I am sitting in my 9th office. I love my office . I have a most beautiful view, bird’s eye, of Central Park. Every time I take a break from my computer, I look at the beauty of the park through the window, and I feel peaceful.
Not on 28th January, 2009.
It looks foggy outside! It is never foggy in Nairobi, especially not on a sunny day at 3pm.
“There must be a fire somewhere!” shouts a colleague. We dash to the window to contemplate the mysterious grey shadow outside. There are no flames in sight, but the smoke is getting thicker. We all shift about nervously, worrying about just how close the source of all that smoke is. I am thinking how long would it take to get to the bottom of the building, would my car be safe, would I be able to drive out?
A colleague receives a phone call and shouts “Ati Nakumatt is burning.” Everyone edges closer to him, the man with a clue…”Nakumatt Downtown? Oh #$%&!” he continues into the phone.
Nakumatt Downtown, apart from being situated in one of the busiest areas of CBD, is the only 24 hour shopping site in the city.
We hear a siren wail at a distance, we cannot understand why the fire trucks are using Uhuru Highway. The Nakumatt in question is practically next to the City Council Fire Station. Then everybody agrees they must have called for help because as usual, there was no water for the fire engines, correction, engine! There is only one fire engine, for this city of three million.
More sirens – a bad sign, it must be bad.
We move to the windows again, and we see the military fire trucks, and then some that belong to private companies. Everyone in the office is shifting around nervously, reaching for cell phones. Informal meeting, we decide to leave early, Nairobi has massive snarl-ups when it drizzles, you don’t want to be caught in its traffic when there is genuine cause for excitement.
We ready ourselves and leave one by one, via the stairs – today the power has been a little erratic and nobody wants to be stuck in a lift without ventilation, not with that smoke outside.
My route home dictates that I pass close to Nakumatt Downtown, and what I see leaves me very shaken. I have never in my life seen such massive flames, and the angry clouds of smoke. The grey robes on the raging orange/red/blue flames are almost beautiful.
There are several fire engines, I look around, I hear explosions, I guess it is the gas containers in the supermarket. I realize that the next shop is Alibhai Shariff –a paint shop, a massive hazard.
This does not dissuade the eager onlookers. There are throngs of people just standing and staring. I wonder what they are supposed to be doing, where do they work, what do they do? Even an evacuation of 20 Nairobi buildings, wouldn’t produce a crowd this large. Regardless, what are they doing so close, are they not aware of the risks here?
What am I doing so close?
My journalistic instincts chain me; I cannot leave for home as I know I should. I edge closer for a better view, listening all the while to the crowd of ‘experts’ behind me discussing the merits of each theory on how the fire started. They settle on a generator.
I look at the fire again, and the fearless firemen battling it. I am shocked to realize that the fire fighters do not have helmets, or gas breathing equipment, that in this smoke that could choke an elephant,
Still the brave firemen fight. They are doing all they can with what they have, defective and insufficient. I find myself questioning the need to bring in massive amounts of water when there ought to be hydrants around, I know they were there 20 years before, and then they stopped working. I can imagine the City Council inspectors missing them as they prioritize revenue collection, collecting parking fees.
Someone explains that the private fire firms are not allowed to use the hydrants anyway, the City may sue. So instead they come all the way from City Stadium, an unnecessary team in an emergency.
I leave as the police begin to show their frustration with the crowd, lashing out at them and sending them off. The fire is on television now, live. Maybe the crowd can move away and watch it unfold from some safer haven someplace.
TV, and other news reports report that the Nakumatt management shut the grill doors to stop people from taking off with unpaid-for shopping. There are reports of people jumping from the 2nd floor, opting for broken bones rather than 2nd or 3rd degree burns.
Initial reports indicate everyone survived, then Nakumatt held a roll call. Four of their staff are missing. I find myself hoping that they had absconded to smoke, sent away by the choking fumes.
29th January, the news starts to change. There are now several people missing. There was no fire exit in the building – how? How does an establishment like Nakumatt even think about being in a building without a fire exit, in the city centre? I am angry, someone dies of his injuries at Kenyatta National Hospital. I am outraged.
30th January, I learn that the authorities have started removing charred remains from the building. So far, 14 bodies, totally unrecognizable. I guess they will need DNA, and I hope they do not try to pull a fast one on the family like they tried with the Kiambaa church violence victims. I am devastated – I know this is not the end of the bad news – I feel sick. There are still sirens on Uhuru Highway. The smoke remains in the air.
1st February, and Molo’s tragedy is taking Nakumatt off the front-page.
The Nakumatt bosses attend a prayer service with all their staff. They pray for the dead, they renounce Satan. The bosses pledge assistance with the DNA tests needed for recognition and promise that something of this sort will never happen again. They pledge partial help with the funeral expenses.
If only the store had a fire exit. If only the generator had not been placed near the entrance. If only someone had not tried to shut the grill doors. If only the hydrants were working. If only the fire trucks had water. If only City Council had done their job in the first place. All those audits necessary and health regulations. So many ifs, so much lost.
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