Nairobi City Council and Anti-piracy Personnel: Dogs

Did I punch him? Oh yeah. Did I beat them up? Of course, and it felt good, so good. People are not supposed to come to your premises and make wild accusations about you and your activities. People are supposed to be respectful of your space. Even the authorities are supposed to bust into your place like you walk around loaded. They are supposed to ask nicely.

Three days ago, a couple of Nairobi City Council askaris came to my business premises and demanded to see the business registration documents. The certificate was hanging on the wall. Knock yourself out, I retorted pointing at a framed document on the wall. They checked it and left without a word. I went about what I was doing and left shortly afterwards leaving my assistants in charge.

I got a call an hour later, about 10.30am. The buggers were back. I rushed back to my business to see what they wanted. They were accompanied by two tough talking officers of the anti-piracy unit. Apparently somebody reported that my computers were harboring a few gigs worth of pirated material. I told them they weren’t and so they should not waste both of our time. One of them wrote something while the other called someone on their phone and told them to hurry.

The caller asked to check my computers for pirated material and I declined. At this point, I asked to see some sort of identification and prove that they were indeed who they said they were. They did. Then the two council askaris decided there was nothing I could do and they will check even if I refuse. I stood my ground and told them to go to hell or bring a warrant. Unfortunately, things don’t work like that in this country. They restrained me and gained access to one of the computers. It was no point fighting off three grown ass men so I let it go but not for long.

I saw the mop at one corner of the room and in it a great weapon. Without any thoughts I took it and attacked my oppressors. Three of them ran out but the guy going through the computer wasn’t quick enough so he got served. Several punches before he hit the door. The caller promised me misery.

They ran to get the police. My two assistants who were kinda dumb-founded when the scuffle ensued composed themselves and tried to talk sense into me. They argued that I should just pay the council askaris and the anti-piracy goons off and let them be. The damage was already done, I told them. The police came and took me in.

Three days of remand, threats, intimidation and extortion. Three days in a hell hole. All for money. Well, they had me convinced I may never see anyone I knew for a long time unless I bribed someone. How much? Thirty thousand bob. Well you read write, sh. 30,000. I ended up paying sh. 20,000 but it hurts. It hurts to think that someone might have orchestrated this whole show and enjoyed my misery in the shadows. It hurts that the very people supposed to serve and protect us are our predators. I have heard it said that some people would rather meet gangsters at night than meet the police. I think now I know why.

Am I alone in my predicament? You tell me.

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Signed: Dr. Mwas
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Part 1: Poor Beggars

I have heard it said more than once that Kenya is a country of ten millionaires and ten million peasants. If you ask me, I think Kenya is a country of tens of millionaires, tens of millions of poor people and wall in between them. Everyday the rich are getting richer and the poor are getting poorer. It’s the story of our lives.

When a government is made up of hungry hyenas who eat even their own children, a big gap develops between the authorities and their subjects. More often than not, various characters take advantage of the gap created for personal gains. This only adds to the disillusion already rooted in the public. People will always see the government as the enemy. No leader, especially the politicians, remembers he was put there by a society that had faith and believed in him.

When people cry to the government to fill the gap and it ignores them, crime happens. Gangs sprout to govern areas ignored by the administration. They extort, kill, rob, rape and perform other inhumane injustices to the people they claim to police and protect. Those same gangs form coalitions and alliances with the state police and henceforth, they would be untouchable.

When the cry of the people becomes too great, sects are formed. I am not pointing fingers here but that is how a movement like Mungiki thrives. It exploits the gaps left by the central government. It preaches hope and ends up the personal gainer. Just look at what is happening to the matatu industry. How does one go about reversing the whole cycle after they stood there and watched it all happen?

After decades of grand corruption, Kenya’s economy has been reduced to what you could refer to as a past-retail-date retired whore. There is no more revenue to sustain the big mouths of the politicians and the big guys at the top. They are living like kings yet Kenya isn’t a monarchy. In their big tinted cars and helicopters, they see themselves as semi-gods.

The other day I was analyzing the stock market and one thing stood out very clearly: It’s the rich man’s playing field. It’s been proven that if you know what you are doing, you can make millions of shillings from the stock market. Take a stock like Kakuzi, for example. If you bought its shares towards the end of January, now your investment has yielded about 25% (beginning of March). Imagine you had about half a million shillings to play with.

Its time people stopped fearing the monsters that govern them. Civil justice is very sweet. Stand up for the future, don’t live for today...

[[ ...to be continued.]]

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Signed: Dr. Mwas
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At Dawn

Dan stared out into the night, wishing he had a place where pain was a different version of what he felt everyday. He wished he had a home, no matter how unwelcoming. His stomach rumbled and reminding him of something he was all too aware of. The last meal he had was a day ago but he was used to the hunger pans. In fact, Dan consoled himself with the fact that his body had become accustomed to long hours on an empty stomach. His friends called it a survival technique. They slept out in the open, in dark alleys.

His friends were a couple of years older than him. They made him do all the hard work and run more errands than fair. They were all he had and he would rather die than branch out on his own. Dan therefore, did his and most of their part without complaint. Someone had to keep the family together, he consoled himself. He sniffed away at his tube and did his part.

Dan and his friends usually worked at the garbage site. They collected recyclable plastic and paper and sold to some guy who they didn’t care where he took it. The arrangement worked most of the time but sometimes the buyer didn’t come for days. They had to beg for food at times. When begging didn’t work, they resulted to harassment, mugging and shoplifting. The authorities were always after the gang. They had a right to. Dan’s family was not the most law abiding entity. They had to do what they had to just to survive another day.

Trouble and tragedy were always sniffing in Dan’s way. One night in town, a mugging almost went terribly wrong. The victim was a plain clothes policeman. When they came upon him, he whipped out his pistol and fired at them. Luckily no one got hurt. Two months later, Alex and Ben were lynched by an angry crowd who cornered them after snatching a mobile phone and a handbag from a couple near a bus stop. The two were older members of Dan’s gang.

Aged fourteen, Dan saw a bleak future for himself. Everyday he asked God what he did to deserve the kind of life he had. He wondered what kind of mother would let her child rot in the streets. Why was the world so cruel to him? Where were all the good Samaritans? Did anyone even notice he existed? No answer.

The day the government resolved to round them all up and absorb them to the youth service and the education system, Dan saw light at the end of the tunnel. He read opportunity in the initiative. He never imagined going to school at all. He never thought he would. Now, he actually had a chance at life and he was going to take it. When the officials came to take him and his friends to government training institutions he was ecstatic. He ended up at a children’s orphanage. There, he would be fed, clothed, schooled and accommodated. He woke up at dawn the next morning rested and warm. It was the dawn of the first day of the rest of his life.

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Signed: Dr. Mwas
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