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The Kenya I know

Written by Juliet Maruru

Wednesday, 19 March 2008

I spent half of last night listening tensely as thieves terrorised the neighbours who live in the street behind my house. I heard the screams, and "Mama nyamaza leo tunaingia,"gruffly spoken but loud enough for me to hear as I peered through a bathroom window in my house, wondering if anyone had called the police. I wanted to call 112 but for some reason the lines were jammed. The lady of the house being broken into, or was it her her husband, had stopped screaming and for the next hour and a half I watched with my heart in my mouth and my breath stuck in my lungs as their house was swept clean off seats, the wall unit (Christ!), the TV, I'm guessing Mutua's DVD player and ipod, too. Everything.

Then as the thieves were about to leave one of them paused and looked straight at me. And mum chose that moment to burst into the bathroom, switch on the lights and pull me down. I fell gladly and mum all but slapped me."You stupid child, have you no idea that peeping out at robbers can get you shot?"

"No, mum, having your mum walk in switch on the lights drag you down a window and let you fall to the floor can get you killed." I just thought it. She would have slapped me if I'd said it.

When the large van finally left, the screams begun again. 112 was still jammed. Neighbours started creeping out cautiously to help Mama Mutua scream.

I went back to my bed, no I don't particularly like walking the streets at night just after robbers have toured the village. 112 is still jammed. (I'm safety-conscious and a coward, too)

Early the next morning I was jarred awake by screams, shots, more screams, the hollow but equally terrifying sound of tear gas cannisters, more screams and then shots. No, they haven't got the robbers, I'm told. The police had come to evict tenants who have not been paying rent and have refused to move from a landowner's premise. My neighbours fueled by the events of the night, Mama Mutua's 16 year old daughter was raped, decide to punish the police for not showing up. As the police are stoned by furious villagers, and teargas and bullets are dispensed liberally and quite wastefully, once again I watch from a bathroom window. And my mum asks, "Can you see? What is going on? Get down! You'll be hit by a stray bullet!" So I get down and she clambers up. The tear gas cannister falls just outside the bathroom window and my mum clambers down coughing. I lead her to the other room.

"Did we move to Mogadishu?" she asks.

I shake my head," No mum, I think we are in Gaza."

But it's just Ongata Rongai. Kware. Kenya.