HOW TO GET ARRESTED IN NAIROBI

It’s easy to get arrested in Nairobi. You don’t have to kill or maim to get attention from the men in blue. You no longer have to have very soft hair, light skin and be called Ali to get arrested

You can be arrested for imagining you can overthrow the government. Yes, it’s in the Kenyan laws. Somewhere. Just imagining. I wonder how the government will find out. It’s a risk I’m not willing to take though. You never know. That presidential advert may have the power to read minds.

You can be arrested for badly crossing the road. By badly I’m referring to the avoidance of foot bridges or failure to look left, then right and then left again. How they know this is not important.

You can be arrested for many other flimsy reasons; for littering Nairobi streets or looking suspicious and dangerous.

A recent study revealed that the Kenya police arrested some people for having condoms in their pockets. The condoms were confiscated to be used as evidence. The charge? Prostitution.

You can be arrested for wearing a Gor Mahia jersey in town. The police already know your crime. They just need a suspect. You will appear in X newspaper with a running story of how a hooligan was arrested in the CBD for vandalism, public unrest, disorderliness, misuse of state symbols (read Tom Mboya Statue) and a raft of other charges!



 

But you can also be arrested for being a good guy; for example wanting to give government your money. You don’t believe me? Read more.

The guy in front of me looks okay. In fact he looks better off. He is spotting a distinctive scent. That must be Hugo Boss. On his left wrist is an imposing Rolex watch. I notice because he keeps flaunting it. He pretends he’s looking at the time. I can’t get mad at him. He is a man. He is doing what everyman with means does. Flaunting it just in case some lady with loose morals is watching. They always are. He keeps checking his blackberry and his IPhone. He is a family man. I know because I see his wallpaper. A beautiful young girl and a princess for a wife. Perfect family. One day, I must have that.

Today am in my usual. Yes, I’m in a suit. I look at my Samsung, I smile. I think. I chuckle. It’s an interesting message. It’s from the Rungu Whatsapp group. People funny as hell.

Like the guy in front, I’m the perfect image of a gentleman. I sweep the room with my eyes. From time to time I adjust my coat. I catch her looking at me. I smile. Not exaggerated. Just a quick flicker of recognition. I’m feeling important. Just like the guy in front of me.

Behind me is a lady. She is not as yellow as Vera, or as booby as her. Her behind is not exaggerated. But she’s okay. She’s actually lovely. She’s in a nice dress. Purple. How did she know I loved it? I smile. She smiles back. Then for a second we stare at each other in ominous and uncomfortable manner. With no words to say. But just for a second.

Ladies and gentlemen this story does not end at the altar.

Forget the flowery language. This is a queue at the NSSF.

It’s the deadline for the monthly contribution. And as Kenyans you know how we are with deadlines. It’s like an obsession. We just sit somewhere; in offices, in houses, in schools, waiting for deadlines.

The queue is long. In fact it is the longest queue in my young life. That says a lot, especially if you’ve been to KU. The advantage we had at KU is that you could jump the queue. Today, I wish this was just the finance queue at the computer center.

But it’s moving. For now.

Three hours later, I turn to the girl behind me. She’s not smiling anymore. I can’t make my move now. It seems the lines I’ve just ‘Googled’ will have to wait for somebody else.

The guy in front of me clicks. The queue is finally taking its toll on him. He tells me how he is late for a meeting. Aren’t we all?

Of course I don’t tell him that. I pretend to empathize with him. Soon, we are chatting like old buddies. We talk about politics, about insecurity, about the spiraling cost of living. We talk about the referendum.

He asks me what my opinion is on Vera’s boob job. Okay. You know you need to think twice before answering such questions. My opinion as a man or my opinion as a member of the society. You see they are fundamentally different. As a man my choice is clear. As a member of the society I have to wine about how such acts are misleading to the young girls. How people should accept how God created them and all that religiously accepted mumbo jumbo.

This is a hard one. The lady behind me joins the conversation.

She heavily criticizes the move.

“What would she change next? Alianza na matako,akaendelea kwa matiti.”

She’s speaking in such a way that you would think Vee Baby is to blame for this queue. In retrospect, she’s guilty. Not for the queue but for a more heinous crime. Maybe the lady’s boyfriend just downloaded the new Baby V application and installed her as his wallpaper.

Five hours later, I get to the counter. The cashier doesn’t even look at me. She stretches her hands and takes the money through the pigeon hole. She pushes the money back.

“We kijana umesomewa number?”

That kijana tag makes me frown a little. Kijana?

I shake my head.

“Number gani?”

She doesn’t answer. She tells me to go away and come back when am organized. I refuse to move.

A security guy soon comes and asks me to go to the next queue.

“Hatutaki jam hapa”, he says.

I’ve never wished to punch a person so bad. In fact I tackled him. I swept him off the floor and got straight to the counter. I look at the cashier’s horrified look.

“What now amigo?”

I command her lazy ass to serve me immediately. I get the service I wanted. I ask them to give me the money they have at the counter. I get away into the waiting car and go and hide somewhere in Kayole with Njoki Chege. She said she wants a ‘monied’ guy right? The police release a mug shot of me. Their website goes down in minutes from too much traffic by females .I become the world’s most handsome crook. Forget about that other guy.

I get a lucrative modeling contract. In fact Am Wes of the Bow Tie Events snatch me up. I do this merely out of loyalty. Otherwise I should have gone to Atlanta or Paris. 

Will I marry my Eva or a lingerie super model? Will I visit Bahamas or the Alpine mountains for my August  holiday? I’ll think about that later.

Good people that’s not my story.

I get arrested, yes! But not for robbery; for disruption of public peace. My mug shot on the police website doesn’t go viral. In fact it doesn’t get there.

The security guard asks me to give him four hundred shillings we solve this matter before iende mbele. I don’t have change. I give him a thousand shillings. He smiles ruefully.  I ask for change.

“Boss,hapa ni Nairobi”

I leave for another queue. The supermarket queue. I buy bread then take another queue.

The matatu queue home. This lady comes to me and says 

“…nimruhusu aende anyonyeshe mtoto”.

I punch her in the face and give her a Bruce Lee kick in her fat behind. I then tell her receding body to go get a boob job.

Okay, I’m not that inhuman. 

The sun goes down; it will rise again tomorrow, just as it did for Kamali Lang’o.


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