This is a continuation of the story : https://www.kenyatalk.com/index.php?threads/debut-how-i-found-myself-robbing-a-matatu.38549/
You know what they say, “A Lannister always pays his debts.” Si kama zile story za Mrs. Waweru za infant homicide and transporting Al Shabab that are never finished.
Anyway…
Beep Beep Beep
I woke up with a start. It took a while for the surroundings to register in my brain. Well, at least I was in my bed. Cursory glance at the ever loud ticking wall clock showed it was some minutes after 9:00 a.m.
[I]Beep Beep
Oh yeah. The door bell. [/I]I had modified the door bell to the extension to sound like an alarm clock. You can’t ignore an alarm clock. That has to be the most annoying sound in the world. Probably why they use beeps in medical equipment as warning signals if the vitals start failing… There I go again. Focus.
It was Mwende at the door. Apparently, I had a guest at the gate. By guest, I was hoping she didn’t mean more police officers with questions. Then I remembered, we are in Kenya. If cops were coming for you from your bed, you’d leave in a body bag. So I relaxed a little and put on some sweats. Headed to the gate to meet the guest. I had relaxed a little after convincing myself it wasn’t the cops. But the sight that met me there was worse.
His back was turned against me, but there was no mistaking that build under that FUBU hoodie. It’s 2009, who still wears FUBU? I looked around as I stepped out into the street to make sure none of the neighbourhood nosy mboches or mathes was around. I locked the gate behind me and we stood there in silence. A minute passed before he spoke.
" @Prometheus, hiyo story ya jana ilikuwa one off. Iza. Ulikuwa wrong place at the wrong time." He reached into his pocket as he turned around and pulled out what was previously my phone.
I thought long and hard before I reached out to take it. I’ve already reported this shit stolen. Is this handling stolen goods? What if they track it and find it with me? That Ngumo chick was supposed to call me… That last thought was all I needed to take back my phone. He didn’t have my bag with me. Though, I didn’t care much about the dirty laundry that was in it. Actually, being seen with that bag wouldn’t have been a good idea.
I briefed him of what i did after he left me stranded in Eastleigh. I had timed going into the cop station to about 15 minutes before my folks showed up. In Eastlands, young men and police officers are not exactly best of friends. So, I was not going to take any chances and disappear in the system. Plus, my dad was a shareholder in a few entertainment spots ~ read, locals. He knew a few OCS and OCPD. The cops didn’t have much trouble believing my story seeing that it was the 4th matatu jacking that month. They casually took my details and made me record a statement. I was careful to leave out the bit of knowing the thug who stole my phone. In the end, they let me go home with the folks with an assurance that I’ll bring the phone’s particulars so that they track it.
Seeing that we had hashed it out, Otis said his goodbyes and left. Secretly, I had hoped that was the last time I’d run into him. It was.
I glanced at my phone as I walked back into the house. 23 Missed Calls. 18 were from my mother. 1 was from the Ol’ Man.2 from my campus room mate. 2 from the Ngumo Chick. She had texted too… Home alone for the weekend… :-)[I]smile
To be continued…[/I]