I panic a little as I look up at the clock. It is almost
home time. It hasn’t been a busy day at work, just some UN and Red Cross
workers and a few locals have been coming in. I am lost in thought as I take
the inventory, you know, New Year resolutions and all.
The streets are awfully empty these days. My colleagues and
I walk in silence, careful not to attract unwarranted attention. At my stop, I bid them goodbye and get into
the matatu labeled ‘Whitehouse.’ It takes a little longer to fill up. It has
been like this the past week. A few more minutes and we are off.
I have been trained well.
“If someone speaks to you in Kikuyu, just nod and iiii,
eeeh; otherwise, don’t speak to anyone.”
“You’ll be fine. You are light skinned so you can pass for
one.”
So I sit, hoping and praying to God that no one will turn to
me asking about…well, stuff. The radio is tuned to Kamene FM. I can’t speak the
language, but I can make up a few words. My thoughts shift to earlier today at
lunch time when a Red Cross guy walks in and tells us that a man has just been
hacked to death. He was from the wrong tribe, of course. I get home safe and breathe a sigh of relief.
I can see the relief on my parents’ faces too. It has been a tense couple of
weeks, with groups of people pointing at our house with pangas and machetes. I was supposed to get home a bit early so I
could help mum pack. We are leaving tonight.
May 2016
I am in a matatu scrolling through my Face book timeline and
I see people arguing about the IEBC demos. I panic a little. I haven’t had enough
time to practice. I can only say ‘iii’ and ‘eeeh.’ I’m sure it won’t be as bad as last time…but
just in case…
