…stolen …
I’m travelling solo by my motorcycle from Nairobi to Mombasa, and this is the first time I have left this late. My ideal arrangement is usually to leave Nairobi at 4.30am and get to Mombasa around noon. Today, I just hope to cover most of the road while it’s still light.
I get to Voi and take my first short rest as I refuel. It’s 6.30pm. I have to make a decision to either find a place to sleep and continue the next day, or go on in darkness. I have a pair of my old tyres strapped onto my bike, which I’m delivering to my friend in Mombasa, and he is eagerly waiting for me. The next day I have to be in Kilifi, to meet with my workmates for some field work. I choose to soldier on and spend the night in Mombasa.
I hate riding in the dark. I ride slow because I never like rushing into places I can’t see. To make things worse, the last time I set my headlights I had a pillion. Now they are pointing too low, and I really don’t want to stop to adjust them. It takes me over three hours to cover the 150 kilometres.
This may sound hazardous, but I ride with my twin 35 watt HID lights on high beam, and my bright LED running lights on. I do not have the luxury of being courteous. See, on our roads, once oncoming trucks and buses realise that it’s a motorcycle coming, they will run it off the road. Occasionally I switch on my second pair of LEDs wired to a strobe. I hope that I appear like a freaking freight train approaching. Super annoying to them, but it keeps me super alive. I still get run off the road once, but for the most part I’m fine.
Once in a while I use an old trick I learned when I used to ride an underpowered 125cc motorcycle from Nairobi to Nakuru. I identify a car or truck moving at a pace I like and trail it. It creates a buffer zone for me and keeps me safe.
I get to Mombasa exhausted but in one piece, and stop at a petrol station to wait for my friend to meet me. A bodaboda rider stops to admire my bike. We start talking, and he is amazed that I rode all the way from Nairobi. He tells me that he also rides his small motorcycle to Taveta.
“I always change the oil at Voi, then I go on,” he says.
“You must really love your motorcycle,” I say, wondering why else someone would dump oil after just 150 kilometres.
“I had another one, exactly like this one. It got stolen,” he says wistfully. “If I ever catch that thief I will burn his hands!”
The petrol station’s night guard is slowly walking towards us. I notice the bodaboda guy getting a bit nervous. “Do you remember the other motorcycle I had that was stolen?” He asks the guard. The guard nods.
The bodaboda guy quickly says bye and rides off into the dark streets. The guard keeps walking up to where I am. “That guy is a thief,” he says to me. “He was caught with a motorcycle he stole, and almost got his hands burnt.”
I meet my friend, spend the night in a dingy club, get chewed up by mosquitoes, and in the morning, I’m ready to roll on to Kilifi.
I have never before gone past Haller Park, so I’m quite excited to see a new road. And a beautiful road it is, going past sisal plantations and beautiful coastal landscapes. I really enjoy the ride. My bike is lighter today. And so are my spirits. Once in Kilifi, I give my workmates a call. They just left the airport in Mombasa, and I figure I have about an hour to kill before they get here.
I look for a place to stay, and end up at a backpacker’s place. It’s a nice place. After looking at the accommodation options available, I choose the dorm, which can hold up to seven other guests. Might be a good way to make a friend, I think. There’s already some guys in, but they are just about to check out. I might have the whole freaking dorm to myself, especially since it’s not a weekend. I check in, unload my bike, take a shower and change into lighter clothes. I call a bodaboda guy to take me to meet my workmates.
“Don’t speed,” I say to him. “I don’t like speed.”
“What?” He chuckles. “You just passed by me in town on your big bike… You were speeding!”
Touché.
I meet my workmates and we do field work, which involves listening to some young people talk about contraceptives. It’s intriguing when they finally figure out that they are safe around us, and really talk. Soon we are done. My workmates have to rush back to Mombasa to catch a flight back. I pity them. I plan to spend some time in the evening on a beach.
I go back to my accommodation. Someone has checked into the bed across the hall… Wait, there are two people inside that mosquito net, whispering and giggling…
Wait… What? A pair of love birds has checked into the dorm…? I do my best not to gawk at them.
I leave to get a bite. I have a long ride back to Nairobi the next day, and my immediate worry is whether or not I will be able to catch some sleep tonight. Will the lovebirds keep it quiet? If not, for how long will they NOT keep it quiet? Will I get any sleep? Should I ask to change my accommodation to somewhere else? But the other rooms are above my budget for this stay.
A quick late lunch, then I go down to the beach to take a stroll. Some lovers are frolicking in the shallow water, their hair and shoulders glistening in the setting sun. A young dreadlocked man catches up with me.
“Vipi, Ras?” He says. I get this greeting a lot because of my shaggy hair, and I got used to it. I got used to the ritualistic Ras greeting. I extend my fist to bump his, then hit my chest with meaningful flair. He wants me to follow him to a club nearby and get drunk. I decline. We sit on a ledge and swing our legs as we watch the sun set, like we are old buddies, friends since childhood. He manages to wring two hundred shillings out of me for a couple of black shark teeth. They are not white because they are fossils, he says. He has a small bag full of them, and claims it took him over six months to collect them.
They look nice. I get them for my wife, she always knows how to make things out of such things. He soon leaves, after realising that he won’t be able to squeeze any more out of me, and I’m left alone, staring at the beautiful sight of the sun kissing the sea, and pondering the million dollar question of the day: Will I get any sleep tonight?
Later in the evening, I sit at the lounge, enjoying the music and having a good time watching everyone. I like watching people, and wondering what their story might be. Most of the guests went out to view the sunset and haven’t come back yet. Some of the young men who work at the place have taken the chance to engage in a loud game at the pool table. Through the window I can see someone with really good swimming skills conquering the pool. I’m tempted to get into the water, but I’m a horrible swimmer. Whenever I get into a pool, the pool gets into me.
The two resident German shepherds are weaving in and out among the furniture. One of them stops at a table and stares at a guest who is munching away at something. He stares with that cute begging face that dogs have perfected through years of evolution. The guest ignores him with that superior apathetic aloofness that humans have perfected through years of evolution. I’m wondering how much sleep I will get tonight.
The guests are back. I realise with a bit of trepidation that no one else has checked into the dorm. It’s just the lovebirds and I in the whole hall. They are currently in the lounge too, sited at a table a little distance from me. He is a tall white guy in his thirties, with his hair converging into a small bun at the top of his head. She is a beautiful Kenyan in her mid twenties. They don’t talk much. They stare at their phones a lot. His hands are on her a lot. I quickly figure that maybe I should have found somewhere else to sleep.
My food is ready. I eat, and then settle deeper into the lounge and keep watching the guests in mild amusement. Some guy breaks into a dance in the little clearing, but quickly stops when he realises no one is impressed. The lady that runs the place stands behind the bar and puffs at a cigarette like her life depends on it. Guy in thirties with a bun picks up a guitar, sits with it next to his Kenyan girl and starts playing along the music from the Hi-Fi. I know a bit of music and guitar, so I can tell he really sucks at it. But he knows enough to warm up the oven. If you catch my drift… A couple walks in with about four children in tow. They go out and look at the pool for a short while, before coming back in and settling quietly at one of the tables to wait for their dinner to be ready. Very well behaved kids, those ones. But… Will El Mariachi and the now warmed up oven be well behaved enough to let me catch some sleep?
It’s well into the night now. The lovebirds leave. I figure that they are going to the dorm. I’m also getting sleepy, but decide to give them an hour or so before I go. That’s some courtesy, right? Later when I go to the dorm, they are not in. I switch off the light and settle into my bed. A few minutes later they come in, whispering incessantly. They get into their bed without switching on the lights. They are really still for a moment, and then start moving around. I brace myself for the tumultuous action that is about to go down. I remember that I have earplugs somewhere in my riding jacket. I might need them soon…
“Hello?”
Her soft voice cuts the darkness like a knife. I’m a bit startled. My ears perk.
“Hello?” She is on her phone. “Please come and pick me… Flash me when you get here… Okay…”
I’m elated. I’m confused… What?
A few minutes later he sees her off, and comes back alone. I kind of feel bad for him, but smile and settle even deeper into my bed. I’m relieved, but also a bit nettled that this story has come to an abrupt and premature ending.
THE END
I thought ni kitu ya maana, kumbe ‘stolen’
I thought uliacha kuwasha nduthi?
hekaya iko timam, you know how to write especially hiyo point @snapdragon wanted to borrow your nduthi without permission
Nice read.
Hekaya poa… Though it was all in your head
A beautiful read…
Now this is how you write a hekaya. Kudos to the OP
That’s a great piece
great tale