The One Planet Literature series: Novella

The Fortieth Hour

The One Planet Literature series

1. Flee, Mama Flee – David Mulwa

2. Seven Shades of Dusk – Kwamboka Oyaro

3. Angels of the Wild – Ng’ang’a Mbugua

4. The Daredevil Rider – Henry Munene

5. The Ridges Across River Kaiti – Wambua wa Kawive

6. From the Heart of my Mother – Ken Wasudi

7. The High Road – Jennie Marima

8. Just this Once – Jennie Marima

9. Little Heroes – Ian McKenzie-Vincent

10. A Spider’s Web – Samuel Wachira

11. The Climate of Change – Ian McKenzie-Vincent

12. A Journey to Becoming – Egara Kabaji

13. Hustlers’ Chains – Samuel Wachira

14. Leading Light – Kithusi Mulonzya

15. Strange Happenings – Jennie Marima

The

Fortie th

Hour

Kithusi Mulonzya

OnePLANET

Published by

One Planet Publishing & Media Services Limited

PO Box 5649 – 00506, Nairobi, Kenya

Email: info@oneplanetpublishing.com

Website: www.oneplanetpublishing.com

The moral rights of the author have been asserted.

First published 2023

Reprinted 2024

or transmied in any form or by any means, electronic or

mechanical, including photocopy, recording or any informaon

storage and retrieval system, without the prior wrien permission

of One Planet Publishing & Media Services Limited.

Enquiries concerning reproducon may be sent to the Publishing

Department, One Planet Publishing & Media Services Limited, at

the address above.

ISBN 978 9914 41 012 9

Illustraons by Vincent Nyalik

Cover illustraon by Vincent Nyalik

Printed by

Modern Lithographic Kenya ltd.

PO Box 52810 – 00200, Nairobi, Kenya

Email: info@modernlitho.co.ke

My first day at the county government offices was exciting.

I had been anxious about what to expect. That morning

my Community Service Week supervisor warned me that

anything could happen any time.

“Here, everything happens, yet nothing seems to

happen,” Mr Mengi said.

What Mr Mengi said sounded confusing, so I asked him,

“How do you know when something has happened, Sir?”

We were walking along Uzima Street in what he called

the ‘usual patrol’. He stopped and pointed at a car that

had crossed a red traffic light. “You see that car?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think its driver is obeying the traffic rules?”

“No, Sir,” I quickly answered, happy that I easily knew

the correct answer to his question. The theme of travel

safety had been rubbed in our brains and hearts during

our school lessons.

Chapter One

Mr Mengi tapped me on the shoulder and urged me

to continue walking. “One of the best ways to know that

something has happened is to spot any lawbreaking.”

“So, what will happen to that car?” I asked as I stole a

glance at the car. I noticed that it had been stopped by a

uniformed man.

“The traffic marshals will deal with the driver

as mandated by the city by-laws,” Mr Mengi simply

said. He was referring to the officers from the county

government’s parking and traffic control department

whose main role was to ensure traffic flowed smoothly

on the roads and that vehicles were properly parked at

the designated parking spaces.

We walked around quietly for a few minutes. I was keenly

observing everything to detect if ‘anything’ happened. I

felt safe in Mr Mengi’s company. The departmental head

who had received me that morning had been right about

Mr Mengi. He had assured me that I would be in the safe

hands of Mr Mengi, who was a good man and the best

officer in his team. He was going to teach me everything

I needed to know about the procedures of parking in the

city, particularly its new digital parking platform.

My interest in the city’s new digital parking platform

was sparked off by our Computer Studies teacher’s praise

for it. She had talked highly of it during our Third Term

lessons.

“Let me tell you, my dear learners,” Ms Gloria had said.

“There are systems and there are systems.”

I had shot up my hand to ask a question.

“Yes, Majani. I can see you have a question.”

“Yes, Ms Gloria,” I had replied, rising up. “Is that a new

idiom?”

The class had burst out laughing. Ms Gloria had

laughed longer than all of us. We truly admired her; she

was also our teacher of English. She always encouraged us

to ask questions and make comments, even the silly ones.

She never took any offence at my inquisitive nature.

Ms Gloria always reminded us that we could not learn

how to communicate well if we did not speak in class. She

would reiterate that it was by speaking out loud that she

got to know if we had any challenges in our expressions.

That way, she would seize the opportunity to correct us,

and we would gain mastery of the language much faster.

“Now, Majani, you have our attention. What serious

question do you have?” Ms Gloria had asked me, looking

quite earnest.

“Thank you, Ms Gloria,” I had said respectfully, then

cleared my throat. “You’ve taught us that repetition can be

used to signal emphasis.”

“Correct.”

“What makes you emphasise on this digital system of

our city?” I had asked.

Ms Gloria had stridden towards me as she responded. “I

participated in developing it as one of their consultants,”

she had explained, locking her eyes with mine. Every time

she locked her eyes with yours, you knew she was very

serious. She was small in stature. In fact, a visitor could

have mistaken her for one of the learners. However, her

eyes were way too commanding. Her eyes were slightly

bigger than average, and whenever she got angry or

agitated, they would bulge and become beady as if they

were about to explode. They would also exude so much

fire that you would feel their heat. Such moments of near-

explosion were, thankfully, very rare. You had to have

crossed many lines to annoy Ms Gloria.

“And you, Majani, being one of my computer nerds,

how would you like experiencing it live and direct?” Ms

Gloria had asked, catching me off-guard. She was not

smiling, which meant one thing: she was not teasing me.

“Experiencing?” I had felt lost. “How?”

“I can secure you space for attachment at the county

government parking and traffic control office to do

your community service session during the next school

holiday.”

I do not know what exactly happened to me, but I found

myself on my feet! I wanted to hug Ms Gloria, if only that

was allowed.

“I would love it! Oh, how kind of you, Ms Gloria!” I had

said breathlessly.

“We know you are good at these things.” Ms Gloria was

then patting my shoulder. “We cherish your software for

the scheduling of club meetings and sessions. It has helped

us to avoid the many conflicts that used to be witnessed in

our school. Class, clap for Majani!”

Hearty claps had erupted in our classroom.

“At the county parking and traffic control unit, you will

get a taste of this new parking regulation software we have

helped to develop,” Ms Gloria had said as she retreated

to the front of the class to continue with our Computer

Studies lesson.

“Thank you!” I had managed to say. My mind was then

far away; I was already at cloud nine, as they say. I could

not wait for the Community Service Week to come.

So, here I was, walking alongside Mr Mengi who was

carrying and operating a tablet to check which motorist

had paid the mandatory city parking fee and which one

had defaulted.

“I want you to check the next car,” Mr Mengi said,

handing me the tablet. “Here, take the gadget.”

I almost snatched the instrument from him, but I

managed to control myself. I did not want him to detect

my anxiety. The truth is that I was very eager to key in the

first number plate and witness the magic of automation.

“I will start with the car in front of me,” I said, punching

the registration number of a pale blue saloon car.

A/w 1 – Majani (15-year-old boy) is excitedly operating

a tablet to check the parking status of a pale blue car parked

at a parking lot on a street. Mr Mengi (a middle-aged city

parking officer) is pointing at the clamp on the front right

hand side tyre of the car.

“I will start with the car in front of me,” I said,

punching the registration number of a pale blue saloon

car.

“No need for that,” Mr Mengi said as he pointed at

the front right-hand side wheel. “Evidently, this one

hasn’t yet paid any parking fee. See, it’s already clamped.

Whenever a motorist fails to pay the parking fee, this

metal bar is fastened around the front right-hand side

wheel to prevent him or her from driving away without

paying. The motorist will then have to go to the office to

pay the day’s fee plus a fine, failure to which his or her car

will be towed away and he or she will be taken to court.”

“Ahh,” I gasped. “So this one may end up in court? It

says here: NOT PAID.”

“Possibly,” Mr Mengi said, motioning me to continue

walking.

“Can I check out the next one?”

“Well, it seems that my colleague has already checked

cars on this street.”

I instinctively scratched my nape – something I often

did whenever I was concerned about something. I was not

sure whether I should ask or wait and see if my question

would be answered without my asking.

Mr Mengi came to my rescue. “Is something bothering

you, Majani?”

“Yes, Sir!”

“You can ask me anything, with neither hesitation nor

reservation.”

“Thank you, Sir,” I said, smiling to hide my nervousness.

“When we were in your office, you showed me a list of the

streets and roads assigned to you… to us today.”

“Yes?”

“This was one of them.”

“Yes?”

“Why would any of your colleagues stray into your

zone?”

“It’s not unusual to confuse your street with someone

else’s,” Mr Mengi explained, trying to downplay the

confusion or mix-up that might have occurred.

“So, no one ever takes offence when the other crosses

the line?” I probed politely.

“No,” Mr Mengi said plainly, “no one takes offence. We

all have the same goal – to enforce the payment of parking

fee in this city, which is part of the revenue collection

exercise in most urban areas.”

We had reached the next street. I read the sign aloud,

“Serenity Street.”

“The quiet street…” Mr Mengi began to explain.

“Yes, please tell me why it was named Serenity,” I

implored.

“Look around; what do you see?”

“I see people seated quietly on marble seats, and no one

seems to have any care or burden.”

“Good observation,” Mr Mengi said. “Most people

often come here to relax, particularly if they don’t have

the time and energy to cross the main street to the public

park on the other side of the city centre.”

I began to feel the urge to relax on one of the seats,

not because I was tired, but to offer solidarity with the

morning occupants.

Mr Mengi had a way of reading people’s minds. “Are

you tempted to sit down?” he teased me. “Don’t blame

yourself; this street has the reputation of making one feel

like getting some rest. It’s one of the cleanest and quietest

in this city. Maybe you can warm one of these seats later

but for now we have work to do.”

On hearing this I quickly but carefully tapped the

side button of the tablet. The screen came alive and I

proceeded to feed the first car’s registration number on to

the gadget. Almost instantly, a text message bearing the

feedback appeared.

“This one has paid!” I reported.

“Good. The next one?”

“Let me see… Even this one.”

All the cars on Serenity Street at that time were

compliant.

“I have never apprehended any motorist on this street

for not having paid their parking fee.”

“Wow!” I said involuntarily. “Everyone here lives up to

the street’s expectation.” We both laughed at my joke. “No

one wants to bother anyone.”

We turned on to the next street. I read its sign aloud:

“Moshi Street.”

“Nicknamed Chimney Street,” Mr Mengi said. He

added, pointing, “You see that structure over there?”

“Yes.”

“Do you notice anything familiar?”

“Yes, the smoking bay. I have seen one in my home

town.”

“That is the designated smoking area in the Central

Business District or the CBD.”

“True to its nickname,” I observed, “the room exudes a

lot of smoke. Luckily, there are not many buildings on the

leeward side.”

Mr Mengi gestured to me to continue checking the

payment status of the cars on that street.

“I could not help but notice the big billboard on this

street about the hazards of smoking,” I said as I busied my

fingers. “The first car here is compliant.”

As I worked on the next car, I found myself wondering

aloud, “Do all those people smoking in there see the big

Ministry of Health warning displayed on that billboard? It

says down there: Smoking kills.”

Mr Mengi smiled. “It’s very difficult not to spot that

loud message. However, since smoking tobacco is not

illegal here, the government can only sensitise the people

about its dangers, and also designate smoking zones to

protect non-smokers as well as regulate the manufacturers

and retailers about whom to sell cigarettes to. If anyone is

caught smoking outside the designated zones, they will

be arrested and prosecuted. Likewise, if anyone is caught

selling cigarettes to persons under the age of eighteen,

they will face the music.”

“I have learnt in school that smoking can lead to lung

disease, heart disease, cancer, diabetes, damage to the

teeth, and discoloration of fingers.”

Mr Mengi patted my shoulder and added, “Yes, it can

also harm an unborn baby by damaging its lungs and

brain. Besides, it is hazardous to silent smokers.”

“Yes! We learnt about that too. Anyone seated or

standing next to someone who is smoking can be a silent

smoker. The people around smokers are at risk, especially

because they are inhaling tobacco smoke which is not

filtered.”

Mr Mengi looked at me admiringly. “I’m glad you

know that. You should always avoid being a silent smoker

by keeping a safe distance. You can help protect the other

people by sharing this useful information and also by

reporting anyone who is breaking the law about smoking.”

“Do… Do you smoke, Mr Mengi?” I asked nervously.

“You don’t have to be nervous when asking that

question; it’s a good question,” he assured me. “No, I don’t

smoke. I have never desired to smoke, and I would advise

you not to.”

“I will heed to your advice, Sir,” I promised. “None of

my family members and friends smokes either.”

“Good.”

We walked in silence as I keyed in car registration

numbers on the pad to check their compliance. At one

point a motorist interrupted me as I began to feed her

car’s registration details. She said she was new in our city

and requested us to assist her on the payment procedure.

Mr Mengi gladly showed her how to pay for parking as I

checked the rest of the cars on that street.

Then we moved on to Usafi Street. Mr Mengi pointed

at some structure and said, “That public toilet has made

this street a difficult one to manage.”

“May I ask why?”

Mr Mengi explained, “Many motorists make brief

stopovers here to relieve themselves. Therefore, at any

given time, vehicles are stopping as others are exiting. We

have had to settle disputes between motorists fighting for

parking spaces, not because they want to stay, but because

they want to relieve themselves and then leave. Some want

to finish with the restroom before any parking attendant

can spot them so that they can leave without paying the

required fee.”

Mr Mengi added that it was not uncommon for a

motorist to stop his car in the middle of the road, put

hazard lights on to indicate that his car has broken down

and dash to the toilet. “We have occasionally had to station

a traffic marshal here to ensure that those rogue motorists

are prevented from obstructing other road users,” he

explained. I made a mental note to visit the street one

day to observe some of the things he told me about the

dramatic things motorists did on this street.

****

I spent the rest of the afternoon reading a coffee table book

on the history of the county, taking particular interest in

the parking and traffic control department. I was glad to

learn that automation was one of the plans the department

was already implementing. I looked forward to the next

day when, as promised by Mr Mengi, I would be operating

the monitoring gadget full-time.

On my way home that evening, I passed through

Uzima Street to see if the clamped car had been towed

away. What I witnessed shocked me to the bone. From a

distance, I saw a man approach the pale blue car. The man,

who was not in the city parking staff uniform, unclamped

the car, then he put the clamp in the boot and drove away.

I did not imagine a motorist could be handed the keys to

unclamp his car after paying the fine. If one was allowed

to remove the clamp, would he also be allowed to take it

away? As I walked to the commuter station to board a bus,

I resolved that I would get the answers from Mr Mengi the

following day.

I woke up early the following day. I was eager to go back to

the city streets where I would continue experiencing life

in the central business district. I borrowed a smartphone

from my sister who had arrived the previous evening from

her university some three counties away. They had closed

for the November–December holidays the previous day,

and today she would be travelling to our grandparents’

rural home to visit them, as she always did on her second

day home from college. It was easy for her to release her

expensive device to me since she would not need it much

due to scarcity of network coverage at our home village.

I got to town at six-thirty in the morning. As I walked

past Uzima Street on my way to the office, I kept searching

for the pale blue car. I was a bit disappointed at not finding

it at the spot it had been parked the previous day. Soon I

joined Serenity Street and once again I felt the urge to sit

on the majestic marble seats. I succumbed to my desire

and walked to one of the seats and sat down, facing the

parking lot.

Chapter Two

There was a young couple seated some five seats away,

so I felt safe. However, I resisted the temptation to remove

my sister’s phone from the inner pocket of my heavy jacket.

I still remembered her stern warning as we parted that

morning. She had warned me against showing the phone

to ‘every Tom, Dick and Harris’ unless I wanted to lose it

to muggers or con artists. To rub it in, she had added that

if I lost her phone, I would have to remain behind as the

rest of them went on holiday the following month. That

way, we would save the money our parents would spend

on me so that we replace her phone.

Our holiday trip that year was going to be very unique.

Our parents had promised to take us to the Maasai

Mara Game Reserve over the December festive season, a

departure from the usual trips we had been taking to the

coast. I would not want to risk forfeiting my first encounter

with the famous Mara, which I had learnt in Social

Studies that it hosts one of the seven modern wonders of

the world, the Wildebeest Migration. There would be no

migration in December, but that did not water down my

anticipation.

I patted the phone as if to tell it to relax for I was not

going to bother it for fear of losing it. “I can’t afford to

miss this coming trip,” I whispered to myself.

My juicy trip thoughts were cut short by the sight of

the pale blue car. It was moving slowly down the street. Its

driver was obviously looking for a place to park. He found

one just a few metres from where I sat. As he wheeled the

car into the parking lot, the couple I had found seated

nearby decided to leave. The pale blue car driver waited

for them to leave before he came out. I lowered my head

and pretended to be asleep. However, I kept an eye on him.

The driver went round and opened the boot. He pulled

out a clamp and looked around to ensure no one was

watching him. He then walked to the front right-hand side

of his car and fastened the clamp on its tyre. He looked

around again and seemed to be satisfied, so he walked

away. I wished I could have taken a video of all that scene.

Anyhow, I looked around to ensure no one was watching

me. I removed the phone from the inner pocket and took

three pictures of the car and its clamped wheel.

No sooner had I entered the office than I showed Mr

Mengi the three pictures I had taken of the self-clamped

car.

Mr Mengi asked, “Are you sure you saw the motorist

clamp his own car?”

“Yes, I did,” I answered, eager to tell the whole story,

including what I had witnessed the previous evening. “Let

me start from the beginning. On my way home yesterday,

I bumped into this same man. I saw him unclamp his

car, throw the clamp into his car boot and drive away. I

couldn’t take any photos for I didn’t have a camera…”

A/w 2 – Majani watches as the driver/owner of the

pale blue car clamps his own car. The car is parked at a

quieter street than the one of yesterday. Majani is seated at

a marble seat some 30 metres away pretending to be asleep,

but looking from the corner of his eye.

He then walked to the front right-hand side of his car

and fastened the clamp on its tyre.

“Just as well you didn’t have a camera,” Mr Mengi

interrupted. He could tell my surprise at his comment, so

he quickly explained. “If a bad guy spots you filming him,

he can harm you. Please carry on with your story.”

“When I got to town this morning, I was curious to

spot the pale blue car and find out if it was clamped again.

I looked for it along Uzima Street to no avail. I went and

sat at Serenity Street. Then the car came down the street

and stopped at a parking slot near me. Its driver came out,

spied his environs before he removed a clamp from the car

boot. Then he fastened it on the front right-hand side tyre.

He looked around again before hastily walking away.”

“I’m glad you only took the pictures after the man

had left the scene,” Mr Mengi said as he studied the

photographs. He added as he handed me my phone,

“Please forward these pictures to my phone.”

As I busied my fingers, I paid attention to what Mr

Mengi was saying. “There seems to be a racket in this city

to deny our county revenue. This man must be working

closely with other motorists. We shall investigate this

scam. Keep your mouth shut about it; you never know,

perhaps some of our officers are involved. Do you

understand, Majani?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good. Let’s go out and do our usual patrol.”

Mr Mengi handed me the tablet as he led the way out

of this office.

We started off at Uzima Street, then proceeded to

Serenity Street. Mr Mengi secretly took a video of the

clamped pale blue car as I continued checking the payment

status of the other cars. We found one car that had not

paid the parking fee. He promptly called a reinforcement

officer from a nearby street to come and clamp it.

We roamed from street to street the whole morning.

Mr Mengi kept showing me any new car we found on any

street. I was amazed at his sharp memory; he could tell

which car had parked at any street after our previous visit

to that street.

Noon found us working along Usafi Street. As Mr

Mengi had said the previous day, we witnessed as a

motorist rounded the street twice looking for an empty

parking bay. At some point he stopped the car in the

middle of the road, opened its bonnet and dashed to the

public toilet. He came out two minutes later, only to find

a traffic marshal waiting for him. The marshal gave the

apologetic man a piece of paper.

“The naughty motorist has been booked for an offence,”

Mr Mengi explained. “He will have to appear at the Town

Hall Court where he will explain why he should not pay a

fine for obstructing other motorists.”

“But the man was under pressure,” I tried to reason

out. “Why can’t you forgive him since he didn’t intend to

park his car on the road? He had to answer to the urgent

call of nature.”

“If we exercise too much leniency, all the motorists will

be leaving their cars on the road to answer to the call of

nature. That will render this road impassable.”

“So that man will have to find time to appear in court?”

I wondered aloud. “Supposing he doesn’t belong here, that

he was just passing by? Won’t he lose his valuable time?”

“Road courtesy requires that you respect other

motorists’ right of way. Their time is as precious as yours.

People should work on their countenance if they can’t

control their intake of fluids.”

I still wanted to argue further. Mr Mengi nodded to me

to go on. “Supposing the man has a condition that makes

it difficult for him to hold urine for long? I have read that

people who suffer from diabetes experience sudden and

intense pressure and must relieve themselves in a toilet or

else they will do it involuntarily on their clothes.”

Mr Mengi laughed as he patted my shoulder. “I like your

argument, Majani. But let’s leave that to the magistrate to

decide if he or she will let the suspected offender go scot-

free. The offender is likely to argue that his car had broken

down, but the traffic marshal will testify that he saw him

dash into the toilet. He will also explain why the stalled

car suddenly decided to work when the marshal offered to

call a towing service provider.”

“I get it,” I admitted. “He knows that it will cost him

some good amount of money to pay for towing. Therefore,

he claims that the car surprisingly repaired itself.”

Mr Mengi laughed. “You really are a sharp young man,

Majani. I truly admire you.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

“Besides,” Mr Mengi added, “he could also argue that

he was uncontrollably pressed due to a health condition he

has. But, as I said, it will be up to the magistrate to analyse

his argument vis-à-vis the right of the other road users.

Does going to look for a mechanic or seeking to ease one’s

pressure justify the obstruction of other motorists?”

“Speaking of pressure, kindly allow me to pop into the

loo,” I said, smiling. “I’m a bit pressed.”

“Sure. Take this.” He handed me a ten-shilling coin.

“You will need to pay.”

“Oh no, I have some one-shilling coins.”

“Take this coin, anyway,” Mr Mengi insisted as if he

knew something I did not know.

It turned out that Mr Mengi knew something I did not

know. When I handed the toilet attendant ten one-shilling

coins, she declined, saying they never accepted such coins

there. I tried to explain that a shilling coin was still a legal

tender in the country. She retorted that their customers

were not accepting one-shilling coins as change and so the

attendants had also decided not to take such coins from

the customers.

When I rejoined Mr Mengi, he said jokingly, “I saw

you were detained at the entrance. I bet you gave them the

one-shilling coins and they declined. I knew you would

need the ten-shilling coin.”

I regarded him admiringly and said, “Yes, you were

right. I would have started sweating if you had not given

me the ten-shilling coin.”

****

Later that evening, Mr Mengi and I, accompanied by two

plain-clothed security officers from our department, laid

a trap on the self-clamping man and took a video of him

as he urgently unclamped his tyre, tossed the clamp in

the car boot and drove away. The security officers had

cautioned us against making the motorist suspicious of

what we were doing.

As usual Mr Mengi noticed that I was troubled and

came to my rescue again. “Young man, I can see you have

a question,” he said as he dismissed me for the day. “What

is bothering you?”

I felt at ease as I asked, “Why didn’t your security

officers arrest that man, yet you caught him red-handed?”

“We think there are other people who, like him, are

stealing from our city either through self-clamping or

other means,” he explained. “If we arrest him now, we

may never know how many others are involved in this

fiendish plot to defraud the public.”

“What will happen then?”

“We have alerted our security officers to position

themselves across the CBD and spy on the racketeers.”

“I see,” I said, nodding.

“Good,” Mr Mengi said. “You must leave now before

the queues at the bus park grow longer.”

“Thank you, Sir. I have learnt a lot today.”

“Come prepared to learn more tomorrow,” Mr Mengi

said, smiling contentedly.

“I can’t wait to see those bad people being apprehended.

Tomorrow will be their fortieth day,” I joked.

Mr Mengi laughed and patted my shoulder. “Goodbye,

Majani!” he said.

“Thank you, Sir. Goodbye!”

Day Three of my internship at the city parking and traffic

control department presented to me experiences I had

least expected. To begin with, the pale blue car did not

show up in spite of the dragnet laid by the enforcement

officers. I will tell you more about this later. Then there

was this man who wanted to rob me in broad daylight.

It all happened as I walked to the office from the bus

park. I must have been so preoccupied with the scenes

of the previous day that I dropped my guard. Instead

of focusing on where I was going, my eyes were darting

from one end to the other as I panned the parking lots

looking for our target car. My attention was drawn by a

well-groomed young man who appeared to be blocking

my way. He was showing me a wallet whose owner had

unknowingly dropped on the ground.

“You can pick it up,” he said gently.

“No!” I said. “It’s not mine.”

He bent down and picked it up. “It contains loads

of orange notes!” he announced as he waved it at me. I

Chapter Three

understood him to mean that it contained many one-

thousand-shilling notes. “Come on, let’s go to that

secluded alley and share the notes between us.”

“No please,” I insisted, “I don’t want the money.”

“Why not?”

“I think you should give it to a police officer to trace

the owner.”

He burst out laughing. “In this sea of humanity?

How do you think the police will trace the owner of this

wallet?” He laughed again, making me feel silly for giving

a seemingly outrageous suggestion.

I stood my ground though. “The wallet could contain

some identifying documents.”

He edged closer as he persuaded me to follow him. I

sensed that he was trying to hypnotise me, so I stepped

away. Then I saw another young man approach us. He

was equally well-groomed. Just like the first one, he was

dressed in a black suit. The only thing that told them

apart was that the first one was in a white shirt whereas

the second one was in a cream yellow shirt.

I sensed that I was in danger. I quickly looked around

and saw a middle-aged man walking along an adjacent

street. “That’s my uncle over there!” I exclaimed as I broke

into a trot. I glanced over my shoulder and was relieved to

see that the two men were not pursuing me. I think I must

have seen them laughing together, which confirmed my

suspicions that they knew each other well.

I had heard stories of how an unsuspecting person

would be tricked to follow a fraudster into a dark alley and

end up losing his or her money at the lure of the money

that was meant to be shared. In one of the stories, a boy

was reported to have been robbed of all his fees on his

way back to school. The boy had got so stranded in the

big city that the police had to get him bus fare back to his

parents. I never got to know what happened to him, but I

still cringe when I imagine how many other learners may

have fallen prey to tricksters.

I should now take you back to the pale blue car story,

but let me first narrate to you the second part of the well-

groomed young men story. Yes, our paths crossed again

later that morning. Not directly though.

It happened that as Mr Mengi and I patrolled the

streets checking parking compliance and searching for

the pale blue car, shouts of Thief! Thief! broke out at

the intersection of Usafi Street and Moshi Street. No

sooner had we turned to catch the spectacle than we were

confronted by a shouting match between a dreadlocked

young man clad in a ragged jeans and two young men

dressed in neat black suits. The latter were the same men I

had encountered a few hours earlier.

The young man in dreadlocks, who was carrying a

laptop bag and a smartphone, was desperately pointing at

the suited men as he shouted Thief! Thief! At the same

time, the suited men were pointing at the dreadlocked

man as they shouted Thief! Thief!

A crowd gathered quickly around the three men.

At first, people were at a loss as to whom to believe.

However, the black suited men seemed to be outshouting

the dreadlocked man. Before long, the crowd took sides

with the men in black. The mob grabbed the outshouted

man and started interrogating him. He explained that the

suited men had attempted to snatch his laptop bag and

smartphone, and that when he shouted ‘Thief! Thief!’,

they also started shouting ‘Thief! Thief!’.

At this point the suited men raised their voices and

explained that the dreadlocked man had snatched their

laptop bag and smartphone, and when he realised that

there was nowhere to hide, he decided to shout Thief!

Thief! in a fake attempt to confuse onlookers. There was

a bit of ping-pong as the two parties tried to outwit each

other. Eventually, the popular verdict came out: The man

in ragged jeans was the thief!

A heavily built man promptly snatched the laptop bag

and smartphone from him, then he announced that once

the “public court” was done confirming that the “stolen”

items belonged to the men in black, the crowd would

administer justice to the “convicted” thief. Someone

announced that he had brought in a worn out tyre to use

in setting the thief on fire.

A/w 3 – A dreadlocked young man in ragged blue jeans

(it’s not torn, but it has designer holes), carrying a rucksack

and big smartphone. The smartphone is connected to

an earphone cable that goes to his left ear (to listen to

music). He is pointing at two young men in black suits and

matching ties – one in a white shirt and the other in a cream

yellow shirt. The men are also shouting and pointing at the

dreadlocked young man. Capture the shouting match.

There was a bit of ping-pong as the two parties tried to

outwit each other.

At the mention of an upcoming confirmation, the men

in black started looking for an escape route. The burly

man was keenly watching them. He pointed at them and

asked whether they were trying to exit the scene of crime.

One of them broke into a run, but he was arrested by

the surging crowd. When confronted to explain why he

needed to escape from the public courtroom, he confessed

that he had been tricked by his compatriot to implicate the

man in ragged jeans.

The verdict was immediately reversed, and the men

in black were pronounced guilty. Immediately, the crowd

turned on them, baying for their blood. Luckily, four

heavily armed police officers arrived at the scene. They

had been attracted by the commotion as they did their

patrol on the city streets. They managed to quell the wrath

of the crowd that was closing in, ready to pounce on the

men in black.

For a while I could not move. I was in a daze. My brain

had frozen due to the fright of what I had just witnessed.

To say the least, my heart was in my mouth as I imagined

what could have befallen the dreadlocked young man or,

later, the men in black had the police not arrived at the

scene in the nick of time.

As I stood there wondering what to do next, someone

tapped my shoulder. I jumped in fright as I turned to face

the person who had touched me. I was relieved to see Mr

Mengi standing next to me. I almost hugged him. He had

been there all this while, but the spectacle had arrested my

mind so much that I had forgotten that I had company.

“Have you learnt anything from all this, Majani?” Mr

Mengi asked me.

“A lot!” I answered, happy that he had asked me. “I

should always be careful when I’m out here. When thieves

fail to steal from you, they could implicate you and land

you into a deathly situation – like the one the man in the

deliberately torn jeans found himself in.”

“Don’t let anyone out here know or think that you are

walking around carrying a smartphone.”

“I dare not!”

“Good,” Mr Mengi said, then he motioned me to

start moving. “Let’s go and look for the defaulting cars,

including the self-clamped ones.”

****

Back to the pale blue car story. We could not find it on

this day. We strolled from street to street and from road

to road. We even checked in the narrow alleys between

blocks of buildings, but the car was nowhere to be found.

“What could have happened to the car?” I asked,

deeply concerned. “I think its owner could have suspected

something about the dragnet.”

“What makes you think he could have become

suspicious?” Mr Mengi asked.

“Well, yesterday you cautioned me against letting the

cat out of its bag. You hinted that the rogue motorist

could be working in cahoots with some of your colleague

officers. Perhaps a collaborating officer sent him a signal.”

“Wow! You really have an analytical mind in addition

to your sharp memory.” Mr Mengi motioned me to walk

on as he explained. “A lot of things could have happened

to the man. Perhaps he is off-duty today. Or perhaps he

has travelled out of town. His car might have broken

down forcing him to use a taxi or a public service bus.

What else do you think could have happened?” He asked

menacingly, as if he knew the answer to his question.

I always like a good challenge, so I gladly offered, “He

could also have gone for a meeting somewhere in a hotel

where free parking is provided.”

“Excellent!” Mr Mengi exclaimed. “He might have

been sent to a conference or any other meeting away from

his office. As a matter of fact, there’s this two-day climate

change conference that started today in one of the big

hotels within the metropolitan region.”

“Does this mean we will have to wait for two days

before we can apprehend the man?”

“Yes, but we shall hotly pursue any accomplices he

might have.”

I involuntarily scratched my nape.

“I can see you have another question.”

“Yes, yes,” I said happily. “Could our suspect have

decided to work from home today?”

“That’s another high possibility. Working from home

is a trend that is fast gaining traction in several companies

around the world. Many employees have opted to continue

working remotely, as it is called, in the aftermath of the

COVID-19 pandemic which had forced employers to set

their staff up to work from home.”

I could identify with what my supervisor was saying.

“My parents work from home quite often,” I reported. “In

fact, my father has made it a tradition to work from his

study room every Monday and Tuesday. My mother’s day

is Thursday.”

“Nowadays, people don’t have to commute to the office

every time they need to meet. Advancement in technology

has enabled us to hold virtual meetings any time of the

day. Besides, the attendance of meetings has improved as

apologies decrease.”

“How’s that?” I asked.

“You see, no one can claim that they could not make

it to the venue due to this or that obstacle along the way.”

“My father always attends a virtual meeting every

Monday morning. I’ve heard him say that he no longer

feels harassed every Monday morning trying to beat the

jam, as it used to happen in the past when he had to go for

this early morning meeting at the office.”

“Overcoming the challenge of distance has helped

save a lot of time that was being spent on the road, rail

and air,” Mr Mengi paused. “However, this technological

advancement has occasioned certain issues. One of these

is the infringement of people’s privacy and safety.”

Mr Mengi paused again and glanced at me to ensure I

was following. I was all attentive.

“You see, some bosses have directed their staff to join

meetings at odd hours to discuss emergencies. So, there’s a

tendency for meetings to be scheduled after office working

hours.”

I smiled knowingly. Mr Mengi urged me to speak.

“There was an evening my mum was asked to join

an impromptu meeting. At exactly the same time, I was

scheduled to join a virtual class – this was during the

pandemic time when schools were closed. If my dad had

not carried his laptop with him that evening, I would have

missed my class.”

“That was a dilemma situation,” Mr Mengi said. “I

suppose you have been warned about the dangers of the

internet.”

“Yes, there are risks of addiction and time-wasting as

well as exposure to harmful content, cyberbullying and

cybercrime.”

“I believe you are taking precautions to avoid falling

prey.”

“Absolutely!” I responded, trying to look good, although

I knew the temptation was high.

Mr Mengi must have been reading my mind. He

cautioned, “The internet and electronic devices can be

very tempting; so be sure to exercise self-restraint in

regard to them.”

“I will.”

“Well,” Mr Mengi announced, “it has been quite an

eventful morning. Let’s go for lunch, then we shall retreat

to the office to do some paperwork before the day ends.”

“What would you like to have for lunch?” Mr Mengi asked

as he led me across Uzima Street.

“Chips!” I answered without thinking.

“I know a joint that sells the best chips in town.”

“Take me there please.”

“Is chips your favourite meal?”

I chuckled as I looked for a suitable answer. “Not quite,”

I said. “I’m often dissuaded from eating chips frequently.

Mum says it is one of the deep-fried dishes, and so it can

harm the body, depending on the amount and frequency

of servings.”

“Your mum is right. In fact, it gets more harmful if

cooked using saturated fats.”

“Yes, we learnt in Home Science that too much intake

of saturated fats can lead to a build-up of cholesterol in

one’s arteries, which increases the risk of heart disease.”

“Do you know how to tell which fats are saturated and

which ones are not?” Mr Mengi asked, teasingly.

Chapter Four

“Yes, saturated fats tend to solidify at room temperature.

In fact, the other name for them is ‘solid fats’.”

“Good, but remember that fats are not entirely bad,

our bodies need a careful measure of fat. You know, even

milk, butter and meats have saturated fats, but I wouldn’t

advise you to stop taking them entirely because there are

certain nutrients you derive from them.”

“So you won’t take offence if I take chips for lunch

today?” I asked, worried that my choice that day would be

struck off the menu.

Mr Mengi patted my shoulder and said, “Just desist

from eating too much of fats every day, young man, and

your body will thank you for it.”

“My mum says, moderation is key.”

“It certainly is.”

We rounded a high building, then Mr Mengi

announced, pointing, “Here we are! That’s the famous

Market Stalls, popularly known as ‘Market’. And that’s the

Giant Plate Café, famed for their giant servings of chips

and every other dish. Even fish here is served in a tray as

you can see in those pictures.”

True to its name, the servings at Giant Plate Café were

hugely generous. I almost ran away when my plate of chips

landed in front of me. I found myself looking over my

shoulders to ascertain that my parents were not anywhere

near us. Dad would have jumped over to our table and

whisked the chips away in order to reduce them. In the

next few minutes, the only sound audible from our table

was the clatter of cutlery on my giant plate as I fought to

clear the deep-fried potato chips.

Mr Mengi was smart enough to have asked for an empty side

plate to reduce his generous serving of ugali (a thick paste

of maize flour) that was served with a traditional vegetable

called managu (African nightshade). He explained that he

knew he could not finish the food. Therefore, he chose to

reduce it and donate to someone else who could not afford

to buy himself or herself food. That gesture of generosity

made me admire Mr Mengi more.

When we came out of Giant Plate Café and Market

Stalls, Mr Mengi received a telephone call. He listened

keenly, occasionally nodding to signal comprehension.

As I waited for him to finish with his caller, I fed my

eyes with what was happening around us. Three young

men were arguing over who had the right to receive a tip

from a female motorist they had just helped to park her

car on that street. One was saying that he showed the lady

the empty parking lot, another was saying he helped her

to reverse into the narrow space, and the third was saying

he guided her on how to pay the parking fee using the new

digital system.

The lady challenged any two of them to surrender

to one of them to get the tip. They started pushing and

shoving one another. I heard her tell them that she

would leave and come back after they had agreed amicably.

Besides, she shouted at them, she was not obliged to give

them anything. That she still would have done without

their help whatever they claimed to have helped her to

do. Immediately after she left, they started blaming each

other for the loss of free lunch. They were rescued by a

male motorist who slowed down to signal that he was

looking for an empty parking lot.

In another scene, a man narrowly escaped being hit

by a speeding motorcycle as he crossed the street. He

was sagging under a sack full of potatoes. The sack was

so full that it had a two-foot protrusion of a meshed up

thread to hold extra potatoes in place. I had to make way

for him to enter Market Stalls to deliver the giant sack at

Giant Plate Café. I had seen overstuffed sacks of potatoes

before, but this one threatened to win a mention in the

Guinness Book of Records. I wondered why potatoes had

to be overstuffed like that.

“This is what stiff competition compels traders to do,”

Mr Mengi explained. I had been so absorbed with the

scene of the heavy laden porter that I did not notice him

staring at me after he ended his call.

I was relieved to get an answer to my unvoiced question.

“You mean there can’t be another way?” I asked. “Why

can’t people use two sacks instead of modifying one with

such a funny protrusion?”

A/w 4 – A man carrying a heavy, overstuffed sack of

potatoes urgently crossing a busy street head to Giant Plate

café. Show clearly the overstuffed sack with a thread mesh

hold potatoes extending up to 2 feet from the main sack. He

is nearly hit by a motorcycle.

In another scene, a man narrowly escaped being hit by

a speeding motorcycle as he crossed the street.

“Impression.”

“Impression? As in, what you’re seeing is what you

think you’re getting?”

“Precisely. Overstuffed sacks give the impression that

the buyer is getting more than he bargained for. All the

potatoes in the protrusion are added to the buyer for free.

The bigger the excess load, the more chances you have of

selling.”

“Why don’t they make bigger sacks?”

“They would still add the meshed elongation to give

the impression that they have stuffed more than enough

potatoes. It’s competition.”

Mr Mengi could see that I was still at a loss.

“Actually, it is against our by-laws to overstuff the

sacks. It is unhygienic to carry food without fully covering

it. It is also risky as one can cause an accident.”

“Yes,” I found my voice again. “I noticed that that man

almost got knocked down by a motorcycle as he crossed

the street.”

“That’s because he could not see well. His grossly wide

load was obstructing his view.”

Mr Mengi gestured to me to start moving. “We need

to go back to the office at once. Our boss has called for

a meeting. The ‘Operation Net Self-Clamped Cars’ squad

has discovered four cars that were self-clamped. The

officers had put a discreet identifying mark on all the

clamps that were being used today. The clamps on these

four cars do not carry the mark, meaning they did not

come from our enforcement section. During our meeting

this afternoon, we shall fine-tune our net in order to

capture the four rogue motorists.”

As we rounded the corner to enter Serenity Street, all

hell broke loose. We were confronted by a stampeding

mob of street vendors running away from city by-laws

enforcement officers who were attempting to arrest them

for displaying and selling their wares at places that were

out of bounds for hawkers. We ducked into a shoe shop to

avoid being trampled on. The attendants immediately shut

the door and pulled the anti-burglar panels, explaining

that they had to keep looters at bay.

“Some people take advantage of the turbulent situation

to loot the shops,” Mr Mengi explained to me. “Once that

mob has passed, this door will be opened and we will be

on our way.”

“I saw the fleeing crowd pelting your enforcement

officers with stones,” I said. “Are they trying to fight

back?”

“The hawkers have been resisting eviction for weeks

now,” Mr Mengi replied. “During the electioneering

period, they had been allowed to sell their wares in the

CBD, but when the new leadership took over after the

general election, it ordered them out of the CBD. Fierce

battles ensued, rendering the city centre uninhabitable.

A truce was called in which the hawkers were allowed

to operate at some designated streets but only after four

o’clock in the afternoon. Some elements have, however,

been sneaking into the restricted areas, occasioning the

running battles like the one we are witnessing now as our

officers try to keep them in check.”

An uneasy calm resumed after about ten minutes.

When we ventured out of the shoe shop, Mr Mengi led me

through a winding route as we avoided the hotspots of the

marauding hawkers. We passed through a street that was

famed for street preachers who delivered the Good News

to citizens lazing about the pavements during the lunch

hour.

I heard one of the preachers say that the world had run

out of time. That we were living on borrowed time. That

all the rat race people were engaging in nowadays was

futile. That we would leave all the things we were working

so tirelessly for down here on earth. That the wisest people

like himself had sold off everything they had as they

prepared for the take-off to heaven, which could happen

any time, even before he finished saying the word ‘time’.

The most scaring thing he said was that he had heard the

Messiah beeping ‘the way a car beeps’, alerting him that

he, the Messiah, would arrive within the next seven days.

I heard Mr Mengi chuckle, and I looked up at him

hoping to hear a word from him. He did not disappoint

my expectation.

“Beware of wrong doctrines,” he cautioned, sounding

like he was talking to himself. “No one knows the day and

the hour. Even the Messiah himself said he did not know.

So, don’t listen to some of these people who don’t even

know what they are talking about.”

We crossed to a quieter street, and Mr Mengi

continued talking. “I’m sure you heard about the sect

whose followers were lured into selling everything they

had and giving their leader all the money to pack it for

their take-off to heaven. When the end failed to come, he

vanished into thin air. He was to be arrested later, but the

people claiming to have given him their money had no

evidence to show the court, so he was acquitted.”

“Yes,” I said, “I heard about it.”

“The followers had even pulled their children out of

school,” Mr Maingi said. “It took the intervention of the

county department of education to resettle those children

in school. Some children required a lot of counselling.

They had been traumatised by the weeks of indoctrination

to a point where they desired nothing but death.”

Mr Mengi was walking rather too fast now. I noticed

that some rush had set in as motorists removed their cars

from the parking lots. The roads were filling up with

vehicles. A slight jam had built up at the intersection of

Usafi Street and Moshi Street. I also noticed that the sky

was overcast. Dark clouds were beginning to engulf the

metropolitan region.

“It seems like we will have to cancel our operation

this evening,” Mr Mengi regretted. “I’m sure the owners

of the self-clamped cars will also remove their cars. And

with a tense atmosphere like we have this afternoon due

to the riotous hawkers and the impending showers, our

operation will not work.”

Thunder blasted somewhere in the outskirts of the city.

We could tell that a heavy downpour was drifting towards

the city from the east.

“You need to leave before the rain catches up with us.

With all this rush that has built up, the rain will worsen

the traffic congestion. Let’s hurry to the office so that we

fill the register before the rain gets here.”

If I thought that Thursday would come so soon, then I

needed to think again. Wednesday was not going to be

wished away that fast. As I left the office to head home, I

had no idea that I was going to witness a long and difficult

evening.

I had walked barely half the distance to the bus park

when the sky above the city centre suddenly opened,

spewing heavy droplets of rain to the ground. The

droplets were hitting the rooftops of buildings with

rattling sounds. The few that hit my head felt like pebbles

launched from a catapult. I took cover under the canopy

of one of the nearby buildings.

I watched helplessly as the rain increased in intensity.

The marble-like drops were noisily hitting the ground and

rolling for a few inches before they melted to form storm

water that was fast gathering in the drainage trenches. I

wished I had carried an umbrella, but carrying one that

day had seemed far-fetched as the morning had given no

sign of a furious torrent like the one I was witnessing. I

felt helpless.

Chapter Five

A few hawkers emerged from nowhere carrying

umbrellas and busied themselves as they criss-crossed

the streets selling the umbrellas. I was impressed by their

enterprising spirit for within five minutes of the rains,

they were already out with their various types and sizes of

umbrellas, which were selling like hot cake.

I resisted the temptation to grab one of them. Mr

Mengi had warned me that whenever it rained, public

service vehicle operators had the tendency of increasing

their fares. Yet, I had declined his offer of some money to

cushion me against the eventuality of hiked fares.

After pounding furiously for fifteen minutes, the rain

subsided. I took advantage of the situation and broke into

a mad run, heading to the bus park. My heart sank when

I saw the winding queues at the bus park. The queue I

needed to join seemed to be the longest. The pounding

rain resumed, only that it was not as heavy as when it had

begun some twenty minutes earlier. A kind man behind

me shielded me under his umbrella.

I listened as people recalled similar rainy situations of

the past. There was a day when many people spent the

night at the bus park after a particular main road was cut

off by rains. The buses had no way of coming back to the

bus park, neither were the taxis able to move around.

A woman had to appeal for donations when a minibus

crew tripled their fare. She had spent all her money buying

medicines for her sick child, leaving only enough for the

usual fare. Passengers had commandeered a minibus to

a police station after the crew refused to give them their

right change arguing that they had to refuel their vehicle

after burning up all the fuel in the heavy traffic jam that

had been occasioned by heavy rains.

A fellow commuter had gone into labour during one

of the difficult trips home. Traffic had been disrupted by

an international conference that hosted dignitaries from

many countries. Women had quickly provided a shield

around the expectant mother. Thankfully, she had been

delivered of her baby safely without any complications.

They had named the boy Jam.

In spite of the distress we were all in, everyone managed

to laugh at the name. Or was it just the happy ending?

As we braved the rain on our queues, we received the

dreaded announcement that fares had been doubled.

There was a lot of grumbling among the commuters who

claimed that taking advantage of the rains to double fares

was not only unfair and unethical but was also robbery

without violence. On its part, the commuter vehicle

management argued that the rains had deprived them of

two trips, as their vehicles were stuck in traffic jams all

over the city.

I learnt that the vehicle loaders, popularly known as

touts, had a term for a round trip: ‘squad’. The touts raised

their voices saying that if commuters did not want to pay the

doubled fare, then they would not allow any vehicle to load.

Thecommuters threatened to call the police, but the touts

dared them, warning that the commuters would spend the

night at the park as the touts had express permission from

the bus owners to ground the buses should commuters

refuse to comply. They even joked that any available

police officer had been deployed to the roads to ease

traffic congestion.

The commuters lost the bargain. I would have got

stranded at the bus park had Mr Mengi not bought me

lunch that day, enabling me to save some money to add to the

amount I had been allocated for fare home.

At last I boarded a bus home. It was approaching eight

o’clock in the evening. I expected that my family would

be worried about me. I imagined that the storm and the

resultant traffic jam were all captured on television and

social media platforms. I had not dared check my sister’s

mobile phone for fear of exposing it to bad people. Now I

could safely find out who had looked for me.

My mother had texted to ask how I was doing. She had

texted again to say Dad wanted to know exactly where I

was to see if he could drive over to rescue me. In another

text ten minutes later, now from Dad’s line, Dad had

regretted that there was very little he could do because the

roads were impenetrable due to the traffic congestion.

I texted to say that my minibus was stuck at a

roundabout. I assured them that the police and city traffic

marshals were doing everything possible to get everyone

to their respective homes.

As soon as I finished texting and tucked the phone in

my jacket’s inner pocket, I busied my eyes with a police

inspector just about ten metres away who was rapidly

talking on his mobile phone. He must have been issuing

instructions to some people, and he appeared to be very

agitated.

Then something out of this world happened.

A motorcycle rider and his passenger did the

unimaginable.

At first I thought the motorcycle rider and his passenger

were pulling a funny stunt, but the events that followed

proved me wrong. I saw the motorcycle make as if to stop

right beside the police inspector. Then, in a split second,

the passenger snatched the inspector’s mobile phone and

the two daredevils sped off. Unfortunately for the daring

duo, a police rider appeared from nowhere and, having

witnessed the incident, swung into action, hotly chasing

after the phone snatchers.

The incident triggered an uproar in our bus as

passengers expressed varying views on this daring act.

Someone wondered aloud how safe any citizen was if law

enforcers were being robbed in broad daylight. Of course,

this one happened at night, but the point had been made.

A/w 5 – A passenger on a motorcycle snatching a police

inspector’s mobile phone at a round about where the

inspector is controlling traffic. There is a huge traffic jam

on every direction. It’s around 8 pm at night. This is seen

from a window of a matatu that is waiting to be allowed to

enter the roundabout.

Then, in a split second, the passenger snatched the

inspector’s mobile phone and the two daredevils sped

off.

As our bus received the much-needed hand signal to

enter the roundabout, I saw the police rider arrive and hand

back the stolen phone to his colleague. The commentators

on our bus took to the airwaves again advancing various

arguments to explain what must have happened to the

thieves.

I did not know what version to believe. The one saying

that they were shot at or the one saying they were arrested?

Or even the one arguing that they dropped the phone

when they realised they could not outrun the eighteen

hundred cubic capacity police bike? I could only speculate

and hope that the phone thieves were arrested and would

be taken to court.

We had to follow a longer route to get to our terminus

as some sections of our route had been flooded. I was

overjoyed to find my dad waiting for me at the terminus.

Everyone at home was relieved to see me.

I had difficulties waking up the following morning. I felt

so tired that I could not get up as swiftly as I was known

to. My father came up to my room to encourage me. He

sat at one edge of the bed, patted my shoulder and said,

“Son, the world of work requires one to be tough, come

rain come shine. You’ve done well in the past three days.

Brave yourself and go to work.”

He winked and smiled after he mentioned ‘work’, I

guess to signal that he did not mean I was employed. He

knew that I understood what he meant. My father and I

kept a very cordial relationship. He always made it easy for

me to understand things without having to explain them.

I smiled back and nodded. Then I musically said, “I

owe, I owe…”

We chorused together: “Off to work I go!”

We both laughed heartily, and with that I felt a burst of

energy run through my body, enabling me to get up and

prepare for work. Before I left the house, my father gave

me some money to buy a tracksuit that I desired to wear

during our festive season travel.

Chapter Six

I arrived at the office at seven-thirty. Mr Mengi gestured

to me to let him complete a telephone conversation he was

having. I gestured back that it was okay. We would do our

morning briefing as soon as he was available.

I walked to the coffee pause and made myself a cup

of cardamom tea. Then I busied myself reading the day’s

newspapers. I started with the sports section, for I am a

sports enthusiast. My favourite local football club had

extended its lead in the league standings by beating our

old rivals – whom we called ‘in-laws’ – by three goals to

nothing.

I am a diehard fan of the World Rally Championship.

The newspapers reminded me that the last round of the

year’s rally championship was just around the corner. My

favourite rally driver and his closest rival were neck-to-

neck after the previous round in Central Europe. Only

sixteen seconds separated them. I promised myself the

fun of watching the two speed masters battle it out in

Japan in a week’s time. I would get the licence to watch all

the action on television, now that schools would be closed for

the long holiday.

I was finishing taking my flavoured tea when Mr

Mengi came over and beckoned me. I followed him to the

boardroom.

“The self-clamp special force decided to hold a meeting

early today,” he told me.

I instinctively scratched my nape.

“Yes, Majani, we have formed a squad to hunt for the

self-clamping motorists. We are calling it the Self-Clamp

Special Force,” Mr Mengi explained. “You are one of us,

Majani.”

“I am?” I could not believe what I had just heard.

“Yes, you are. It’s because of your keenness that we

came to discover the self-clamping racket. So, you will

accompany us. However, you are not allowed to come out

of the van.”

“The van whose windows and windscreen are

reinforced with a metal grill?” I asked.

“Yes, that one.”

I had been seeing several grilled vans patrolling the

city centre. On numerous occasions, the vans would be

full of people who had been arrested breaking one by-law

or another. These included smoking outside the designated

areas, stepping on manicured lawns, talking or texting on

mobile phone while crossing the road, hawking goods at

prohibited areas, or even crossing the road outside the

pedestrian crossing stripes. I had never imagined I could

ride in one of such vans.

During the meeting, it was decided that plain-clothed

enforcement officers would be stationed near the self-

clamped cars to waylay the owners and arrest them

as they unclamped their cars. One of the vans would

move around to monitor the operation and call for

reinforcements if any were needed.

The officers were shown the identifying mark that was

discreetly installed on the clamps that would be issued out

that day. It was a miniature sticker, one square centimetre

in size, that was attached on the outer side of the clamp.

As the officers patrolled the parking lots, they would

secretly take pictures of each clamp fastened on a car

wheel, then they would zoom in on the picture to check if

the clamp had any sticker on it.

If any clamp was found to be missing the sticker,

information would be relayed to the command station in

the office, and a plain-clothed officer would be deployed

to hang around the offending car, waiting for the owner

to return.

After the briefing, we all took our assigned positions

around the central business district. Within an hour, five

cars were identified as lacking the sticker.

“Your pale blue car is one of them,” Mr Mengi told me

as we drove along Uzima Street in our van.

“Luckily, the smart motorist came back to the city

centre!” I said jubilantly.

“Yes, we are pleased to have him back,” Mr Mengi

commented.

We both laughed at his joke. At that time, I spotted the

car.

“There it is!” I exclaimed.

“Shh!” Mr Mengi cautioned. “Don’t let him see you

pointing at his car. He could suspect that he is being

watched and alert his gang members.”

“I thought we have them covered.”

“There could be more. Let’s wait and see what else we

can spot before evening.”

As per the briefing during the morning meeting, the

uniformed parking enforcement officers were to move in

to lock each clamp with a designated padlock from the

office to deter any rogue motorist who might get wind of

the operation and dash to remove their car.

By mid-morning, the officers had discovered a sixth

car and fastened a padlock on its clamp. No extra vehicle

was netted by lunch time.

I remained anxious the whole day. I wished that the

rogue motorists would be arrested so that they stop

stealing from the public. I imagined that they could be

tipped about the operation and take cover. However, I was

assured by the morning declaration that if the owners

failed to show up, their cars would be towed to the holding

yard near our offices, and the police would be brought in

to pursue the owners.

What if the owner of one of the cars decided to leave

his or her car to stay at the parking lot overnight? This,

too, had been taken care of. The car would be towed to

the recovery yard and get detained there as we traced the

owner using the vehicle registration bureau.

During the lunch hour break, Mr Mengi took me

around to window-shop for the tracksuit my father had

given me money to buy. This is the tracksuit I would wear

during my trip to the Maasai Mara. The particular one I

was looking for was what we would call a new arrival.

We found it in five different boutiques, but bought it at

the third shop where the price was the most reasonable.

I gladly discovered that my supervisor was good at

bargaining. He sweet-talked the shop attendant to sell the

tracksuit at eighty percent of the tag price.

I had so thoroughly enjoyed listening to them haggling

over the price that I did not realise how pressed I was with

the need to use a toilet.

“I need to dash to Usafi Street,” I announced as soon as

we stepped out of the boutique.

Mr Mengi said, laughing, “You don’t have to run all the

way to Usafi Street. There are other toilets elsewhere.”

“Please take me to one of them as quickly as you can!”

We both laughed.

We trotted through an access alley that joined two

roads. Then he pointed and said, “That will give you your

much needed relief. I hope the queue won’t be long. The

population down here tends to be a bit higher.”

I held myself together as I rushed to the toilet. It was

after I came out that I noticed the words ‘TO LET’ on the

side of the structure.

A/w 6 – Majani (15-year-old boy) pointing at the public

toilet structure to show Mr Mengi the misleading name.

Show the name with the missing ‘I’ that has been rubbed

off to read TO LET (instead of TOILET).

It was after I came out that I noticed the words ‘TO

LET’ on the side of the structure.

“Why would this public toilet be offered for letting?” I

asked Mr Mengi.

He laughed heartily as he patted my shoulder. “My

boy,” he said, “that name is corrupted.”

“What does that mean?”

“Someone erased the letter ‘I’, and that changed

everything.”

“Why would anyone do that?”

“In this downtown zone, a lot of things happen. That

person was trying to showcase either his creativity or his

malice.”

I looked again to see if I could detect any erasure.

Sure enough, I spotted the faded ‘I’. “I think I admire the

person’s creativity,” I said.

“Welcome to the so-called ‘downtown’. Here, you

will find road sign arrows that have been reversed, and

paintings of every kind on walls. You will even find

uncountable writings on walls showcasing what people

down here call street philosophy.”

“Is such writing also called graffiti?” I asked.

“Correct!”

“I recall seeing some graffiti in the urinal I used a few

minutes ago.”

“What did it say?”

“If you have nothing to do, don’t do it here.”

We both laughed heartily.

“I also saw something to do with shaking hands with

the devil,” I added. “I wonder what it means.”

Mr Mengi looked at me as if to warn me not to ask

certain questions. That only increased my curiosity. I was

disappointed when he said he did not know either.

“Today I want to give you a different lunch experience,”

Mr Mengi said. I could see he was seeking to change the

subject.

“Yes?”

“We shall have an egg sandwich and fruit salad. I’ll

show you the best vendor on this side of town.”

We reached the street that was designated for food

kiosks. It was behind Market Stalls, adjacent to the area

reserved for street hawkers.

I had the best egg sandwich I had ever eaten in my life.

It was perfectly seasoned, and the measure of chopped

tomatoes and onions was just accurate. The fruit salad did

not disappoint either. The serving was generous and the

mix was expertly selected. The vendor had made every

effort to include even the fruits that were out of season. To

crown it all, the price was pocket-friendly.

Mr Mengi paid for my lunch again. I narrated to him

my ordeal the previous evening and how his paying for

my lunch then had saved the day, or rather, the night.

“I hope today you won’t have to pay double for your

fare,” Mr Mengi said, smiling.

I quickly surveyed the sky, then said, “That will depend

on whether the rains will visit us again or not.”

We went back to the self-clamp command van where we

got an update on what had transpired in the past one hour.

The special force officers had not spotted any additional

self-clamped car. So, the tally remained six cars.

“Our officers are in place,” Mr Mengi announced.

“What remains now is for the rogue motorists to deliver

themselves into the officers’ hands.”

Then he added something that got me very excited

and anxious at the same time. “We have tipped some

journalists assigned to the crime reporting beat to be on

standby to cover the dramatic arrests.”

I instinctively rubbed my neck.

“Yes, Majani, feel free to ask your question.”

“Thank you, Sir,” I said. “Won’t there be any danger of

leakage of our top secret?”

“No, the crime reporters are very discreet. They know

that it is in the public interest that the bad elements in

the society are weeded out. So, they have been adequately

cautioned against raising any suspicion of the ongoing

operation. They have concealed their cameras; you can’t

tell whether there is any journalist around or not.”

“I see,” I said, relieved.

“So, the countdown continues,” Mr Mengi said, “the

countdown to the fortieth hour.”

“The fortieth hour? As in the fortieth day for the

thieves?”

“Yes!” Mr Mengi said jubilantly, though I could sense

anxiety in his voice. “It is approaching forty hours since

we planned this operation.”

“I see.”

“I will have to take you back to the office where we will

follow the action from the command station we have set

up there.”

“Why can’t we stay in our van and monitor everything

as the van is driven around?” I asked. I was eager to

capture all the action live. “Isn’t it safe to stay in the van?”

Mr Mengi regarded me with what I thought was pity.

“There could be confrontations between our officers

and the bad guys. Some scenes may turn ugly, and we

wouldn’t want to expose you to such.”

“This van has grill bars on all windows and on the

windscreen,” I found myself saying. I immediately

regretted having said that, for it now appeared like I

was defying my caring supervisor. “I’m sorry, I retract

my comment.”

“No, it’s okay to voice your observations. In fact, this

van is armoured. Do you know what that means?”

“No, Sir.”

“It means that besides the grill bars you can see on

the windows, the glass is bulletproof. You are protected

against anyone out there who may want to harm you when

you are in here.”

“Wow!” I exclaimed. “This is what my friends and I in

school would call ‘heavy stuff ’.”

“The reason you and I need to be kept out of this van

is that the security officers may use it to hold the bad guys

once they arrest them.” Mr Mengi explained, sounding

very serious.

“Okay, I understand.”

“Good. We shall walk to the office.”

It was approaching the fortieth hour since the operation

to arrest the self-clamping motorists was planned. Now

the time had come for it to become a reality. I would be

following the action from the office, which Mr Mengi had

declared to be a good vantage point for me. This meant

that I would be hearing it all as information got relayed

in real time from the walkie-talkies the field officers were

using to communicate.

At exactly five o’clock in the evening, a message came

through the communication receivers that the first

motorist had arrived at his respective arena. They had

already coded him Sierra 2, implying Suspect Two. The

voice went on: ‘Sierra 2 now is surveying his environs…

He seems satisfied that no one is watching him… Now he

squats to unclamp the wheel. Snaps up his padlock. He’s

now pulling apart the clamp. He looks concerned that the

clamp is too heavy to open.’ There was a pause.

At this point Mr Mengi winked at me and whispered,

“Wait for the surprise.” He sounded like he was addressing

Sierra 2 instead of me.

Chapter Seven

The reporting voice continued after a pause: ‘Sierra 2 is

now scrutinising the clamp. He finds the second padlock

– our padlock! He is shocked! He is looking around

suspiciously. He abruptly rises up. Our men pounce on

him as he whips out his mobile phone… They are reading

him his rights as they handcuff him… They lead him

to one of our mobile vans that has just arrived at the

scene. The towing vehicle is also edging closer to tow the

offending car away.’

I glanced at Mr Mengi. He was smiling broadly. “The

fortieth day has come for all these crooks,” he said with a

feeling of satisfaction.

“I’m curious to hear them capture the pale blue car,” I

whispered, unable to control my anxiety.

“That’s Sierra 1,” Mr Mengi clarified. “Stay calm;

your car is being watched very keenly. In fact, we have

positioned the leading crime reporter near it. He has

parked his car next to it.”

“Can I take notes so that I refer to them when I write a

story about this?” I asked.

“Yes, you can.”

“Thank you!”

A new voice came through the receivers: ‘Sending

from Uzima Street. Sierra 4 has arrived! He looks very

confident, or perhaps absent-minded. He’s not taking any

precautions at all. He must be listening to some music on

his phone through some earpieces. He can be seen rocking

his head rhythmically. He is unlocking his car door. He

gets in… He stretches to reach for something on the far

end of the dashboard. He’s coming out of the car. Seems

like he was picking the clamp key.’

Mr Mengi nodded and whispered, “Easy target.”

The voice continued: ‘He now opens the padlock. He

is trying to pull the clamp apart. It’s not yielding. He’s

beginning to check round it. Now he is in shock; he can’t

believe there is a second lock. I can see our men moving in.

He yanks the door open. He grabs his phone. He’s dialing

a number. Our men catch up with him and manage to

grab the phone.’

There was a brief silence from the Suspect Four scene

during which updates flowed in from the other scenes. I

was keen to hear the report on the pale blue car. None of

the other suspects had shown up yet.

The voice at the Sierra 4 scene confirmed that the

suspect had been successfully arrested and his car towed

away.

As the reports flowed in, it became apparent that the

pale blue car owner would be the last one to arrive at his

scene. The other three motorists were arrested in a similar

manner. They would reach the spot they had parked their

cars, unlock their padlock, discover a second padlock,

express surprise or even shock, some try unsuccessfully to

call someone from their mobile phones, get arrested and

put in a waiting van, and their cars would be towed away.

It was now six o’clock but the driver of the pale blue

car was nowhere to be seen. We had been waiting for him

for an hour. Some strange voices had started playing in

my head. Could he have decided to leave the car at the

parking lot for an overnight stay? Was he not worried that

the parking inspectorate officers would spot it there and

wonder why no one had attended to it? Could he have

been delayed in a meeting in his office or elsewhere?

Mr Mengi kept reassuring me that the man would

show up. “Even if he decides to send someone else to fetch

his car, whoever will come for the car will lead us to the

owner,” he told me. “We think he is the mastermind of

this self-clamping phenomenon. That’s why we have

coded him Sierra 1. I wonder whether he is making any

money by recruiting others.”

“Perhaps he is the one supplying them with the clamps,”

I said.

Mr Mengi regarded me with admiration. “You are a

very bright lad, Majani,” he said. “We may need to enroll

you in the intelligence service.”

All the four of us in the control room laughed. Just then,

a voice came through: ‘Seems like Sierra 1 has arrived.’ We

all instantly fell silent. ‘He is very cautious. He is looking

around. This way, that way, this way again. He is now at

the door of his car, but he hesitates to open it. He starts

going around the car, as he looks over his shoulders. He is

checking his tyres. He comes round again to the driver’s

door. He hesitates again. He pays attention to his phone

which seems to be ringing. Now he is walking away as he

receives the call.’

“Don’t make any move,” Mr Mengi directed the team

at the Sierra 1 scene. “He can’t have suspected anything.”

I had not realised that I was now seated at the edge of

my chair. I was both anxious and nervous. I wondered

what would happen if he disappeared.

Mr Mengi may have read my mind, for he spoke again

on the command machine, “If he doesn’t come back, we

will just tow his vehicle away and ask the police to track

him down.”

The voice at the scene came on: ‘Now he is coming

back. Walking very fast… He has reached the car. He

abruptly opens the door, reaches for something… It’s a

medium-sized brown envelope. He is dialing a number on

his cellphone. He starts walking away again as he talks on

the phone.’

I almost jumped out of my seat. This suspense was

driving me crazy. I glanced at Mr Mengi. He was very

calm. I wondered why the enforcement officers wanted to

let this man go scot-free. Could the man have suspected

that his compatriots had been arrested?

The voice continued to report: ‘Sierra 1 has entered

a nearby restaurant. We can either follow him into the

restaurant or wait for him to come out.’

“Wait till he comes out,” Mr Mengi advised. Aside, he

lowered his voice as he instructed me to get him some

coffee from the coffee pause. “And get yourself a cup of

your flavoured tea as well,” he added, smiling, “it will

calm your nerves.”

I almost ran to the coffee pause. I did not want to miss

any report from the crime scene. I wanted to be back as

soon as possible so as not to miss the spectacle of the

man’s arrest. I could not tell why I so much wanted him

arrested. It was not that I wanted him punished. The only

thing that was in my heart was the desire to see this racket

stopped.

It pained me that some people were stealing from

the public. We had learnt in our Social Studies class

that anyone who did not pay what he or she was legally

required to pay was a thief. Such a person was responsible

for any stalled development project, much like those who

stole the money allocated to such a project.

Soon I was back at the command room. No sooner

had I handed Mr Mengi his cup of coffee than the voice

at the scene reported: ‘Sierra 1 is now coming out of

the restaurant. He doesn’t have the brown envelope. He

is walking back to his car. The parking area is getting

emptier as motorists drive their cars away. We have had

to move our car a few metres away from the pale blue car

so that we don’t arouse any suspicion. Sierra 1 is now next

to his car.’

I saw Mr Mengi clench his fist, then I heard him utter

the words “finally” between his clenched teeth.

‘Sierra 1 now removes a bunch of keys from his

trousers pocket. He squats to reach the tyre. He snaps

open his padlock. There he goes – he has noticed the

second padlock! He shoots up and looks around. He is

satisfied that he is still alone. He walks to the boot of his

car. Opens the boot. Oh no! He has picked up a hammer

from the boot and is walking back to the clamped tyre. He

hesitates. He must be trying to figure out how to hit our

padlock, for it is not easily accessible.’

“Move in!” I heard Mr Mengi command.

‘Our officers have sprung out of their hide-outs. Even

the crime reporter is out with his cameraman. Our man

attempts to bolt out but he is surrounded… He has now

surrendered. Our towing car is also inching closer to the

offending car to tow it away. Mission accomplished.’

Mr Mengi and I sighed simultaneously. “We have

finally captured him,” he said triumphantly. “It’s taken

forty hours of waiting to nab him. This is the end of the

self-clamping cartel. We will take these suspects to court

tomorrow.”

A/w 7 – City County enforcement officers arresting the

driver/owner of the pale blue car. Show the car with a clamp

on its front RHS tyre. Show a TV cameraman capturing the

scene with his state-of-the-art portable camera. The driver

has already surrendered. A towing car is inching closer to

the offending car to tow it away.

He has now surrendered.

“Can I ask a question?”

“Yes, Majani, please ask as many questions as you

wish.”

“Why are you calling them suspects yet we caught

them red-handed? We know that they clamped their own

cars to evade paying the required parking fee.”

“The law declares that every person is innocent until

proven guilty,” Mr Mengi explained. “It is not up to us

or any other enforcement officer to decide whether one is

guilty or not. That mandate is given to the courts of law.

We can only try and prove that they are guilty, but the

verdict lies with the court.”

“Can these people deny that they were stealing from

the public?”

“Yes,” Mr Mengi answered, “one, some or all of them

can deny that they were stealing. They could even claim

that they did not clamp their cars. That we are the ones

who did it so that we get them arrested and punished out

of malice.”

“Really?” I was at a loss. “We caught them as they

unlocked the padlocks on their clamps. Also, their clamps

did not come from our store. Since yesterday, our clamps

have been bearing a special identification sticker. How

can one claim that we clamped their cars? Isn’t that

outrageous?”

“Among us are people bent on breaking the law and

causing pain on others. They do this out of selfish motives.

However, even when we catch these people red-handed,

the law requires us to arraign them in court for their cases

to be decided by a magistrate or a judge.”

I was having a hard time reconciling the fact that

someone caught in the act could still be given the time

and space to prove that he or she was not doing any wrong.

Mr Mengi could see my dilemma. “Remember, Majani,

the burden is not on the one caught breaking the law, but,

interestingly, on those who have caught him or her. They

have to prove beyond any reasonable doubt that he or she

is guilty of the offence he or she is accused of committing.”

“Beyond any reasonable doubt,” I said reflectively.

“Yes, I have heard my sister mention that time and again.

In fact, she says you have to prove one beyond the shadow

of doubt that they were wrong.”

“That fact is always rubbed in the skin of any law

student. So, as a law student, your sister knows it too well.

She can explain in detail what all this means. I only have

some little paralegal training, so I can’t say I’m an expert.”

“I’ll sit at her feet this weekend to fully learn this

circumstance. I hope she does not sway my heart from my

journalism passion into the legal profession.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Mr Mengi said, laughing, “both

careers suit you very well. Plus, the one of a detective.”

We all laughed heartily.

At that point, we heard some noises outside our office.

When we peeped through the window, we saw a battery

of media reporters who had most probably come to get

details of the self-clamping story. Mr Mengi directed me

to remain inside as he rushed out to address them.

Prior to my attachment with the city parking and traffic

control department during the year’s Community Service

Week, I could never imagine that a person could rise to

fame by merely spotting another person committing a

crime.

It emerged that as soon as videos of ‘Operation Net

Self-Clamped Cars’ played on the television channels, the

stations dispatched news reporters and feature writers

to the city parking and traffic control department to get

details of this important discovery and interview one

Master Majani. There had not been a major event to report

on lately, so there was hunger for news of an extraordinary

occurrence in the city. This day’s extraordinary occurrence

was attributed to my keen eye at spotting a man clamping

his own car. Every reporter wanted a piece of me, as they

say in the language of journalists.

I could hear Mr Mengi explaining to the journalists

outside our office that he needed to seek permission from

my parents before he could allow them to take pictures

of me, since I was a minor. Mr Mengi offered to provide

Chapter Eight

answers to the questions the journalists had. However,

they insisted that they wanted to interview me about my

discovery that led to the arrest of the suspects of a big

fraud.

My father readily gave his consent. I was to learn later

that his law student daughter advised him to do so, noting

that the matter was in public interest and the story would

inspire many young people to take part in the important

role of whistleblowing.

When I ventured outside, I was greeted by wild cheering

from the reporters. My supervisor had cautioned me that

my interview with the reporters would be broadcast live,

therefore I needed to be brave and loud in my responses to

the questions. He proceeded to introduce me, stating my

name, age, the school I attended and my reason for being

at the city parking and traffic control department at the

time.

He told them that I discovered the self-clamping racket

during the second day of my attachment. The discovery

triggered the planning and execution of the operation to

arrest the offending motorists. He hastened to state that

the men we had arrested a while back were only suspects

and their guilt status could only be determined in a court

of law after they were arraigned the following morning.

The first reporter asked what Ms Gloria would call a

leading question: Did I feel on top of the world after my

discovery of a world-class fraud propelled me to a celebrity

status? From the corner of my eye I saw Mr Mengi wince

as if the question had pierced his heart. When you have a

Ms Gloria for a teacher of English, you know that you can

eloquently handle any question thrown at your face.

“Thank you for having me,” I said calmly. “It is such

an honour to be talking to you, and the entire nation,

particularly on a day like today. I don’t think I deserve all

this attention, for my discovery was out of sheer luck. I

just happened to be at the right place at the right time. My

joy, really, is in knowing that a bad thing has been nipped

in the bud.”

I was surprised to hear some reporters clap at what I

said. The next question required me to describe briefly

how I came to discover that some motorists were clamping

their own cars.

I delivered the answer with a precision that would

make Ms Gloria swell with pride. “On my first day at

this city’s parking and traffic control department, as we

patrolled the parking lots checking the payment status

of cars, my supervisor Mr Mengi and I discovered a pale

blue car that had been clamped. I wondered who had

clamped it since he and I were the only officers assigned

to the particular street. That raised my curiosity to very

high levels and sent my antennae roving mad. Later that

evening, by coincidence, I happened to be near the car

when a man unclamped the car and drove away. When,

on the second day, I spotted the same car, I recognised

it at once. I instinctively observed its movements. That’s

when I saw its driver clamp the car. And the rest, as they

say, is history.”

I fielded a few more questions in regard to my

experiences during my attachment and, also, during the

operation. I referred my interviewers to Mr Mengi for

answers regarding the operation.

One question caught me off-guard. Did I have any

political ambition? Now that I had gained so much

popularity and so suddenly, should I consider vying for a

political position when I grew up?

This is how I responded. “I love reading biographical

texts. I have read about quite a few national and world

leaders. I always feel good when a leader goes out of his

or her way to do something that helps change the lives

of other citizens. I often aspire to be like them. However,

I know from what I have read that it requires much

more than luck to achieve what they have achieved. I

imagine that my school mates may want to cash in on

this thing you are calling popularity to elect me into

their leadership. I will not decline. As for the country’s

political leadership, I will cross that bridge when I get to

it. After all, I’m yet to attain the voting age.”

My response might have opened a Pandora’s box as a

chorus of voices erupted from the reporters, ostensibly

to seek clarifications or force a commitment. Mr Mengi

stepped forward and rescued me from the many questions

that were flying towards me.

A/w 8 – Majani (15 years old) is before many journalists/

reporters answering their questions outside the city parking

and traffic control department. Mr Mengi stands beside

him.

I delivered the answer with a precision that would make

Ms Gloria swell with pride.

“Ladies and gentlemen, that is enough for today,” he

said. “Let’s meet in court tomorrow if you can make it.

Then, you will get to know the developments in this saga.”

The journalists yielded to his request to end the

interview, though reluctantly.

As soon as the interview ended, Mr Mengi’s phone

rang. He answered the call and announced as he passed

the phone over to me, “Ms Gloria!”

“Hello, Ms Gloria!” I said excitedly.

“Congratulations on your superb exploits!” Ms Gloria

said jubilantly. “You’ve done us proud, Majani! I can’t wait

to hear you narrate your experience in class in January!”

“Thank you, Ms Gloria! I, too, am very excited about

the turn of events here. And I can’t thank you enough for

exposing me to all that!”

“I’ll call you when you get home we chat some more.

Have a great evening, and take care.”

“Thank you!”

The phone rang again. I gave it to Mr Mengi without

checking who was calling, for I considered it rude to spy

on his calls. He immediately returned the phone to me

and urged me to receive the call. “It’s your father.”

“Hello, Dad!”

“My boy Majani! You are on national television! Your

sister is screaming her ears off with excitement at what

we have just watched on TV. Your mother is equally

overjoyed.”

“Thank you, Dad! Please thank Raquel and Mum for

me.”

“Now listen; I need you to stay with Mr Mengi until I

get there. I’m picking you up from the office or wherever

your supervisor will advise I come. Give him the phone so

that I request him to detain you there.”

“Okay, Dad. See you soon,” I said and handed Mr

Mengi the phone.

Mr Mengi spoke briefly with my father. Then he

turned to me and instructed: “Your father will pick you

up from our office. He will be here in no time; he will use

the expressway. Let’s join the rest of the Operation team in

the boardroom for a briefing.”

We found the other members of the self-clamp busting

squad talking animatedly about the day’s event. Triumph

was painted allover their faces. Mr Mengi addressed us at

once.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we are grateful for the success

we registered today. It was such a Herculean task but we

pulled it off.” He paused to allow the clapping to subside.

I was at home with the phrase ‘Herculean task’, for Ms

Gloria had taught us how to use it in composition writing.

The first time she had used it, I had shot up my hand and

asked what on earth that animal was. She had challenged

us to consider cutting down a century-old baobab tree

using a kitchen knife. We had all admitted that it would be

difficult to do so. I recalled remarking that it would take

a whole century to do so, which sent everyone gasping for

breath due to the prolonged laughter that erupted.

Mr Mengi interrupted my reverie. “No one was injured

during the operation – neither the hunted nor the hunters.

We can safely say, like our young man here is wont to write

in a composition, all is well that ends well. The suspects

will be taken to court tomorrow and the rest will fall in

step.”

He paused, then asked if anyone had any question. No

one else spoke. “We are dismissed,” he announced. As we

rose to leave, he nodded to me and said, “Remember to

wait in my office.”

****

“Bravo! Bravo!” I was greeted by the familiar booming

voice of my father as I got to the lobby. “You’ve served

your country well,” he added as he embraced me.

“Thank you, Dad!” I said. I was confident that my

father meant it, for he never wasted his words. If you were

in the right he would praise you, but if you were in the

wrong he would scold you.

“Now, with your new celebrity status, as everyone is

calling it, you need a bodyguard to shield you from being

swept off your feet by the crowds,” my father said. I knew

that he also meant this. He was a professional javelin

thrower and he had grown a sizeable chunk of muscles on

his arms and shoulders. I felt safe in his company.

“As soon as I greet Mr Mengi, we shall be on our way,”

my father declared.

Just then, Mr Mengi came into the lobby. He and my

father greeted heartily as if they had known each other

for years. The truth is that this was the second time they

were meeting. I was not surprised by the ease with which

they exchanged pleasantries. My father was always warm

towards people. Mr Mengi was also highly sociable.

They spoke briefly about the arrests we had made. Mr

Mengi joked that my father needed to allow me to remain

at the parking and traffic control department for another

week so that I make another discovery.

“Once he has cleared his junior school, senior school

and college,” my father offered, “he will be all yours if he

so wishes.”

The two men burst out laughing as they shook hands

firmly.

“See you tomorrow, Majani,” Mr Mengi said. “We shall

wrap up our week-long programme after the morning

briefing session.”

My father dropped me at Mr Mengi’s office at six-thirty

the following morning. This was the last day of my week-

long internship at the city’s parking and traffic control

department. Mr Mengi and I would be doing a wrap-up

of the week’s activities on this day.

As I had been accustomed to doing, I made myself

a cup of cardamom tea and sat at the lobby reading

the day’s newspapers. All the leading dailies seemed to

have competed on who would capture the events of the

previous day more prominently. I read each headline

with relish, knowing that they were talking about me.

One headline screamed:

Fortieth Day For

Self-Clamp Goons

Another read:

How School Lad Bust

City Self-Clamp Scam

Chapter Nine

Yet another praised:

School Teen Outwits

City Parking Crooks

The following one appeared to have got more

sensational about the saga:

Gotcha!

Wonder Kid Catches

Bad Boys In The Act

I decided to read the story under this headline. ‘A

school lad has acquired overnight celebrity status after he

led the city’s parking and traffic control force to a rogue

motorists’ hideout. Majani Ayubu, 14, was going about

his business in the city streets when he discovered a man

clamping his own car to evade paying the mandatory

parking fee. He secretly took pictures and gave them

to the parking control unit where he is attached for his

Community Service Week internship.’

“Detective Majani!” Mr Mengi bellowed as he walked

into the lobby. “Please come over; we need to plan our

day.”

I followed him into his office. “Can I get you a cup of

coffee, Sir?” I offered.

“No, thank you!” Mr Mengi said. “I have had enough

of the beverage this morning during our early meeting.”

He invited me to sit down.

“Thank you.”

“Now, my boy Majani,” Mr Mengi started. “Let’s recap

on the things you have learnt this week. What can you

tell me about your experience in the last four days here?

Let me recast my question: Mention three things you have

learnt during your attachment at the parking and traffic

control department.”

I found this question easy to answer since I had already

rehearsed my responses. “First, I have learnt how to use

the digital application to monitor compliance to parking

fee regulations. It has been a lot of fun using the tablet.

Besides, I know how to use the USSD code to pay for

parking in this city.”

“Good. Do you remember what USSD stands for?”

“Yes, Unstructured Supplementary Service Data. I can

even enumerate its advantages from what you taught me

and what we learnt in class. Most importantly, it does

not require the user to have any internet connection or

mobile data bundles. It enables the client to serve himself

or herself, eliminating the need for any parking attendant

to wait on him or her.”

“Excellent!” Mr Mengi was openly excited. “Please tell

me more about your experience.”

“The second most important thing I have learnt is that

when you are out in the streets, you must be alert to what

is happening around you. That way, you will spot a con

artist, a crook and even a thug from a distance. This helps

you to avoid trouble.”

“Well said,” Mr Mengi interrupted. “Remember the

young man in ragged jeans? He nearly got killed by the

angry mob.”

“Yes, he never saw it coming; because he was not alert.”

“Tell me the third thing you learnt.”

“The third thing I learnt is that we can make the world

a better place by doing what’s good. It takes courage to

do the right thing and it can be costly, but it is worth it.

I feel good that I helped to detect a scam in our city. I

could have easily decided that it was none of my business,

and perhaps the city would have continued to lose revenue

unless someone else detected the racket.”

“I’m overjoyed to hear you talk like that!” Mr Mengi

gave me the thumbs up. “Doing good makes you feel

good. In fact, doing good is the only good thing to do…”

His desk phone rang, interrupting him.

I could tell from his utterances and from the way he

was nodding vigorously that it was a very important call.

As soon as he finished talking on the phone, Mr Mengi

stood up and gestured to me to also rise up. “That was

our county governor!” he announced jubilantly. “Brace

yourself, young man, for the surprise that lies ahead of

you.”

“What is the surprise, Sir?” I asked, unable to control

myself.

“He wants to host you for lunch!”

“What!” I could not believe my ears.

“Yes, he has requested me to deliver you, your parents

and sister, and one of your teachers to his office at noon

for a photo session before we proceed to lunch at an

undisclosed five-star hotel in this city.”

“Wow!” I said involuntarily. “Please get Ms Gloria!”

“I was thinking about her too!”

What happened at the governor’s office can make a

story for a big book. So, as I wait to write such a book,

allow me to give you a sneak preview of it. I felt like I was

in a whirlpool: The county leader hugged me tightly. We

took countless pictures at the entrance of his office. He

presented a medal of courage to me. I rode in his car as we

drove out for lunch. I had a feast of a lunch. He offered me

a job when I complete my education.

Need I say more? Yes, perhaps in another story.

**The End**