VULNERABLE I felt a tap on my shoulder as I exited the ATM machine at the Kenol Petrol Station in Hurligham, Nairobi. Instinctively, I cringed, and almost simultaneously grabbed my trouser pocket that contained the recently retrieved bank notes. But when I looked up I noticed it was one of the security guards I had spotted outside the bank of ATM machines. As I regained composure I realized he was desperately gesturing me towards the far end of the petrol station near the entrance of Kula Korna restaurant situated within the premises. “That man wants to talk to you” he said after he noticed I was comfortable around him. The silhouette of a man a standing beside a police Land Rover was unmistakable, even from 100 yards. He was still tall and slender, but this time with a slight gait, most probably caused by the natural process of ageing. As I approached him I could notice that his hair was also graying. Since I knew who he was I hastened my pace, at the same time my mind was racing in overdrive mode engaged in recalling events that occurred decades earlier, in high school. “Hey, Jeff”, he called out. “Hey, Charlie,” my response was spontaneous. “So, you remember me?” It did not sound like a question. We embraced, like long lost brothers. We exchanged pleasantries, updated each other on family and work matters, and then obviously drifted back to high school days. ********************************************************************************** Njoroges cafe was a beehive of activity especially in the evenings. The reason was it was the only place in Garissa town where one could get freshly-baked bread. We used to take the bread, sharing one for four of us, with hot sweet tea, while savouring the aroma of fresh pastries. The cocktail of sweat, ginger and instant coffee coalesced to give the place an inexplicable ambience. A loaf of bread used to set us back a pricey Ksh 3.50. Another favourite of the cafe was the famous Njoroges doughnut which went for Ksh 1.50. The cafe was located on the dusty road around 100 meters from the main Catholic church cathedral. To get there you branched to the left off the Mandera road just before the turning to Boys Town. Apart from the proximity to the Catholic church building, the cafe also shared a fence with NEP Girls School. Surprisingly, the cafe was located close to two kilometers from Garissa Secondary School, commonly referred to as “GSS”. There were two routes one could use to get to the cafe, one official, the other clandestine, obviously improvised. We preferred the latter since to use the earlier was to attract the interest of hawk-eyed prefects, which could have been a cause for heavy punishment. To use the official route you went past the Form 3 classroom, then snaked your way past the right-hand goal side of the football pitch, walking parallel to the fence with Garissa Provincial General Hospital, and then after the gate joined the Mandera road. The unofficial route was an artificial gap between the barbed wires of the fence with the hospital, just next to the Form 6 classroom. You carefully sneaked through the fence to avoid damaging your clothes then walked past the hospitals staff quarters. You passed the main hospital emergency entrance on your right and exited through the hospitals main gate. This placed you squarely on Mandera road. The catholic church building was just a few paces away. ************************************************************************************ Julius Muthui Ngonde was a teacher extraordinaire. He traversed the width and breadth of Garissa district trading his wares, teaching English to a majority Somali kids with a few ‘upcountry’ ones here and there, the latter mostly kids of civil servants on their tour of duty in Garissa district or the wider North Eastern Province. He straddled the district like a colossus. From Saka to Sankuri to Balambala primary schools all to the west of Garissa town, then to Bura to the east, and finally Garissa Primary School. He was also a master disciplinarian. He may have taken the adage “spare the rod, spoil the child” too far. But most of the recipients of the punishment took it in stride, appreciating that it was all in keeping his duty to teach them to always follow the straight and narrow route, and quickly forgot once the pain on their behinds or palms was gone. Of course there are those who took this the wrong way and harbored some sort of a grudge for quite a while. *********************************************************************************** With my father at my side, we walked the distance between Garissa town and the school in silence. A mixture of excitement and the fear of the unknown rent the air. Clutching onto my newly acquired blue metal box full of new uniform – three pairs of light blue trousers and white shirts – books, pens, plate, spoon and other mandatory items, and briskly balancing its weight alternating between my two delicate arms, we snaked our way along the hot tarmac road towards the school. We entered the school through the main gate. The school signboard with its ‘Motto’ sprouted prominently at the junction with the main road. As we approached the Headmaster’s office I noticed that some classes were in session. But what almost unsettled me was the excitement and some knowing glances emanating from some of the students. Were some of them pointing at me in a threatening manner? Maybe it was just hallucination as I had heard weird stories about welcoming ceremonies for new students. He was sort of walking faster than me so I regained by breath and increased my pace to catch up with him. The procedure at the headmaster’s office was straight forward. Produce letter of admission, pay school fees at the school cashier, take an inventory of mandatory items, then after this you were allocated an admission number, and then allocated a dormitory. The whole process took like one hour. It was now time to say our goodbyes. I knew this was inevitable. For the first time I felt vulnerable. Leaving the headmaster’s office I was on my own . I momentarily stepped on to the dusty pavement headed towards my assigned dormitory, coincidentally, Garissa Dorm. But then I instantly caught some movement in the adjoining class from the corner of my. All of a sudden there was heightened excitement. There seemed to be pandemonium everywhere. Then I saw him. He seemed to have emerged from nowhere. He was tall and burly, a giant of a man. His bearded face gave the impression of a person in authority. But he wore the same school uniform I had on, must have been a student in Form Three or Four. He spoke rapidly and in quick succession, the smell of his breath a mixture of khat and Big G. I noticed his interlopers hanging around the corner. Like lionesses waiting to pounce on rare prey. He was definitely the leader, or maybe spokesman, of whatever group it was. “Are you the son of Mr. Ngonde?” he barked out, in a commanding voice. “Y-Y-Y-Yes.....” I could hardly hear my own words. “Oh , yeah” he did not wait for me to finish, almost as if whatever my answer was irrelevant. “We have been waiting for you. We saw your name on the notice board.” This must be a weird welcoming ceremony. The other members of the group, or whatever formation it was, were closing in quickly. I was caged, exponentially outnumbered, all the while in eager panic waiting to be told the reasons why I deserved such a welcoming party. “It is him!”, he was talking to no one in particular, but it sounded as if I was some new discovery, “the son of Ngonde” he continued. “Now we have a chance to avenge for all the punishment his father meted on us” he said with finality, with the approaching troop nodding in agreement, obviously excited at the prize, like an unexpected gift. The world as I knew it was collapsing around me. I felt dizziness and I wished it swallowed me along with it. It felt like an interrogation in which I had no right of reply. I was quickly considering my options. Then the realization there were none, and wondering what form of atonement I could offer that could satisfy their seemingly enhanced appetite for blood. A lone voice, again from nowhere, interrupted the uneasy atmosphere. “Leave that boy alone……” I emitted a sigh of relieve, like I had finally arrived at a desired destination. I did not care who the owner of the voice was but I grabbed by metal box and started walking towards him. The reaction was instant. “Where are you going?” It was the leader. I came to an instant halt, unsure which direction I should head to. “Guys leave him alone, he is my brother and you know what that means”. I did not care what that meant, but I hurried towards the new intruder. They seemed to give way, but with that look saying it was not over yet. Then they suddenly left and I was puzzled. “What is your name young boy?” I told him. “My name is Charlie. I am in Form 4 and I will make sure those boys do not disturb you” finally, I was relieved. “You will only need to do a few things for me.” I looked at him and he noticed my puzzled expression. “First, I know you were given pocket money” it was neither a question nor a comment, but I just nodded in agreement. “Do you know what a ‘deady’ is?” he asked. “What?” was all I could fathom some courage to say, almost inaudibly. “’Deady’, short for ‘dead body’?” I froze. I knew for sure that meant I was going to die that day. Did I just move from the frying pan into the fire? Was it some sort of conspiracy with the other group? Or it was just a game of good-cop-bad-cop? “N-N-N-No…..” I panicked. What did I get myself into. “Just relax. It’s what we call a loaf of bread here”. He said quickly. He must have noticed the dilemma I was into. “ Let us go and keep your things in the dorm then I will take you to Njoroge’s café”. It sounded like a command that just needed to be obeyed.
Posted on: Sat, 31 May 2014 23:11:01 +0000
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