It is raining now, cats and dogs, very heavily in Westlands.
I am at my desk, in my office, a paper supply company. Like in The Office,
except this is so so boring.
I have many things to think about, like why I went to university at all, or why I read so much, just so I can manage a paper supply company. Pins and clips, and staples, photocopy paper. We have branched into calculators now, and shredders. Many people are buying shredders, I wonder why.
It is not boring anymore. Even above the sound of the
rain, I can hear the loud thud, thud, thud of my heartbeat. I am watching a
bank robbery. We have those large glass panes, and the blinds are loose just
enough so I can see down into the street, into Waiyaki Way, and at the entrance
of the Barclays Bank, you know it, the one opposite Pavement and Gypsy's. My heart
beats fast because there's six men here shooting into the air, loud and powerful
gunshots, the sort of terror that silences the sound of the April rain hitting
the roofs and rushing down the drainpipes, the sort of sound that freezes your
eyes wide open and leaves your mouth gaping, dries your lips and pops your eyes
out.
The men are looking around, not in the frantic fashion of a
scared posse, but just checking to make sure there's no one trying to be funny.
I get the message, everyone in the street does. You can see the pile-up as the
cars screech to a halt behind each other and the drivers get out and kiss the
wet tarmac. There's no shame in taking care of oneself, like I said there's six
of them and this city is called Nairobi.
They are shooting, not at anyone, just into the air, into the rain and the
public clears out of their way.
They have with them bags of cash. Are they called sacks? You
know the ones with draw strings like the ones on my boyfriend's shorts. What a
thing to think of at this time. My boyfriend's shorts! The mean are dragging
the bags, you heard me they are heavy so they cannot be carried. I cannot
believe what I am seeing; it is much like something from the movies, like a Dog
Day Afternoon or something. The men are silent, calm, and even cold like it was
all very well practiced and thought out.
It is four o'clock
now. They are still spraying the air with bullets as they walk towards a green
station wagon. The terror is still loud, very loud but there's no sound apart
from the gunshots, even our rackety generator seems quiet now. The motorists
are looking into the tarmac and looking up just to check that they are safe.
Prostrate, one with the earth. Eyes wide shut, staring at Nairobi's
grimey tarmac.
But I can see, I can still see the men. Very clean, none of
those stereotypes you hear about in the news. They could have been regular bank
customers, even wealthy ones. The sacks of money will not fit into the boot of
the car, the car will not start. The driver calls for them to push him. They
get out and push it, chug, chug it kicks up and starts off. They have left one
sack behind. The car speeds off towards Mpaka road with a few parting shots,
the way is clear. Still, the sack of money, we stare at it all of us. Like one
of the men is going to jump out and shoot into the air.
The motorists start to get up, brushing away the grime from
their clothes, looking into the rain, into the swollen clouds, hands clasped
together in prayer. Thankful, there's embraces all around, some are shaking
with tears. The crowd moves in together, and then the silence breaks there's
screams from inside the bank, there's screams from Gyspy's. And then a siren, a
police car comes on to the scene, lights flashing. They pick up the bag and
leave, they have not paid us much attention, and they are gone into the city.
They have taken our sack of money.
There's people coming out of the Bank, carrying a man, a
guard, his uniform bloody in the top half. There's people out of Gypsy's and
they are carrying other bloodied people. The rain has stopped now, they are
rushing the people into cars, into one of the armored cash carriers that was
parked outside the bank. I can see the drivers and guards returning now, they
had off to our side of the street. There's no heroes in this.
My robbery has made it into the news; I am typing fast, my
fingers still white like that time he first hit me. On my phone, with its
inbuilt radio they are asking for blood donations for the guard, thank God he
is alive. The screen flickers, and there's music on the radio now, I want to go
home now, and I want him to hold me.
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