UHURU PARK?YEAH,RIGHT

Have you ever been to Ngara from 5pm onwards? All the way from the post office to the bridge, the hawkers spread out their items edge to edge. Shouts of skirt na mia, soo mbili viatu! Can be heard. So you bend to try on some shoes and fitting a pair, you turn to your shopping partner to ask – how do I look. Your partner comments and you criticize the heel is a bit high,,, but because its only soo mbili, you decide, what have I got to lose? You reach your back pocket and take out the two hundred shillings note. Of cause when you go to Ngara you always carry loose money. You turn to give the hawker the money but he’s nowhere. All around are men and women helter skelter, bags on their shoulders. Everyone on the run has some baggage on him.
The rest of the crowd constitutes of prospective buyers. Standing with silly grins, some holding maybe a single shoe or wearing some jeans under a skirt. In all the eagerness to try on those strappy open wedges you missed the commotion, the escape. All because the –kanju- has appeared. The kanju doesn’t forgive. They are like starved Alastians who never let go until a piece of you is in their mouth. So you wait around a bit. You know the trader will come back. Slyly, with nothing on him and ten minutes later, the market will be alive again, when the kanju lorry has passed on to terrorize others on the other side.
The Uhuru Park is recently a part in its own right. It was, then it lost it, but now it’s got it back together. The grass is green and trimmed, and the preachers are more. My friend and I decided to visit Uhuru Park, seeing as it was , a bright day after days of rain and mud. We were going to have a picnic. We walked round looking for a right spot. Walked some more. Finally found one portion that wasn’t so crowded. It was that long weekend and I came to believe what the press claims, that families like to go to Uhuru park and take a boat ride. The famous boat ride. Always thought it was myth. Days I’ve gone, I never saw so many boats on the move. But I go on weekdays. There is that one part that has these small enclosures, with barbed wire around. The spot we spotted was in one of these. We went round looking for the entrance,and we see this part where the wire is tied up together. We crossed over. Then we heard- wewe!we….and this very dark and badly dressed woman, with a shaved head is gesturing to us. Saying “kuja hapa”. I didn’t know her so I assumed it wasn’t my call. We were going to sit, when she storms over to us and starts to make a lot of noise. Between us, I was the one who could understand Kiswahili faster. I can’t speak Swahili fast, and if I tried to speak English at that instance, the madam would start to talk of how much pride we were displaying. So she was asking- mumefanya nini, “mnafikiri hakuna sheria eh?” What have you just done? Do you think there is no law? And we were wondering,what have we done? So I ask
“ Tumefanya…….?” What have we done?
“ Hamjui mmefanya nini?” You don’t know what you have done?
You get it, the kind of questions that makes you want to pass out. We had trespassed, by not using the small entrance at one corner of the quarter acre of grass enclosure. Their car was parked at the small entrance.
Trespas?Into that enclosed place, is it a –don’t step on the grass portion?
She harassed us and walked us to the car, where we found another equally bad dressed driver, furtive, who kept reminding us, they are the keepers of order.
“Have you not seen how clean this place is? Even the tent church, we plucked it out.”
The madam was sited astride, one foot inside the vehicle the other hanging out., and in her hand a 300ml krest, bitter lemon, with lid still on- but a hole drilled through it. Know how miraa chewers like to drink their soda? Or matatu conductors? So that it doesn’t get finished quick or spill? So she was sucking mls from her soda and saying how they’d lock us up until Tuesday morning. Else, if we had Ksh10,000 , they would let us go. That they called a cash bill.Their supervisors came soon after, better dressed and one started to speak to me in kikuyu, calling me Njeri- guess my teeth gave me away. He talked of leaving them something small; to buy another barbed wire so that next time we wouldn’t jump over the fence. I told him we were students and for freedomssakes couldn’t he see neither of us was athletic enough to jump over a fence?
We only had our bus fare left..I said and added I could bring some barbed wire from from my grandmother’s farm,if he let us go.
I said and he laughed. The, others who were speaking Kalenjin, were getting impatient- “Kama unataka kusaidia mtu yenu, msaidie haraka.”If you want to help your tribe’s men, do it quick.
What do you know, the 3rd stage bosses arrived. These actually had uniforms and badges. They all packed them into the Toyota. One, who seemed to have more command wanted to be driven to the town centre. The driver started to say – with these two?
“Yeah yeah, came the reply. There in no hurry, after all they’ll be locked until next week, what harm to shown them a bit of town.”
Another added that we could be dropped at central police along the way. So we drove off, until the road that goes to Upperhill. The kikuyu guy said we were students. The boss looked back-
“Why did you go catching students for?”
“ They jumped over a fence.”
“How much do they have?”
“ Soo nne (four hundred).”
“Chukua .”(take it)
So we gave the sock we had, for them to buy another barbed wire.I expected a receipt,in my naivity.
Then they let us out of the car.
“Where do you study?”The Madam asked
“KSPS?’
“Ile iko Aga khan?”The one in Aga Khan?
“Yeah, and I’m a journalist.”
“Which newspaper?”
I just had to say that. Like way you break up a fight and hold back the two fighters but one of them still lunges forwards to try fix the other one a nail(a scratch)? I must have been doing something similar.
Yes, I’m a journalist, a reporter, beware, you will find this story in the papers! I have a hidden camera, that money’s dyed………..
We moved over to the other side,near Serena.The only disturbance here was the beggars in all shapes, buzzing around us like crows at a slaughter house.
My friend’s family, about eight of them, went to Uhuru Park the following day, they were in two boats, and one of them let in water. So they drowned. Not completely. But they got very wet. I was imaging them shivering at the stage on their way back. Anyway, the city’s harsh.