STORY THREAD

Kenyans will incite you into chaos while they sit back at home and watch you burn in the mayhem. For the better part of the festive period, Kenyans on social media were circulating inciting memes, videos, and writings daring the police to try and stop them from

having New Year’s midnight eve celebrations away from their homes, against the curfew restrictions. And I fell for that, imprudently.
My initial New Year’s midnight plans were to spend the year crossover on the rooftop of my apartment filming the fireworks launched into the sky

from Two Rivers Mall, Rosyline Riviere Mall, and the Village Market.
At around 8:30 PM, my friend, in Makongeni, Thika, called me with a better New Year’s eve form that was too good to slide. Having known Kenyans to defy government orders once they had set their minds on doing

something, I left my home very late to Thika through CDB.
Two things fooled me to leave home at 9 PM, an hour to the curfew; Kenyans would be in town in numbers giving the police a hard time in running battles. That way, I would maneuver through the mayhem to find my way into

the Thika bound matatus. Secondly, as defiant as Kenyans, I thought matatu operators would be in town in numbers past curfew time to cash on the large number of Kenyan within the CDB.
I alighted from my matatu along Latema Road at around 9:40 PM to my first shock of the night.

Nairobi streets were relatively empty compared to other curfew days during such times. Most of the matatu stages were empty apart from the Kasarani stage which had two matatus, the Kikuyu one, and a few Embassavas.
There was a high sense of urgency among the very few people

in town trying to catch the very few matatus still in town. Tension and apprehension lingered on their faces way before I spotted any police officer. I rushed to Maragua Lane next to Mr. Price to catch a Makongeni bound Super Metro matatu.
The stage, characterized by long

Taratha-Nithi-esque election queues, was empty. Another shock. It was at 9:55 PM, my phone said. I panicked. My immediate response was to rush to Imenti House to catch the last Kasarani bound matatu to take me to one of my friend’s places in Kasarani. At the intersection of

the Maragua lane and Tom Mboya Street, three things hit me. The Kasarani stage was empty as were all other Matatu stages along Tom Mboya Street. Just beyond the Kasarani stage, amid the thin fog on the street, scary scenes started forming;

heavily armed officers were advancing from the sides of Central Police Station.
Along Tom Mboya Streets, the Kenyans caught by the curfew were running in confusion away from the approaching police officer only to come to an abrupt halt at the Tuskys, Tom Mboya.

Beyond Tuskys, in the darker streets, cries and screams of distress and agony were heard. People were being robbed by the city muggers who were taking advantage of the tension and the melee caused by the scared crowd.
Consequently, the people who were scared of the police

and the muggers huddled themselves at Tuskys in fear. Each minute, the police advanced towards where I was hiding; between two parked Super metro matatus. Each minute, I heard more and more screams.
The scenes along Tom Mboya Streets became too gory for my sight.

I decided to tiptoe to the other end of Maragua lane where it intersects with Moi Avenue. I hoped Moi Avenue was serene for an escape route. The scenes were more or less the same. On my right, slowly advancing, were another heavy contingent of armed officers.

They were as close as the Nairobi Sports House; walking parallel as those along Tom Mboya Streets.
On my left, however, the scenes were different, nonetheless as scary. In place of mugger was a large assemblage of rowdy street families launching crude fireworks in the air.

They were also harassing and robbing people. I watched from the corner of Standard Chartered Bank as a lady’s handbag, shoes, and phone were snatched from her grasp by the street families.
In the end, I had nowhere to run to. I was sandwiched between heavily armed police

officers, muggers, and rowdy street family. The police were very close. Some of the offenders made the hard choice of surrendering to the police while others chose to suffer in the hands of muggers other than face the wrath of the police. I watched people get clobbered,

roughed up, and frog-marched into the awaiting police Land Rovers.
Then there was me, hidden between two Super Metro matatus watching the chaos. I was telling myself, as a section of the KOTs does; “I am here for the chaos.’ I was safe. I was planning to climb on top of one

of the matatus and enjoy the chaos from its rooftop. No one would have noticed me from the top of a matatu if I lay flat.
My plans were on course until my phone rang loudly. My friend was calling to check if I succeeded in catching the matatu to Thika. I pressed my panic mode.

At that time, I resigned to the fate of a police beating, or muggers interested in my phone. I struggled to switch off my phone.
Suddenly, as I prepared to climb on top of the matatu and lay flat on top, I heard footsteps running in my direction.

Whoever was running towards me must have been attracted by the phone call, I thought.
I had been discovered. My only choice was to run away. To where? Not towards the police, not towards the street kids, and definitely not towards the muggers. There was one escape route.

The Government Lane that runs between Moi Avenue and Tom Mboya Street. It was my only escape route.
‘Kimeumana!’ I muted and set off towards the Government Lane. Ten meters onto the lane, a glance behind revealed the person behind me; a lady in grey pants, sports shoes,

and other athletics paraphernalia. At that time I could not guess who it was. It could have been a female mugger, could have been a female police officer in plain clothes, or a cocktail of the two; a police officer who would have robbed me before arresting me.

I increased my pace but it seemed she was faster than I was. The Government lane, ironically, is one of the poorly maintained roads within the CDB. It is narrow, uneven, dirty, potholed and it stinks to the high heavens of urine. I stepped into a pothole, lost my balance,

and fell face first.
At that time, it was meaningless to get on my feet. The lady was on my neck. I lay low, flat, with my hands on my back. I anticipated a ‘freeze, it is the police’ shout, or to be roughed up. Instead, the lady stopped where I lay, bent forwards with her

hands on her knees. She said nothing for a moment, just panting and gasping for air like a dying fish.
‘You run too fast,’ she said. ‘Where are you running to?’
She was kidding? Right? I thought. ‘I was coming to hide with you after spotting you,

but then you started running away. You must have another place in your mind where we can hide,’ she added.
Yaani? I was running away from a raia? ‘I don’t have a place in mind. I was running away from you. I thought you were some police or mugger running to arrest or mug me!’

The lady sat down, on the wet ground and started laughing with one of her hands on her mouth.
I sat up, and together we started laughing with controlled volumes.
The police had advanced past where we sat. We were between The Big Square building along Moi Avenue and

Lazarus Restaurant along Tom Mboya Street.
‘How do we escape?’ She asked. I did not have an idea. She was the reason why I no longer had somewhere to hide. While still deliberating on our next move, we spotted two men take the Government lane from the sides of Imenti House.

Quickly, we dashed and hid into a shoe-shiner bench between Lazarus Restaurant and Kai Plaza. Two minutes later, we heard the two men talking.
They were arguing spiritedly over the content of the wallet they had snatched from someone.

One was advocating for an equal share between them, while the other one wanted them to share it based on the risk of the task each partook while robbing the wallet. I could feel the girl's heartbeats increasing as the men started arguing with diabolic emotions of disagreement.

‘You always get the lion’s share!’ one accused. It was the last word he ever said.
An icing sound of metal piercing through flesh sent chills down our spines. We froze, as one of them turned and twisted the knife inside the other’s body before pushing his back.

I have never been as horrified as I was.
The lady held my T-shirt and hugged me tightly. She started whimpering. I placed my hands on her mouth. The murderer ran away after grabbing the wallet from the dying mugger. The lady attempted to run towards the dying person,

probably ready to apply the first aid skills she learned during her primary school scouting days. I held her back.
‘He is dying!’ she whispered with horror.
‘That is a crime scene. Anyway, he probably deserves to die. Sorry. You save him right now, he will snatch your wallet

with medical bills, rent, school fees the following day. Let us get away from here before we become suspects in a crime we were not involved in.’ She seemed convinced, reluctantly. ‘Where to?’ She asked. I had an idea. I knew of a place within the CBD where we would hide.

The problem was getting to the place.
As the man was battling to gasp his last breath, we tiptoed to the edge of Lazarus Restaurant. I craned my neck on my right to spy along Tom Mboya Streets. The police were stretched across Tom Mboya Streets at The National Archives.

Some were branching into Accra Road. The scene was a fray of horrifying scenes. People were being arrested in numbers. The arrest was accompanied by clobbers, kicks, shoves, and all forms of police interactions.
‘How fast can you run?’ I asked her.
‘I am Chebet, by the way.’

She said as a matter of fact.
‘Well, that makes it easier. Run across Tom Mboya Street to Odion then branch into Latema Road. I will follow you.’ Chebet stormed off. Shortly, I followed her. She was very swift. Midway through the street, I heard shouts of ‘Simama! Shika huyo!

Wee kijana!’ Then, a loud blast. The blast, like a gun’s, horrified me. At Odion, I heard the same blast again. The street kids were still playing with their crude fireworks.
I caught up with Chebet. From far, we heard heavy footsteps of police officers running after us.

We ran down Latema road. Latema Road was silent apart from the noise from Pastor Pius Muiru’s Maximum Miracle Center.
Down Latema Road, strange noises came from above the building we were standing at. The building at the intersection of Latema Road and River Road.

Noises of ecstasy, bliss, and sexual satisfaction were heard from above the brothel.
Finally, the Police appeared at Odions. They stopped running and gestured as if they would shoot us with their guns. I pulled Chebet’s hand and disappeared into one of the lanes that run onto

River Road from DownTown.
I did want to spend a minute along River Road.
‘Where are we going?’ She asked again.
‘Kirinyaga Road.’
‘Where is that?’
‘Just follow the stench of urine and the smell of car engine oil and grease, the stronger the stench, the Kirinyaga the road.’

I led the way. Maneuvering through the many lanes that connect River Road and Kirinyaga Road wasn’t easy. At one point, we found ourselves in a lane with sleeping street families. They were sleeping on either side of a narrow lane with a tiny passenger space

between their sleeping materials. We walked stealthily between them praying that we wouldn’t wake them up. It was nerve-wracking. Disturbing such a big family from their sleep would have been near suicidal.
The miasma of ammonia from the several urinal joints along Kirinyaga

Road was disturbing. ‘Where are we going?’ Chebet asked for the umpteenth time.
‘Trust my lead.’
‘What is your name?’
‘Is it important, at this point?’
‘Yea, it is. You don’t want to tell me where you are taking me.

At least tell me your name just in case you are leading me into your slaughter den. I would love to know the name of the person who hacked me to death!’ I thought she was joking, a silly joke.
‘Or maybe if you don’t want me to take you to my slaughterhouse, you can turn back

and face the wrath of the police!’
‘No. I prefer your slaughterhouse!’ She said.
‘Follow me to Globe Roundabout. At the center of the roundabout is a carwash or something of the sort. There are many buses parked at the center of the roundabout.

We can hide under one of the busses for the night!’ I said.
‘The ground is very wet and cold.’ Chebet complained.
‘Do you have any blanket or mattress with you?’ I asked her, sarcastically. She followed me as I ran from Kirinyaga Road towards the Globe Cinema Roundabout.

We squeezed ourselves between buses until we found a conducive bus that we would sleep under.
It wasn’t comfortable getting and laying under the bus. We shared one bus. The ground was wet and cold just as Chebet had complained. I couldn’t imagine spending

New Year’s Eve in such an unforgiving state. Time dragged by slowly. The sky was dull. A few meters away, the Nairobi River meandered quietly through the roundabout.
Our hideout was smooth, unperturbed until we started hearing strange noises of ecstasy

and feminine voices of sexual satisfaction. A couple was shagging under one of the busses. Nairobi! Nairobi! Nairobi! Jokingly, Chebet said, ‘that could have been us, but you refused to tell me your name.’
‘Does it matter, the name?’

‘Yea. I prefer knowing the name of the man that is shagging me!’
‘I can tell you my name. Right now!’ I said sharply. I turned on my back to face her. She turned and faced away.
‘It is too late. Plus, I don’t know how to produce the feminine voices of sexual pleasure’

She whispered.
I had lost track of time. I guessed it was a few minutes to 2021. Kenyans who had incited me through their memes into the streets at prohibited hours were locked in their houses counting minutes to the new year while I was counting each minute to

the end of the curfew at 4 AM. The experience was daunting.
While under the bus, I heard another commotion. First, it was the voice of a man begging for his life to be spared. The voice came from the side of the river. ‘Clear the evidence,’ another voice ordered.

His words were quickly followed by a gunshot and a heavy water splash. Nairobi River carried away yet another murder victim.
The sexually pleasured lady screamed, not out of the unfathomable pleasure but out of the shock from the gunshot sound. Our safe haven was safe no more.

‘We have witnesses,’ one of the murderers said. We heard footsteps marauding towards where buses were parked, where we were hiding.
‘Go! Go! Go!’ I pushed Chebet.
‘To?’
‘Central Police Station! We are safer inside a police cell

than anywhere else in this city!’ I cried. I pushed her. We squeezed between the busses to find our way out of Nairobi's latest scene of a crime. I heard the lady whimpering as the man tried to calm her down. She was horrified, probably attacked by anxiety.

We ran towards University Way.
Out of horror, fear, and anxiety, I lost my senses. I was almost knocked dead by an overspeeding car along The University Way. Most likely it was a stolen car driven by car hijackers. Its brush, though slight,

pushed me on the side of the road where I fell and hurt my ankle. Chebet ran towards me. She bent down next to me like she wanted to help me back on my feet. I was in excruciating pain. I had sprained my ankle.
Unexpectedly, she shoved her hands into my pockets and

swiftly grabbed and pulled out my phone and wallet. She made a few steps back and pulled a diabolic but beautiful smile.
‘This,’ she said while flashing my phone in the air, ‘this phone is what I wanted from you all along.’
‘What?’ I asked in my painful moans.

‘Don’t try to chase after me. I have a knife. I can’t go with you to the police cells. I am a common face at the Central Police Cell. It was nice meeting you! Thank you for helping me escape from the police in CBD.’ She said blatantly. She opened my wallet.

‘It was nice meeting you, Mr. Sakwah!’ she added after pulling my ID out of my wallet. She threw the ID on my side. ‘You will need the ID at the police cell.’
‘Are you for real?’ I asked her.
‘I will distract the murderers while you limp your way into the police cell!’

She added. She ran off towards the John Michuki Memorial Park. I was near numb. While still deliberating on what to do next, I heard two quick gunshots from the roundabout. I quickly rose on my feet and started limping like Gotham’s Oswald Cobblepot “Penguin” towards the Station

I was going to be the first Kenyan ever to walk into a police cell and report myself to the police for committing the crime of flouting the COVID curfew rules.
I saw Chebet jump over the John Michuki Memorial Park’s fence into the park.

She disappeared into the oblivion of Nairobi with my wallet and money after leading her away from the police. Nairobi! Nairobi! Nairobi.
I limped into the Central Police Station where I was arrested and booked for flouting curfew rules and loitering aimlessly.

I have written two novels, crime-romance fictional books. If you fancy giving a budding Kenyan author a chance, kindly grab a copy. 0728962819
I do deliveries within Nairobi and send the book as a parcel to other parts of the country.