It was one of those days when the
sky would open up and then close again. The rains would fall down to the earth
in short bursts and be immediately followed by the sun like a person who wanted
to say something and then thought better of it. When the sun would shine back
down it looked like hell was right beneath the roads, a film of steam would
rise from the tarmac and be swept forward by the wind before all evidence of
rain would disappear.
At night it rained again. This
bout of rain found me at a bar and I went outside to look at it. The best thing
about January rain in Kenya is that it’s not too cold and it was possible to
stand beneath the shelter provided and allow splatters of it to fall on my
hands and if the wind allowed find its way to my face.
Then it was time to go home. I
was very alert that day it being one of my low-no alcohol days still I had let
too much time pass before I left. Conversation kept ebbing and flowing and
taking me in different directions. Added to this I had just received news that
made me a little sad. A girl I like had a boyfriend. It wasn’t heart-breaking
news, I doubt she knew I liked her but it provoked sadness in me at the thought
of paths not taken that never would be. Dreams I had constructed would never
have the chance of forming themselves into reality instead they were blown away
into mist like the drops of rain that kept falling.
So I walked towards my matatus.
It was much later than I had thought it
was because there were no more. It’s easy to see when there aren’t any because
I take my matatus at Odeon. At night there is row after row of matatus parked
down that street like troops in an army and
the one you’re looking for is the only one with a beret on its head. A
signpost telling you that they are open for business. But I had broken my
glasses and I mistrusted my ability to see the beret from so far and I started
down the road.
It’s a road filled with light and
life even at that time. Matatu touts and drivers and petrol attendants and
other pedestrians fill it up going about the business of life. I got close
enough to see there weren’t any matatus when I felt someone touch me from
behind. In one of those slowdowns of life that happen when you are pumped with
adrenaline a lot of things seemed to follow on but in slow motion, “brathe
unataka camera?” –my brother do you want
a camera?. He said to me. At the same time I moved back into the light
taking note of his facial features. He was tall and lanky, he had a long face
and a dental structure that was shared by his brother. Oh that was the third
thing, towards the direction he was pushing me towards there was another man
who was definitely this one’s brother smiling sheepishly at me.
There was now a distance of
perhaps 2 metres between us. This was enough distance to turn around and run
and shout and draw the attention of all the life that was at my back. But
something told me not to make any sudden moves, maybe it was the first man
because he said, “unadhani unaweza shinda risasi?” do you think you can outrun a bullet? At this time I had put
myself on complete charm offensive. I was smiling and holding out my hands and
saying in the most placating tone I could, “relax, relax.” While being ready to
hightail it out of there. I walked back like this and then they left and I went
to matatu stop number two.
At this time adrenaline was
running through me. I wasn’t sure yet what had just happened. Had someone
offered to sell me a camera, had someone offered to give me a bullet? The night
changes at times like those. It’s not so fluid anymore you wouldn’t notice the
rain falling down but maybe you would see the individual drops. Danger has a
way of breaking things apart into many tiny, tiny pieces. Of making seconds
into mini and micro, of making movements into threatening gestures and
preparations to strike, of making people into potential threats and places into
potential hideouts.
I noticed someone behind me. He
was walking way too fast. I could hear his footsteps even though the night was
not particularly deserted. So I stopped and watched him. His hurry seemed to
disappear and then he crossed the road. The thing of it was I had to cross this
road too and so I kept an eye on him for a while as he kept an eye on me. I
watched him walk too far away for it to be possible to turn around and face me.
Then I made sure to walk in the midst of people . The streets had that
streetlight glow at that time. The yellow bounced down off the puddles of water
that had come when the sun had left. People walked alone and in pairs oblivious
of anything that was happening. It looked safe but it sure as hell didn’t feel
safe.
There are times I hate living in
Nairobi.
