Anyway, while these streets were cold and silent, others were blowing up-literally. The month of May showed up, sadly, with a bang! Two twin bombings in Mombasa and Nairobi, all happening in a span of 24 hours. Let me take you a day back . Saturday, 3rd May 2014, found me on the road travelling to Nairobi from Isiolo. I think that was the most uncomfortable journey I have had to bear in a long time. The driver was chewing hard on his bunch of Miraa (khat) while driving like he had an appointment with death and wanted to bring visitors with him. The driving, mark you, was the secondary activity here, not the miraa chewing. Sure enough, we ran over a goat in Nanyuki. Don't ask if we stopped to give the poor mammal CPR. Next to him in the front cabin, were two Somali looking individuals- a lady and a young man, probably in his teens. The rest of the occupants including me, were what we would immediately say, Kenyans.
Miles away from Isiolo, we are stopped at a road block. One of the cops, holding a G3 immediately inspects the car to check for overload, I suppose. He then goes to the driver's side and asks for his driving licence. Lo and behold! The license expired sometime mid 2013! and the burger was driving like that? Surely! He was told to step out of the car and they, another cop had come to join the party, walked to the back of the matatu. "Najua ni hongo wanaenda kuitisha sasa..." I 'whispered' to my colleague who was half asleep nursing a serious hangover. As soon as I said that, it dawned on me that from my now strategic back seat position coupled with the fact that I cant whisper to save my life, chances were high that I could be heard so I stole a quick glance at the trio and then stared straight ahead. Immediately, one of the cops came back. Wololo! They heard me! I breathed a sigh of relief when he walked to the front seat. It was not me they were coming for!
"Habari mama? Mmetoka wapi?"
...response
"Mnaenda wapi?"
...response
"Kijana ako na miaka ngapi?"
...response.
By now, we were all looking, keenly listening and maybe thinking, "Should we have asked them that before they boarded the car?" Lame. I know! I guess the cop noticed and turned to the rest of us.
"Habari zenu?"
Silence
"Hebu kila mtu atoe national ID haraka haraka. Kitambulisho!"
He starts checking calling out names from the different IDs issued. My turn.
"Yangu iko huko nyuma...kwa boot"
"Shuka utoe"
Now, this matatu we had boarded is supposed to be a shuttle. Normally, a shuttle has enough space for a size 16 mama like me to alight without having to cause too much disturbance, maybe accidents. But no, not this one. The owners of this one had decided that space is overrated. Weh! I finally found my way out and handed them the ID.
"Haya. Sasa kaa nayo kwa mfuko incase uitishwe huko mbele."
I really don't know what went on with the driver and the cops after that. Maybe he was let off with a warning. Maybe he bribed them. I don't know. All I know is in a few minutes we were on the road again, the driver keen on regaining lost time, if you know what I mean. I put my whispering skills to test again and told my colleague.
"Hao watu ndio walifanya tusimamishwe na tuitishwe ID. Matatu nyingi sana zilipita lakini hazikusimamishwa."
Colleague: Kuprofile watu nayo? (Why are you profiling people?)
Me: Not me. The cops.
All in all we got to Nairobi safe. Thank God! I get home relieved just to see "BREAKING NEWS" on the Mombasa blasts; then the Thika road blasts on Sunday, 5:30pm. Devastation. Have we, "Kenyans" become such easy targets? Whose fault is it? Has the president and his government failed us? Hashtags cropped up on social media, #someonetelluhurukenyatta #EndGameSomalia, #ThikaRoadBlast #NationalSecurityKE all attempting to spur the leadership to some sort of action. Sunday night, on a check up call, a close friend admits that she wouldn't get into a matatu with a Somali. I laugh and tell her to stop being paranoid, and that it would be unfair to pin down every Somali or Somali looking individual and call them terrorists. Deep down though, I knew I have thought about it a couple of times too. Looked at them differently, especially when a blast is still fresh.
So this morning, on my way to work a young man, seemingly tired gets into the bus and sits next to me. Despite the fact that it had been raining furiously in the morning, the chap didn't have a sweater on. The bus filled up and moved onto Lang'ata road. The lad receives a call and speaking in Dholuo, tells the person the other end of the line that he's from hospital and was heading to work. A second call comes in minutes later, and only then do I get to know why he was in hospital. Until then, I had assumed that he was the sick one. He explained to the caller that the metals from the bomb had lodged into 'his' skin and he could not walk. He had spent the night in the hospital looking after him and the doctors had said that he would be discharged tomorrow. He added that he would go straight to the hospital from work in the evening. I felt my eyes well up. His voice sounded tired, resigned, but still willing to put up a brave face for a loved one.
It really dawned on me then and sank deeply that it could happen to anyone of us, a family member, a friend, and even though I knew nothing about this man seated next me, I could feel his pain. A pain that one way or the other becomes every single Kenyan's pain. Lets stop racial profiling, it only encourages the terrorists to carry more attacks on this divided society.
#PRAYFORKENYA #PRAYFOROURLEADERS
#PRAYFORTHEPERPERTRATORS
