was discovered. He was

systematically applying Odongo’s formula.

The night before the harvesting was to start,

Wanga came home looking very agitated.

“This is terrible,” he whispered to his wife.

He did not want the girl, Feyi, to be put in the

picture just yet. “The landlord has heard that I

have been retrenched and is coming to lock the

house tomorrow. My things will have to remain

here till I pay him. Now, I do not have enough

money this time, so the best I can do is leave and

come back to pay him when some friends repay

me the money they have borrowed. I have lent

out almost half a million shillings.”

Khatienje knew that type of business.

Somebody borrowed a thousand shillings and

after a month, repaid two thousand. That would

mean a million shillings when everyone had

repaid. It was protable but very tricky, since

there was always the danger of people defaulting.

“Why, Baba Stonnie?” she asked, somehow

surprised. “How can you lend out so much

money?” (‘Stonnie’ was the name of their rst

born son).

“They had problems. What is more, I am sure

they will repay. But meanwhile, we have to pack

straight away and leave this place.”

Luckily, Khatienje’s sister, Feyi, would help

with the packing and carrying of things out.

She happened to be quite industrious, Wanga

had noticed; quite unlike her sister, who was a

bit lazy.

As they were packing, Odongo arrived, also

looking quite agitated. He was carrying a dirty

bag, obviously containing some items. Wanga

looked at him suspiciously.

“Welcome,” he told him. “I see you have

brought me something? What is it and why do

you look so unsettled?”

Odongo did not respond immediately. He

sat on one of the chairs. Wanga looked at him,

pretending to wonder what could have hit his

friend.

But that was merely a show. He knew fully

well why Odongo was there. Part of his plan was

that they should go together; but Khatienje was

not to know that. After a few minutes, Odongo

came up with his story of afiction, as they all

listened.

He had been thrown out of the nest-like

structure he stayed in. The County Council was

pulling those structures down to build decent

houses in Shibale. He was now carrying all his

earthly belongings in that small sack, which

looked as if it had been hurriedly dug out of

the ground.

“I came to see if you could accommodate

me for a few days, as I look around for another

‘Keja’,” he said. “But I see you are also packing.

What is this about?”

“We are also leaving,” Wanga announced.

“My God! Then what shall I do?” the man

was almost crying.

Wanga looked at him sympathetically and

seemed to reach a quick decision.

“Please, come with us. I will give you a place

to stay as you look for a house. Look, help us to

take these things outside.”

“Why are you leaving? And why move at

night?”

“Don’t worry about all that. Night is the time

to move. It affords one some privacy. Help me

carry this bed outside, Kuuka. The vehicle should

be here any time.” (They normally called each

other Kuuka, meaning ‘grandfather’ in the Luyia

language, to show fondness for each other, since

they had ‘faced the knife’ together).

Only Khatienje sat outside her house,

doing nothing. Her new baby boy, Rian kiggs

Brighton, was now four months old, and she

still considered herself a bit too delicate to do

any heavy task. Feyi, her sister, did not think so;

she felt that Khatienje was just being lazy and

sometimes had the cheek to tell her that.

“Why are you acting so lazy, when there is

work to do?” Feyi asked. “Stop being lazy. Help

me carry these bags.”

“Just be careful how you talk to me, you

small kid!” Khatienje shot back, looking at her

sister harshly. “You must know you are a child

and I am a grown-up. What is more, this is my

house. You cannot talk to me like that. You must

respect me.”

Feyi stopped and looked at her as if she

would swallow her. But that was as far as she

could go, even if she wished Khatienje could

help her. Nevertheless, she had made her point.

Wanga looked at them and smiled. He could

not interfere. They could quarrel a bit if they

wanted. It was not the rst time. For now, it was

urgent that they pack discreetly and depart from

the place without giving anybody a chance to

make enquiries.

He had arranged with a pickup truck owner

from Shianda, a shopping centre quite some

distance away, to come over and pick him. He

could not use a local person, since he did not

want it known that he was moving. He intended

to go to a place quite far off, but where he would

settle and mix with the crowds without attracting

unnecessary attention. He had thought of Busia

town, since he was not known there, and none

of his victims came from there. He did not want

to be pounced on one day as he moved about.

The owner of the vehicle was also willing to

help, in the way that Odongo had planned; he

was crucial if their plan was to go through. A

local person would even have alerted neighbours.

The vehicle came and they quickly and

quietly packed their belongings. It was almost

eleven o’clock and there were no people around

to ask questions.

Khatienje looked at the place nostalgically

as they left. She could remember so many nice

things which had happened there. Wanga did

not look back even once. He did not want to

part with fteen thousand shillings, the rent he

had not paid for the previous three months. In

his line of business, one was to pay only when

one had to.

10. The Vehicle ‘Messes’

When they reached Mayoni, the vehicle,

whose engine had been running smoothly,

suddenly coughed a few times, seemed to sneeze

loudly, and then went very quiet. It moved on for

a few metres, then slowed and came to a stop.

“My goodness!” Wanga said, worry showing

all over his face. At the best of times, it was a thin

face; but now, worry made it seem to suddenly

develop sharp, almost thorny, bumps. He looked

quite queer then, especially in the poor light.

“What is it now?”

“Worry less,” the driver said, smiling

reassuringly. “That is what makes a journey

adventurous. Just settle back and enjoy the

adventure, as I try to get this animal moving.”

“I hope it will move,” Wanga said, fearing

about getting caught stranded around there, just

two kilometres from Shibale. His moving at night

would certainly raise suspicions. There were also

many people he owed money, and other things.

There was even a neighbour’s classic coffee set

right there in the pickup truck!

“It will, Mheshimiwa,” he said, referring to

him by the Swahili title of ‘Honourable’. “Just

be patient; but if it becomes necessary to push,

I hope we will help each other as men.”

Odongo, who had said nothing so far, now

put in, “Shall this one really get us to Busia?”

“It will get you to Mombasa and back, if you

want,” the driver said, showing some annoyance.

“Just give me enough money for fuel. I have

been to many far off places with this vehicle!”

Wanga had not yet given Odongo any money,

but it had been agreed that he would get some

as they went off together. Odongo could not

possibly stay at Shibale after Wanga’s departure.

He would obviously be arrested as an accomplice.

But Khatienje was not to be put in the picture.

All the play acting was meant to make her remain

ignorant; and as it looked, the driver was doing

everything according to the script. Odongo and

Wanga were accomplished actors, and they

could see Khatienje and her sister being led in

beautifully.

The driver, after peering at and touching

some wires and things in the open bonnet,

banged it shut and got into the vehicle. He

requested Wanga and Odongo to push a bit,

but apparently, it still needed something more

than merely peering at, and touching, wires and

other bits. Moreover, due to the luggage, it was

as heavy as a house. The two men pushing were

also not the strongest that Shibale had hosted.

Odongo made the whole exercise worse by

joking wildly, as was his habit.

“Please, don’t just touch the vehicle,” he said,

looking at Wanga angrily. “I am pushing alone.

And stop pretending that you are sweating and

panting. You know you are doing nothing!”

Wanga was pretending to be too angry and

worried to think of jokes at that time. He had to

make his wife see how anxious he was.

“Try harder!” the driver shouted. “For it to

start, the speed of pushing must be higher than

this. Let’s go!”

They made as if to exert themselves as hard

as they could. They were panting audibly, and

loudly urging each other to push. But the vehicle

did not seem to care.

“Let us rest!” Odongo shouted. “Or rather,

let me rest. I am working alone. This other man

has no urgency. He is just touching the vehicle

as if feeling the smoothness of the paint. Please

allow me to rest a bit. I will resume after some

time.”

Even with the darkness, Wanga saw a wink

forming in that unsightly face. This was going

on well. The driver seemed to be cooperating

fully. The two ladies must be convinced by now.

As if to dispel any doubts from the mentioned

ladies, the driver, following their script,

pretended to be very angry with Wanga. He

pretended to believe what Odongo was saying.

“Why don’t you want to push the vehicle,

boss?” he asked Wanga, rather harshly. “Vehicles

get stuck; and when that happens, everybody is

supposed to give a hand. It doesn’t matter what

type of suit one is wearing.”

Wanga, on his part, was also getting ‘angry’.

He had hired this man and now the same hireling

was issuing orders! What is more, even the ladies

knew Odongo was very weak and lazy, so it was

Wanga doing the pushing, not Odongo. Thus to

them, Wanga had to act angry, for he was being

unfairly blamed. Even Khatienje felt angry at this

attack on her husband, but she could not blame

the driver. How was he to know that Odongo

was a joker?

“You don’t have to talk to me like that,

Mister,” Wanga said, ‘trying’ hard to control

his ‘anger’. “When I hired you, you did not tell

me your vehicle was defective. You promised

to take me to Busia town. Then you get stuck

here and start making demands. If you knew the

vehicle would need pushing, you should have

carried your own pushers.”

“Hey, hey…so you want to be bossy, huh?”

the driver asked, getting out of the vehicle. “You

think you are a boss, don’t you? My boss? Let me

warn you: I am not going to tolerate nonsense.

You are not my boss. I am just helping you to

ee, most likely due to non-payment of house

rent. See how kind-hearted I am. I know the type

of people who shift at night. I am telling you to

push the vehicle. Stop thinking of yourself as

a boss. Either push, or start unpacking. Throw

your things down, if you think I am disturbing

you. I will call my boys – some are at Shibale

– and they will help me start this vehicle. You

can then get another vehicle to help you ee.”

Hearing this, Odongo almost collapsed with

laughter. His big mouth opened so widely one

could have counted all his teeth, even in that

bad light. Wanga wanted to ‘react’ aggressively

but ‘reason’ came to him. He ‘had’ to push the

vehicle, to avoid the alternative of unloading his

things and looking for another vehicle at that

ungodly hour. It was almost midnight.

“Shut up!” he curtly told Odongo. “Let us

push the vehicle, you lazy fellow. All you can

do is invent wicked jokes as I do all the pushing.

Let’s go. Tell the driver fellow we are ready.”

“Why can’t you tell him yourself?” Odongo

asked, giggling; obviously trying to ‘annoy’ him

further. “It is you who hired him. I don’t want

to talk to him.”

“Stop your childishness,” Wanga said. “Tell

the fellow.”

“Okay, Driver,” Odongo said, rather too

loudly for someone who was just a few steps

away. “I have rested. Let’s go.”

The driver told the two women to get out

briey, so he could have more room to operate.

The two men strained, pushing the vehicle till it

gathered some speed, but it still could not start.

“Why can’t you turn the vehicle and head

towards River Nzoia?” Odongo suggested. “It

will be faster and easier to push.”

They all saw the sense in this suggestion.

Even Feyi congratulated Odongo for his quick

thinking. The driver, thanking Odongo and

suggesting that he was university material, made

a u-turn, pointing the vehicle towards River

Nzoia. He then told them to push as hard as

possible.

The vehicle gathered speed, helped by the

slope. A short while later, the engine started and

the vehicle gave a shrill roar and took off at a

high speed towards Shibale.

11. Khatienje Marooned

“He is leaving us here!” Wanga cried. “He is

taking off with our things! Stop, you! Wooooi!

Heeeeelp!”

The two women started crying loudly,

announcing that they had left their handbags

and other things in the vehicle. However, if the

driver heard them, he did not care. The vehicle,

now very much alive and full of speed, zoomed

off to wherever its driver was directing it.

“Woi! Woi! Woi!” Wanga jumped all over

the place, shouting. “Just at once! At once and

I have lost everything! All that I have bought

since I started working is gone. Just like that!”

“Let’s go to the police station!” Khatienje

wailed. “Let’s report this crook! You have his

details. Let’s go and report him. The police will

get him!”

“Where do we start all that? It means we have

to walk to Mumias Police Station,” Wanga said.

“And what details? When I hired the man, I did

not even ask his name. I don’t even know the

registration number of the vehicle. I just trusted

him. We have nowhere to start!”

“I hope you don’t subject the babies to the

idea of walking over to Mumias Police Station,”

Odongo put in. For once, all his jokes were gone.

He was now talking very maturely and sensibly.

“They can get malaria and pneumonia. Look,

Wanga, why can’t we get the ladies a place to

sleep here at Mayoni, then the two of us can go

to the police station and report this theft?”

However, the man being talked to was almost

fainting because of what had just happened. It

was a big blow, as far as he was concerned. It

was unthinkable, that man simply driving off

with all those things. He could imagine the man

going to wherever he came from, unloading those

things and going off to continue with his usual

business, most likely in another location. Wanga

was now talking to himself, raving, shouting,

even threatening to beat up Odongo, whose idea

it was that the man turns downhill. He wanted

to run to River Nzoia and jump into the water.

“Let me die now!” he shouted. “I have no desire

to live. I have lost everything. Let me die now.

Don’t hold me!”

Odongo and Feyi, however, held onto him,

the girl crying helplessly and telling him how

much her sister loved him. “Don’t, my in-law,”

she begged. “Don’t kill yourself. You will get

many more things in life. We all love you. You

are still young, In-law!”

Even Khatienje, wailing uncontrollably, called

him ‘My husband’, for once. She was holding

the two babies; one by the hand and another

on her chest. Wanga smiled inwardly. This was

pleasant, especially since he knew exactly what

the driver was doing. There was no cause for

worry, since his things were safe.

He cooled down and asked Odongo to

help him search for lodgings. They walked to

the shopping centre, ‘noticed’ a tall building

and went to it. Wanga had already done his

homework. He knew that building had lodging

rooms. He had even been there earlier and talked

to the man in charge. The ladies and children

nally settled in and Wanga now set off with

Odongo to ‘report’ the theft.

When Odongo hatched the scheme, the aim

had been to get Khatienje to go to her home

without creating a scene, or even refusing.

Wanga wanted to be free to roam around a bit,

far from Shibale. In fact, he had wanted to be far

from Western Kenya. He knew he had dialled

a wrong number, conning all those people,

especially the lawyer and the policemen. They

would not rest till he was found and punished.

Thus choosing Busia had been easy, for from

Busia, he could easily cross over to Uganda and

relax somewhere until the heat cooled off. The

victims could search for him all over Kenya and

not nd him. They would have to give up.

They had arranged with that driver to drive

off and keep the things for some time in a room

Wanga had hired at Shianda. He had paid him

ten thousand shillings, which was way too

generous.

When they got to the road, Wanga rang the

driver’s number. His phone was off. Well, he

thought, probably he was still driving. But then,

by now he should surely have reached Shianda

and unpacked?

They did not give it a thought, though. All

they had to do was relax and get some sleep.

The next day, they would send the ladies home

and go to Busia.

The following day, they put Khatienje and

her sister into a vehicle headed for Tingolo,

Khatienje’s home place. Wanga gave her ten

thousand shillings and told her to use it as

carefully as possible, as he was now out of a job.

He would get her something when his debtors

started repaying, in about one month’s time, he

promised.

Wanga and Odongo then quickly boarded a

vehicle for Busia.

12. At the Border Town

There was, however, something they would

have to worry about that day. In the course of

the day, the conned leasers of his sugarcane

would discover the reality of the situation and

would denitely hit the roof. Before midday,

they would start calling, after realizing they had

been played like guitars.

Wanga did not want to answer any awkward

questions. He thus immediately decided to block

all the numbers of his victims.

By the time they reached Busia, he had one

hundred and fty thousand shillings. He had

decided to give Odongo twenty thousand. After

all, it was proceeds from his own sugarcane. But

Odongo had helped him a great deal over his

getting out of police cells and conning the latest

group. He deserved to be rewarded handsomely.

They settled in a nondescript joint right in the

middle of the town and took a double room. It

was cheaper that way. They told the lady giving

out the rooms that they were casual workers and

needed such a place for a few days.

They again tried calling the driver’s number

but he was still unreachable, meaning the number

was off.

“Does he have any other number, apart from

the one you are using?” Odongo asked, anxiety

now building up.

“No. He only gave me one number,” Wanga

replied.

The man was supposed to bring those things

over to Busia just the following day, according

to their plan. That was when he would be paid

his full dues, an extra ve thousand shillings, to

add onto the ten thousand he had already been

given. But Wanga wanted to be sure the things

were safe.

“Probably we can just wait till tomorrow,

hoping he doesn’t con us,” Odongo suggested.

“You shut up!” Wanga shot back, not happy

with the reference.

“But you should not complain too much

about such things, surely. After all, he could

simply be our colleague in this business. It is a

tough business at the best of times. At one time,

you gain; at other times you lose, heavily...”

“I said shut up, Odongo! Let’s wait for

tomorrow.”

Even as he said that, however, he was not

very condent. He was dead worried. How

come the man was not picking his calls? Why?

When he had approached him, the man had

seemed very cooperative. He was very eager

to help. Could he have got other ideas later,

probably after looking at the loot?

He wondered how the day was progressing

over at his sugarcane farm. He knew the cane

was being cut and he also knew that before the

end of the day, it would be collected. That was

when the truth would hit those fellows, very,

very hard.

That is when they would know they had been

conned. How would they take it? The manhunt

would start immediately. He was glad he was

far away from Shibale. If the worst happened, he

would just walk across the border into Uganda

and that would be that.

He, however, hoped that those fellows would

come to terms with reality and share the proceeds

of the cane as best they could. If not, they would

hunt all over the place for him, but without

success. Busia was safe, he assured himself.

13. An Assembly of Guitars

And now, what is happening at the farm?

Well, of course the cane is being harvested.

The four gentlemen, one of them an OCS, no

less, are there, armed with the cane contract,

already changed to their names.

As they stand admiring the stacks piling

up before them, some other people arrive and

stand admiring the same stacks that are growing

in size. That is normal. When cane is being

harvested in those parts, people come to watch;

all types of people.

An old man, leaning slightly on a crooked,

rough-looking walking-stick, comes over and

selects a long, fat stick of sugarcane and starts

chewing it negligently. The owners look at him,

wondering what has happened to good manners

these days. Even the old seem to have de-learned

good manners! You would think the cane is

his, the way he is chewing it with a degree of

concentration, not even bothering to greet the

owners or the cutters.

The school principal arrives with his wife

and his deputy principal. He is driving a nice

car, in the latest registration range. The owner

of the car wants an assurance that the man is a

serious buyer, and they are to meet here and x

the deal after counting the number of stacks the

cane is going to give.

The lawyer arrives a short time after the

principal and starts walking about, surveying

the work. His impeccable suit makes him look

a bit out of place, what with the cane cutters

singing lustily about women; something that

has made the principal’s wife to stay in the car,

reading the Bible and rebuking Satan spiritedly.

The businessman and the policeman arrive.

It is now a full house.

It was now a full house.

The different parties on the farm have put

themselves in ve clusters. With some sense of

symmetry, each group has taken its own vantage

point on the shamba and is enjoying the goings-on

from there. Some are greatly enjoying the songs

from the cane cutters, and people like Wanyonyi

and Nabukhamba sing along, equally lustily.

Mulongo, the famous circumcision song, is being

belted with passion. ‘Ahooo! Ahooo!’ The chorus

goes, as the pangas land in rhythmic harmony.

Before long, the giant cane carrying tractors

arrive. Loading is starting. The role of the owner

here is to receive the receipts called ‘deliveries’,

showing their sugarcane has been picked and

is headed for the factory. The time has come;

and the various groups move closer to receive

what is rightfully theirs. The supervisor looks

at them quizzically and calls out to the owners;

the latest owners.

“What!” the lawyer, the principal, the

policeman and the businessman shout almost

jointly. And like a well-rehearsed choir reciting

a line of a choral verse, they respond in unison,

“This is my cane!” complete with hand gestures.

“What is going on here?” he asks himself.

They dramatically open their eyes, their

mouths gaping.

This is understandable, for their predicament

is the same.

The group of the OCS also responds,

jointly, too: “No, it is our cane!”, also showing

thoroughness in the use of body language. The

supervisor is surprised. Like a trained adjudicator

in the drama festival, he looks from one group

to the other. “What is going on here?” he asks

himself. He cools down tempers and requests

for documentary evidence.

The four parties, who had been conned

earlier on, bring out photocopies of the contract

documents and Wanga’s handwritten agreements.

The supervisor is thoroughly amused. He

laughs quite derisively.

“Mumechezwa,” he says briey, meaning, in

Kiswahili, ‘You have been conned’. “A photocopy

is not recognized in law. We want the original.”

The new ‘owners’, the OCS group, bring

forth their documents, and these are accepted.

The other conned fellows protest hotly. This is

going to turn out ugly. None of them wants to

imagine that they have been conned.

“But then, where is the owner of the land?”

the businessman asks, irritated. “Wanga is the

owner of this land! He can’t hide from his own

land!”

“From our records, the owner of the land

is called Wavwire Masevula,” the supervisor

announces, looking around. “Who of you is called

by that name? Please, let me see your National

ID.”

That is when the ‘negligent’ old man steps

forward, still chewing busily, and announces that

he is the owner of the land. Wanga had not paid

him the full amount for the lease of the shamba

and had promised to give him one stack of the

present harvest. That is why he is there.

All look at each other. A master con game

has been played out here. They are all victims.

Money has denitely been lost.

The sooner Wanga is looked for, the better.

He has made a huge mistake, conning the police,

a teacher, a lawyer and a businessmen. The

resulting hissing, as of several snakes, shows that

if found, he will suffer great and painful bites!

14. The Law – Yet Again!

The next day, Wanga and Odongo had a good

breakfast. For the rst time, Odongo ate things

called sausages. And there were eggs, a delicacy

he could not afford back at Shibale.

“You also look waaau!” Wanga joked.

He was right. In his lodging room, Odongo

had bathed well, and brushed, or shall we say

‘scrubbed’, his teeth. Whether it was the rst

time or not is not the issue here. But yesterday,

after being given money, he had bought some

things, denitely for the rst time. These had

included a toothbrush and toothpaste. He had

also bought a change of clothes, and shoes which

had turned out to be undersize.

So today, he denitely looked smart. Anybody

seeing him would denitely notice the change.

After breakfast, they decided to scout for a

house. They hoped they could get a quiet, cheap

place where they could reside without raising

eyebrows. They would live separately, if it would

be possible. The two living together would only

raise suspicions.

They got a quiet place in what was being

referred to as Marachi Estate. Each paid for their

own room.

Now all that was needed was furniture. This

was the time they really wanted the driver to

take their call.

They decided to trick him. Odongo, who had

just bought his rst phone, called the number.

The phone rang! So he had simply blocked

Wanga, they concluded. That said a great deal

about what was on his mind! Wanga took the

phone and asked him where he was.

“And who are you?” the recipient asked.

“Don’t you think it is very bad manners calling

me and asking me such a question? I don’t even

have this number in my phone memory.”

“I am the one you carried luggage for

yesterday,” Wanga said, laughing to humour

him.

“Goodness! So you are the fellow who stole

people’s money and things, lied to my driver

and had him arrested? You are Wanga, not so?”

“What are you talking about?”

“The hell you know what I am talking about!

Do you realize I have to try and get money to pay

for Okhupe’s bail? And you dare ask me what

I am talking about? If I got you now, I would

pull off your stupid tongue! Look, your things

are now in the police station. You can pick them

from there.”

Odongo, watching his friend make the call,

saw him tremble visibly. He was staring into

space. His breathing became laboured and

suddenly, without warning, he collapsed onto

the oor.

“Hey, help! Help, somebody!” Odongo

shouted. “Someone is dying here! Room 8B!”

Help arrived sooner than Odongo would

have expected. The kind men who responded

showed a wonderful spirit. They seemed to be

experts at the issue; and soon, they had revived

Wanga. They gave him bottled water and some

glucose. He licked it gratefully.

“Thank you very much,” Wanga said, looking

at the men, a nice smile on his face.

“Thank you very much,” Wanga said...

“We are at your service, Mr. Wanga,” one

of the men said.

“Oh, you know me? How come?” Wanga

asked, then looked at Odongo and gave a slight

wink. He was big, as he always boasted to him.

The wink simply said, Heard that, you small man?

Mimi ni mzito! I have always told you that I am

known. These rst aid people seem to know people.

“Mr. Wanga, it is our duty to know people

like you; and of course your friend Odongo.

Now, if you will kindly hold out your hands,

both of them, we will give you something you

richly deserve.”

Wanga again winked at his friend and held

out his hands, smiling his thanks at the gift, or

present, or award, or whatever it was that he was

about to receive. Good fortune, he told himself,

seemed to follow him wherever he went. After

receiving that money just two weeks before, he

was now about to receive an award, or offer

from...who were they? Red Cross, most likely!

Yes, Red Cross. They had come so fast!

The fact is, however, that the call had been

traced. The whole of the previous day they had

been trying to get him. The driver had been

arrested and the owner of the vehicle told to

cooperate. Tracing them had been an easy matter.

Once more, the two criminals were enjoined

in chains. They were quickly bundled into the

police car and rushed to Mumias.

Vocabulary

accomplice a partner in crime

airtight sure

blossomed developed

blunder big mistake

blurted revealed suddenly

coherently clearly

craftiness tricky

default fail to pay

deformed not of normal shape

discreetly secretly

feigned pretended

ashy colourful; good-looking

hoard hide goods to sell at an

increased price

hysterically uncontrollably

jackpot great luck

lynch kill, especially through mob

justice

momentary for a short moment

100

mutilated badly cut

mutual shared; common

nightmarish scaring; frightening

nostalgically with longing

patriots people who love their

country and obey its laws

plight difculty; problem

posture position; attitude

provocation urging, encouragement

retrench reduce number of employees

rinsed rewashed

rustics ignorant people

shrivelled dried up; shrunken

sizeable big; huge

snarl high-itched roar/cry

unison together

wobbly unsteady

101

Questions

1. What was the crime of the Wanga and

Odongo?

2. Why were the police worried about the public

knowing the crime of the two?

3. What was Odongo’s trick?

4. Why did Odongo hate Bwibo Sinia?

5. Wanga wanted to show that he was unwilling

to part with his sugarcane. Give a reason for

this.

6. What sort of woman did Odongo think

Khatienje was?

7. Mention the people that Wanga had leased

out his cane to.

8. What were ‘deliveries’?

9. Give two reasons why Wanga did not want

to be seen leaving his house at Shibale.

10.How did the police know Wanga was in Busia

town?