The passengers going through security lined up in front of a large machine called Siemens. A black band moved into the machine’s mouth. A girl security guard in dark blue stood in front of the machine. She was average-looking, a bit older than me, and bored. Passengers obeyed her brief orders and put their things onto gray trays. After she put the trays on the moving black band, they vanished into Siemens’s giant mouth.
The Thaatima went first. He had to take his computer out of his brown businessman bag. He then put his gold pen, belt, hat, shoes, and mobile on a separate tray. This place was a thief’s paradise! Mrs. Steele was next; she just had her black handbag. I was last. I put my silver cross in a tray by itself—Jesus crucified alone. The girl said to me, “Put your suitcase on the belt, sa.” I swung my red suitcase onto the belt on my third try. I smiled at the girl, but she stared only at the endless black band. A second guard stared at a TV screen on Siemens. Guard No. 3 stood on the other side of the machine, where the trays came out. Most people do not have even one person to look after them; Siemens had three.
Outside the windows, airplanes were lined up full of naked flight attendants. I was looking forward to seeing them.
There was another machine, this one for people. There was a large white plastic hoop with lights; only one guard looked after it. The Thaatima walked through, followed by Mrs. Steele and me. We waited by Siemens for the gray trays with our things in them. The Thaatima put on his hat and shoes, placed his computer back in his businessman bag, and started to check his mobile. The gold pen winked at me. Mrs. Steele took her black bag off its gray tray. My gray tray came last. I put the silver cross back on. I was about to pull my red case off the belt when Siemens’s Guard No. 3 stepped forward. “Sa,” he said. “I need to see your passport and search your bag.” Guard No. 3 had a crooked knife cut down the side of his face.
I took my passport out of my pocket, gave it to Guard No. 3, and smiled. “Jambo. Go right ahead.” Guard No. 3 unzipped my case. He pushed in his hand, pulled it out, and opened his fist. In his palm were five bags of white.
“Come on, ya,” I said to him. “I’z from Kibera. We’z brothas. You’z know you put tha white there.” I had nine cuts on my face; he had only one. But a cut is a cut. We both knew the feel of a blade.
Suddenly, Guard No. 3 shouted “Aah!” and jumped back from my case. The five bags of white fell. The large black spider from my room crawled out of my case. The spider looked about, saw fear everywhere, dropped silk from the table, and ran across the white stone floor. Mad chaos! People jumped back as if the spider was king. Passengers also cried “Aah” in fear. But as the spider sped away a more fearful creature approached fast. “Click, click, click”—the sound of wood on stone. Peg Leg. I knew without looking. I gripped my stomach. Gihilihili came fast toward me. He boomed at Guard No. 3, “Private, what is going on here?”
The guard gave Peg Leg my passport and said, “Chief Gihilihili, sir, I searched the boy’s bag. I found drugs; he’s a runner.” In a second, I understood everything. The caretaker had put the silver cross on my neck to mark me. Guard No. 3 was ready. Gihilihili had been waiting. It was a setup.