The girls in turn must have realized our time limitations because by the time I finished the coffee, they were already fully dressed.

Queen muttered something about men's houses having not even a trace of lotion or hair oil and Judy suggested to her to settle in the house and stock it with all the cosmetics that she needed.

"How can I settle in 'your' house?" Queen asked. "I am not a home-breaker," she added and we all smiled. They were hurriedly drinking their coffee and I was pacing, with a cigarette dangling on my lips, impatiently. The five minutes which Muriuki had given me had quadrupled and I was expecting an impatient knock on my door any second.

We were all ready at last but just as we reached the door, ready to move out, Judy broke off and ran back to the bedroom. She came back a minute later holding her head-square in her hand and we started again for the door but Queen broke off and ran towards the W.C.

Judy looked at me and without warning, threw her arms around

my neck and raised her face, closing her eyes and I kissed her long and sweet. However, I could hold her with only one hand because I still had the rifle on the other.

Queen flushed the toilet and we broke our embrace but I could see that Judy's face had become all soft and mellow.

"That, my dear girl," I told Queen, "is what we call the eleventh hour rush. Now, is there anything else to be done in this house?"

They both looked at one another, shook their heads and we all trooped out of the house. I locked up and we started our walk to the Police Station.

Lucky it was Sunday and most of the Police Officers were still in bed, nursing self-inflicted hang-overs and only a few eyes pored over us as we walked to the Police Station.

We passed in front of Charity's house. The door was tightly closed and I could not help imagining that the fellow who was calling on telephone the previous night was in there, savouring his 'morning call-up'.

That though made me quicken my pace involutarily and I shouted to the girls to 'get a move on' and Queen noticed my sudden change of mood because she asked meekly, "What wrong have we done, now?"

"Nothing, sorry—but please let's hurry," I apologised as we came to the Police Station.

"Hey!" That was LP. Muriuki, "Your five minutes have turned to twenty-five and you come here with a whole platoon of women!" He expostulated as I opened the rear door of the van and indicated to Judy and Queen to get in. The van was a Ford Transit which was usually used to transport prisoners to the law courts.

They both hesitated, Judy wringing her hands and it was ony after Kinyua had started the engine of the van that they got nervously in. The men had sat themselves next to the driver's cabin and Judy and Queen sat just next to the door, as if deliberately keeping away from the men in the van.

As I closed the rear door and rushed to the front, Muriuki signalled me to stop and told me; "You are the operation commander and I don't want to hear that anything has gone wrong!" It sounded more of a threat than a warning.

Operation Commander? Of a leopard hunt! Suddently, I started thinking of what we were required to do. We were going to seek a wild animal from its natural habitat and possibly kill him. The animal was a leopard—one of the fiercest cats in the world. This cat had already attacked a man—which meant that it was not going to give in without a fight!

12

I had read and re-read parts of the Wild Animals Act and knew that a wounded leopard is the most dangerous animal one can encounter. When hunting a leopard, one had to shoot to kill. I of course knew where the heart of the leopard was—the first target, or the head—so as to destroy the brain immediately, but, what if one was not in a position for a brain shot? And I was the dammed commander of the hunt.

"Have you ever hunted wild animals?" I asked Onyango.

"Yes. Of course," he readily answered. We were driving down towards Shirere River.

"Using what? Bows, arrows, spears . . ."

"Nets," he said firmly.

"How do you go about netting a leopard?" I asked puzzled. The way Onyango tapped his foot on the floor boards of the van told me that I was going to hear one of his silly, yet funny jokes.

"I didn't mention leopards. I mean I have been hunting fish for a long long time. Are they not wild animals?"

"Yes. They are."

"Does that answer your questions?"

"Yes. Thank you vey much." Kinyua, who had been listening to our dialogue without a word hooted at a cyclist as he overtook him and slowly shook his head.

If the only wild animals that Onyango had met were Kamongos. then I was really going to work for the title of 'Operation Commander'.

"Onyango," I called to him softly.

"Yes, sir!" Mockingly.

"Have you ever seen a leopard?"

"Yes. Several times."

"Dead or alive?"

"I think dead, because they were not moving."

"Where did you see them?" I had to know that.

"In Bata Tourist's Guide to Kenya, June edition." He told me very confidently.

"I see!" I had to swallow that—bitter as it was.

"Anyway, when we come to the thicket or rather when we see the leopard, just blast the S.L.R. on him, okay?" I instructed him.

"Of course, I will make sure that he does not steal any other goat."

"I hope so—just don't panic," I added when I noticed that he was gripping his gun so tight that the knuckles had turned white.

"And what will you be doing?" He asked me.

"I will be there, to help you kill him" I told him as we branched off the main road and joined a dirt road that would lead us to the Chiefs camp where we would know the latest location of the leopard.

About a mile from the main road, the window between the rear and the driver's cabin of the van, was rapped impatiently. I told Kinyua to stop so that I could check on what was going on.

I jumped from the front and ran to the back.

"What is it?" I asked through a side window.

"We would like to alight." Judy told me. I opened the rear door and Queen and Judy alighted.

"So where is your home?" I asked her and she pointed to the right, towards a cluster of thatch houses which were all dwarfed by one large house with corrugated iron sheets and a chimney.

"There," she told me.

"Okay, we shall pass there on our way back to the station," I told her although I was not very sure of that.

1 climbed back into the van and Kinyua started again. Only about three hundred yards from where we had stopped, the window was again tapped. Kinyua stopped and I again went back to the rear of

the van. The men at the rear were already climbing out and one of them, their leader by age and size spoke;

"We shall have to leave the vehicle here. The animal is about half a mile towards this foot-path," he indicated an overgrown foot-path on the left. Already, curious residents were coming one by one and standing at a safe distance to watch us. I went to the front of the van and communicated the information to Kinyua and Onyango.

"Onyango—get off there and let's go and kill a real wild animal not wild fish. You, Kinyua will remain here and look after the van. I can't trust our hosts," pointing to the curious on-lookers, "with the car..." and Kinyua nodded his assent as Onyango climbed out of the van. I added, "I hope we shall not be long . . ." and Kinyua nodded again and wished me luck. I needed it.

Onyango was looking like one who had been having dyspepsia for a whole week as he clutched his rifle and walked with me and the four men down the bush-track.

"You are sure it's half a mile?" I asked the leader of the men just to open conversation. Sometimes, half a mile could turn out to be two whole miles.

"Just that or thereabouts—it isn't far from here," he answered me and I turned my head to see a long queue following us. I knew that sucha bunch would be hard to control and I noticed that they had an assortment of weapons from mallets, spears, pangas, clubs and stones. I told the leader to warn them against noise when we reached the thicket where the leopard was hiding.

"Don't worry," he told me, "most of these will not dare venture to two hundred yards from where the leopard is . . ." and he laughed. "Most of these are 'men' only where food is concerned but not where bravery and men's courage are needed!" And he dismissed them with a wave of his hand.

Further down the path, we came to a group of men who, by the startled looks they had on seeing us, must have been doing something illegal or highly suspicious. One had to be physically held by his colleagues to stop him from bolting into the bush.

They exchanged greetings with our group and then fell into a fast

conversation—in their local dialect, which I could easily understand.

Our leader was telling them that we had gone to kill the marauding leopard and that we needed all assistance from the wananchi and that it was unwise of them to smoke 'ijaka' in our presence and .... So that was it. The blighters had been smoking bhangi! One of the raw narcotics which I thoroughly detested, but I did not mention it to them. I had a more difficult task ahead.

Our leader signalled us to go ahead and we crossed a stream which was lined with wild bush and lianas. Suddenly, the air was filled with shrilling and chirping noises from insects and birds and I knew that we had entered the forest proper.

The bush suddenly cleared on our left, to expose a grassy glade and further on was a thicket which looked like an island in the sea of grass.

Around the thicket, standing ten feet apart, were men with spears, clubs and sticks. One of them put his finger on his lips, as a signal for silence as we approached them.

"He is here," one of them told us pointing to the thicket of thorn bush around a tall eucalyptus tree which stood, drooping its branches to caress the tops of the shorter trees, like a Maasai father blessing his children.

"Where particularly is he?" I asked him. I was using a loud voice because I could not bring myself to whisper. Whispers have a scaring effect on me and I don't like them!

"He should be at the base of the tall tree," he whispered.

"Are you sure? Speak up! The leopard knows you are here already and whispering won't change his mind!" I was playing for time. I did not know what would have prompted me to go into that bush and seek the cat out!

'•Yes. Yes— of course. We have been here since he entered the bush and we would have noticed if he left. We have some dogs which we had leashed and we can use them to get him out of the bush," he told me and I fell more confident. At least there was something to seek the cat out.

"Send for the dogs, then . . . and don't bring the whole village here.

We are going to use guns and needless to say, bullets do not know the difference between human beings and leopards ..." I warned him as he told one of the guides to go and call the boys with the dogs. I looked at Onyango and noticed that he was holding his rifle, muzzle pointing down and he was chewing a blade of grass.

"Stop eating grass! The leopard might mistake you for a goat and . . . " before I finished, Onyango had thrown the blade of grass far away, had spat twice and held his gun at the ready with his eyes bulging. I lit a cigarette to hide a smile and when I had puffed only twice, one of the guides told me to stop smoking, as the leopard could be riled by cigarette smoke and attack us before we were ready! I threw the cigarette on the grass and crushed it under foot.

From our left came the cacophonous chorus of yaps, yelps and barks and whines and I looked to see a parade of mongrels of different colours and sizes, all straining against their leashes in the haste to enter the thicket.

The dog show in Nairobi would have scored zero against the paraded specimens. I hoped that they would at least keep the leopard busy while I aimed and shot. The handlers of the dogs were admonishing them to be orderly without much success and when the noise grew unbearable, I told the boys to release them.

13

I held my breath as the mad pack entered the bush at different points and waited for the first sign of the leopard.

"Onyango, go to that side... " I pointed to the far end of the forest "and wait for him there." I waited for Onyango to go but he did not.

"Onyango—you heard me?" I tried to sound commanding.

"Yes, sir, I heard you but . . ."

"But what?" He was looking down at the grass.

"I'd like to be near you," he said with finality.

"But, we ..." I stopped. A pained shriek came from within the thicket and about a dozen dogs appeared from various points in the bush, all with their mouths very open and their tails between their

hind legs. I looked at the scattering dogs and then raised my eyes just in time to see a blur of movement on my right. Onyango was standing on my right and I could not fire at the fleeing leopard without blasting him dead.

The rest of the men all started running towards where the leopard had entered the bush and any shot from my gun would have killed a man. They were all shouting to the dogs to follow and I also found myself shouting at the top of my voice and running towards the same spot. A few men had been able to release their weapons but I guess none had even touched the leopard. The leopard had then reached the fringe of the forest and disappeared into the undergrowth.

I shouted to the men to stop and they all obeyed. All in all, without counting Onyango, there were about twenty men and I had to use my loudest voice to make them understand.

"Don't run in front of me!" I shouted at them against the noise of the barking dogs. "Keep behind me and wait for me to shoot the damned beast! We are here to kill only the leopard—not a man for God's sake!" I was wondering why the bastards had not tried to kill the leopard before our arrival.

"Now, let the dogs seek him out again and I will try to shoot him—do you hear?" And some nodded with shiny faces full of sweat. I also had to wipe sweat from my face although the hour was still before 0900.

The dogs entered the bush again all howling and barking and a second later, most of them came out of the bush with their tails folded and I peered at the point where they had exited the bush. Inside there, a dog let out two whining yelps and then all fell silent.

The sun was coming up and making patterns of light on the undergrowth and these patterns all looked like leopards to me. Sweat had got into my eye and was making focussing very difficult as I had to blink and blink.

I looked carefully again and thought that I saw one light pattern which was not swaying with the movement of the wind like the others. I carefully lifted my rifle, aimed, held my breath and emptied the whole clip often onto that pattern.

Beyond the roar of the bullets, I thought I heard a screaming noise as the leopard, now wounded, left the bush and headed back for the island thicket, being trailed by three dogs which still had some fight in them while the rest of the pack followed at a far distance. I only had time to re-load and follow his entry into the thicket with a hail of bullets, noting with dismay that four or five dogs went down with the bullets while the rest wavered in their pursuit, hesitated and then about-turned and headed for various directions, all away from the thicket. The leopard once again shot into the undergrowth.

Deafening silence followed the volley of bullets and I had to wriggle my fingers in my ears before I could hear what was going on around me. The men were whispering again—this time saying that the beast was definitely shot and that he would need only one bullet to 'finish him off. I also thought I heard some groaning from the thicket. On looking around, I could not see Onyango anywhere and I asked the nearest man where he had gone. Instead of the man answering me, he pointed towards the bush-track that we had entered the glade by and by the way he shook his head with a half smile, I knew that Onyango must have made a hurried exit. I dismissed him and concentrated all my attention on the bush.

I had to smoke or I would have blown my top off. I did not care whether the leopard would be riled or pleased but I found that if I did not smoke—I was not going to fire that rifle again. I also had a chance to wipe the sweat from my face and blow my nose. The cordite fumes had already started an itch in my throat but I held it back. The men in turn had collected their weapons and had re-assembled some three dogs which did not look very enthusiastic about the hunt any more.

"I think I have wounded the demon. If you could muster enough courage and seek him out again, I will finish him," I told them as I crushed the cigarette filter under my heel. The men exchanged glances but none of them looked at me.

"You could seek him out with bullets," one of them suggested. I shook my head, "But, I do not know where particularly he is—one would need a cannon to blow up the whole bush here if. . ." and I

stopped as pounding feet approached the glade. I turned and saw Kinyua, wielding a self loading rifle running towards us with four administration Policemen—all in uniform following him. I guessed they must have dressed to escort the Chief to a function. They were all armed with batons! Behind them came a rowdy crowd of gesticulating shouting men. These were the men who had waited at a safe distance for the kill to be made so that they could come and celebrate, 1 thought ruefully.

Kinyua came and stopped in front of me. "Have you got him?" He asked breathlessly.

"1 think I have wounded him—seriously—but maybe he is still alive. Onyango returned to the car—eh?" I asked him.

"Yes. I am sorry, Fred but do you know something ... he will have to walk back to the station. I am not going to have him in the car after what he has done to you!" Kinyua vowed and clicked his tongue and then added, "But first things first—where is the animal?" He asked recovering his breath. I pointed to the bus with the muzzle of the gun. Kinyua had the rifle ready and was trembling with ecstasy. 1 turned to the A.P.s.

"As you are not properly armed, just keep off the firing line and be read} with your eyes only. The beast is moving with lightning speed from one bush to the other and spotting his point of entry into the bush is very important."

The guides still had the four dogs, which were not as eager to attack as previoulsy. I told them to release them into the bush but. try as they could, the dogs would not enter the bush. They stood their ground firmly and growled bare-fanged with their spinal hairs bristling. The men started whipping the dogs and I told them to stop. I was averting my eyes from the tour carcasses which had died of my bullets but Kinyua forced me to look at them: "Did the leopard kill those dogs?" He asked and 1 answered him in a single word, "Yes."

"What do we do now'" He turned to me for guidance.

"I think what we shall do is throw missiles into the bush and the leopard will CO me out agam." I turned to the men and told them what I thought we should do but one AIV opposed the idea.

"I think if the animal is wounded, he will not have much fight left in him. I could try and go inside and rouse him again." He added. I looked at him and noticed that he was merely a youth. One of the people employed, not because of loyalty and devotion to the State, but just to earn their daily bread. Like Onyango, I thought the closest he had got to a leopard was on a magazine page.

"Do you know how dangerous a wounded leopard is," I asked him, dismayed.

He looked at me as if by doing so he would read how much knowledge I had of leopards and he answered, "Yes," confidently.

"And yet you suggest that you will confront him?"

"Well, he might not even be wounded. I . . . ."

"Why don't you go into the bush!" I shouted at him. "Why don't you go in there bare-handed? You think you are going to accost a goat—don't you?" I was fuming furiously.

Instead of answering me, he held his baton firmly and started walking towards the thicket. All of us were watching him as he passed where the four carcases of the dogs lay and headed straight for the opening where the cat had entered the thicket. He hesitated for a second before he bent his head and parted the bushes with his hands.

14

Then, the scene exploded in a blur of movement and I saw the big cat pounce on him with such speed that the A.P. did not even have time to cover his face.

It hit him fully on the chest with the front legs and man and beast landed in a heap—the leopard on top. It had held him on the neck with both front paws and the hind legs started raking him with quick printer's strokes, like it was painting a crude picture with its claws on his belly and thighs, using red paint. The man screamed once, a gurgling form of a groan and then the whole crowd of men surged forward towards them.

Kinyua was a bit faster than most of them and reached the heap

before all. He had his gun at the ready but I guessed he would not use it on the leopard without shooting the A.P. He turned, dropped the rifle which exploded as a bullet fired itself automatically, grabbed a club from the nearest man and swung the clup overhead and brought it down with full force on the head of the leopard. The blow made the leopard scream as it tried to turn to face the new attacker but Kinyua had already raised the club again and brought it down between the eyes of the leopard. He lifted the club again and again brought it down and I noticed that Kinyua was also screaming.

The head of the leopard burst like an over-ripe pumpkin but Kinyua still swung the club—up and down—up and down— battering the animal. The rest of us were watching—horrified by the insanity of Kinyua's strokes. His face was shining with tears and sweat and his clothes from belly downwards were splashed with blood and brains from the leopard. He went on even after the leopard was apparently dead.

I went to him and called him softly but he did not seem to hear. I had to hold him and drag him away and even as he left the mess he had created, he was still muttering incoherently and tears were still streaming from his eyes. He was shaking like a naked man on a snowy mountain top and then he suddenly steadied himself, retched once and sicked copiuosly on the grass. He looked down at his trousers and again sicked and I had to hold him to stop him from falling. He was staggering drunkenly.

The rest of the crowd had all gathered at the place where the A. P. lay, with the leopard still holding his neck in an obscene hug and were trying to release the neck of the A.P. from the leopard's grip. The leopard's claws had embedded themselves into the man's neck and I guess they had even curved further at death.

I sat Kinyua down, left him holding his head in both hands and joined the others. The leopard was the biggest I had ever seen and even minus its head, it still looked fierce. It had stretched itself beside the A.P., whose belly, groin and thighs were all fleshy mangled wounds and blood. 1 noticed with dismay that the A.P.'s belt of thick leather had been clawed into two. One look at his face, though

covered with blood and brains and skin pelts from the leopard told me that we did not need a First Aid team for him. I felt bile rush to my mouth and swallowed it bitterly.

Most of the men who were with us were howling mournfully and the din they were creating was beyond description. Some were rolling on the ground while others were pulling their hairs and beating their chests.

The only calm persons were the A.P.s. They were bending over their dead colleague's body trying to prise the leopard's claws from his neck. They stood and gave me room when I bent over the bodies.

"Jesus Christ!" I mouthed and suddenly crossed myself, not to bless the dead but to sanctify myself from the blasphemy and the A.P.s looked at one another. From the corner of my eye, I thought I saw one A.P. cross himself.

The long claws had gone so deep that when I tried to pull the right paw clear of the neck, the whole head of the dead A. P. was lifted from the ground and fresh blood started flowing from the wounds. Some flies had already started buzzing around us, some settling on the dead A.P's belly-pit and thighs and some even trying to settle on my eyes. I brushed them away and again tried to prise off the leopard's claws.

"Hold his head firmly down," I told one of the A.P.s and he held the dead A.P's head down with his own head turned to one side, and his eyes tightly closed.

I heaved, holding both leopard's paws and the claws ripped off some flesh as they disengaged from the neck. The force I had exerted sent me sprawling on the grass on my back and I quickly stood up.

I bent over the A.P., touched over his heart and certified him dead.

The crowd, which had by then doubled its size was chanting war songs and slashing at the bushes with their weapons while others were pounding the ground with their clubs and sticks in a frenzied orgy which, to watch, was both fascinating and saddening.

They were then chanting a rhythmic song—with one group calling the tune while the rest answered in time with the beating of feet on the ground and the thud of the clubs. The word % ingwe % was prominently featured in their song.

Then, all of a sudden, they all converged at the body of the leopard and hacked and clubbed and slashed and after only about five minutes, what was left of the leopard was only a muddy mess of bones, blood, flesh and pulpy nothingness. Then, they resumed their war dance.

I was watching them all this time, not knowing what to say otAo but feeling a hollow in my belly—a sign of utter loss. The leopard was dead—yes—but, with it, a man. I remembered that it was me who had provoked him into that silly act of going into the thicket. I was biting my lower lip ruefully, trying to think of an appropriate way of apologising to the crowd but finding no suitable words. Then, someone touched me on the shoulder and startled me back to the present. I thought it was the crowd coming for their revenge and I turned sharply and saw an Assistant Chief, in full uniform, from boot to beret, standing beside me. There were also other people and I noticed that even women had joined the crowd.

15

"What are we going to do?" he asked in a soft feminine voice. I cleared my throat.

"We shall have to remove the body to the mortuary for post mortem and ... of course the remains of the leopard" I answered him.

"Will the body of the officer be removed from here without having been photographed?" he asked me, twitching his whiskers and looking like Solomon.

I did not know how to answer that one. Yes, bodies were supposed to be photographed at the scenes of death where possible. I had no right to remove the A.P.'s body before the photographs were taken.

I again understood what his question meant to him. The photographs were not only to show the lie of the body but there was a widely held belief that the photograph would even show the killer of a person

Even when a person was killed at one place and the body dumped

at a different place, there was a belief that the photograph would show the killer and in some instances, even the weapon used.

"I guess you are right," I told the Assistant Chief, "we shall leave these other officers guarding the body while we rush to Kakamega and call the Scenes of Crime Team from Kisumu. We would have called Kakamega Police Station from the van but the 'over-over' is out of order. I used 'over-over' because it was the popular name for the V.H.F. set, by the public.

"Yes, we should do that but I don't think there is any need for you people to drive all the way to Kakamega. I will send one of my men on a bicycle and he can take your message to Kakamega. Meanwhile, I would like you to join me in my house which is near here for a cup of tea or a beer if you would prefer ..." and I felt that I would do with a beer.

"Give the instructions to the officers," I told the Assistant Chief. I could not bring myself to tell them myself because I still felt that I had been responsible for the officer's death. "Tell them to make sure that the body is not touched by anyone before the photographs are taken or before our return."

Out of the crowd, someone had brought a blanket and it had been spread over the body. Due to their closeness, part of the leopard's remains, now having more flies than a Maasai manyatta, was also covered by the blanket in what looked like mutual comradeship in death.

I checked on my clips of ammunition and noticed that I had expended twenty rounds. Twenty rounds of the 303 ball which had resulted in the death of a leopard, four dogs and an Administration Policeman!

There was no way of bringing order among the enchanted mob of mourners and we left them to their grief. As we left, I thought I could smell bhangi being smoked somewhere in the crowd and I saw, from the corner of my eye, a gourd, which must have contained an alcoholic drink, being passed around.

Kinyua led the way, holding the rifle indolently and 1 hoped and prayed that his hysterics were over and he would not do anything

stupid to Onyango—with the gun. I followed him, puffing furiously at a cigarette—now that the leopard was dead—and the Assistant Chief, followed by a few mourners dosed the rear. We met more and more people on the way going to the scene. Most of them had to press themselves against the wall of thorny bush to let us pass while others hailed us and even others picked short conversations with those who followed us.

The walking distance from the scene to the road seemed longer this time and I was panting as we reached the van. Onyango was sitting at the front, clasping his hands under his chin. Kinyua handed me the rifle and went straight for the driver's door.

"Go to the back of the van—we have an Assistant Chief who will sit at the front," he told Onyango in a falsetto which was more commanding than the actual words.

Onyango obeyed and by the way the Assistant Chief said hello to him, I thought the two had met earlier.

The Assistant Chief got into the front of the van and I joined him while Onyango went to the rear and Kinyua got in and started the van. He engaged the gear and drove off as a dozen or so people tried to wave at him to stop while others were shouting at him. Kinyua turned a deaf ear to all of them and I immediately knew what had happened.

Kinyua had locked the rear door of the van, and his telling Onyango to go to rear was just a way of making him step out of the car. He had carried out his threat of not allowing Onyango to ride in the van! 1 had to stop him.

"Kinyua please ... we cannot leave him here . . . just stop ..." 1 commanded although I was not feeling in a very commanding mood especially when the command to be delivered was to wait for Onyango, who had, incidentally, let me down!

"We are only going to the Assistant Chiefs place and the place is not very far. He can walk the distance . . ." and he accelerated even more as we bumped along the road and I could not bring myself to ftrgUC with him. I peered through the window connecting the driver's cabin to the rear of the \an and 1 noticed that the rear door was all

I5K

metal plates and as such I could not see what was going on behind

the van. The Assistant Chief was looking at his hands as if he had not seen them before. I sighed as we reached the path leading to the Assistant Chiefs home and Kinyua slowed, pressed the indicator lever and turned left into the path.

It was overgrown with grass and only two clear ruts were on either side of the road and Kinyua had to concentrate on his driving fully, while I looked at the land around us.

Lining the road were flowers of differnt kinds, while beyond the flowers, I noticed that the residents grew the same crops as are cultivated in my native district—Nyeri.

Maize, beans, bananas, coffee, though in very small scale, numerous varieties of citrus fruits including guavas, oranges, grape-fruit and many, many more. There were rows upon rows of potatoes, green and healthy looking and even the sweet potato runners were so much alive.

16

I was enjoying the vista so much and the arrival at a barred gate interrupted it. We had reached the Assistant Chiefs home. 1 had to get out first so that the Assistant Chief could alight and he went to the metal gate and shook it, making it rattle loudly. On either side of the gate ran a barbed wire fence which was implanted with cedars. There was evidence that the cedars were watered every day but their growing progress looked mangled and stunted. I guessed that the climatic zone was not suitable for them. As we were waiting for the gate to be opened, I turned to the Assistant Chief.

"We have very good farmers here," 1 told him, waving my hand to cover a wide area.

"Yes, thank you. But there are some who still worship l kwete' forgetting their land. I have to almost force my neighbours to tend their farms and that is why you find very promising crops. Further inside the location are some tracts of land which have been left idle

or uncared for and I sometimes wish the Government would enact a law, penalising those who leave their land idle." I was shaking my head sagely as a youth came running down the path to the gate.

The Assistant Chief gave him an admonishing scowl and told him a few bitter words all aimed at reminding him how precious time was—how the gate should be answered promptly—especially when the 'honourable chief had 'honourable visitors' in an 'honourable government vehicle.'. He crowned it all by telling the youth to at least affect good manners while there were visitors around. The youth was nodding his head as he heaved with all his strength to open the ten-stone gate.

At last the gate opened and glided smoothly on its hinges and the Assistant Chief signalled to Kinyua to drive in while he trotted up the path, telling the youth to re-latch the gate.

Inside, I saw three hirstute Angora goats cropping at the short grass on what looked like an evenly mown lawn. Kinyua had driven further ahead and parked beside an old junk of a car which I thought had long ceased to be used on the road, but he was still sitting at the wheel of the van.

"You have some very fine goats here!" I exclaimed to the Assistant Chief who smiled contentedly and dismissed them with a wave of the hand.

"They would have been even better looking, except they had worms which cost me a fortune to eradicate," he told me. The goats would not have been any better to me. With their distended bellies and shiny coats of fur, they looked fine although I could not know what had distended their bellies worms or fat.

I he\ gazed at us briefly, with the characterstic bovine nonchalance and went on crunching harshk at the grass. There were three thatch rooted mud walled houses and we walked on until we came loan imposing stone house which was flanked on either side by smaller mud walled houses with iron sheet roofs and as we neared the door ol the big house, out came a girl.

1 had complete!) forgotten Judy and seeing her again made me catch m\ breath, miss a step and what the Assistant Chief was telling

me about the homestead. I had not even connected the home to the dwelling she had indicated as she alighted from the van earlier. She had changed clothes and she looked so radiant and warm and I could not help regretting I had not done what the previous night ....

When she saw us, she stopped mid-stride and opened her mouth but nothing came out of it. The Assistant Chief spoke, pointing at her. "This is my daughter—the third—she finished school about two years ago and has been lying here idle—she can't get a job—or a husband . . ." and he chuckled. Judy had retreated into the house.

"What class?" I asked and turned towards the van and noticed that Kinyua was still at the wheel.

"Form Four—she had fifty four points! I don't know what other passing these employers want. Every letter of application is answered 'regret. . . regret," and he clucked his tongue in either annoyance or disgust.

"Sorry to hear that," I tried to console him, 'let me go and see what the driver wants in the car," I broke off and walked to the van.

"Aren't you coming out for the 'Mukasa's cup of tea—I bet there will be some beer" I asked Kinyua.

"You tell him to bring mine here—I will be guarding the car and you can also leave your gun here—there is no point in going with the guns there like home-guards on a raid," he told me.

"But, they are used to guns now. I . . . ."

"No! Please remember the state my clothes are in."

"Oh! Sorry . . .1 understand.I understand ... I had forgotten.I will tell him to deliver whatever he has to the car and d'you know what, the girl you gave a lift in the morning is his daughter," I told him turning slightly to see whether the Assistant Chief was within earshot. 1 noticed that he was still standing at the door.

"You mean the girl we brought from Kakamega this morning?" he asked.

"Yes—she is the one who was standing at the door just now."

"You and women! I wish 1 had the same stamina as you," he looked envious. "How they all fall for you and you are not their tribe."

"Diplomacy, man! Tactical diplomacy and of course a little bit of luck and also a bit of sacrifice ... a hell of a combination—eh? 1 laughed out loud as I walked back to the Assistant Chief after handing over the guns to Kinyua.

I told the Assistant Chief why Kinyua would not leave the vehicle and he understood at once. He then looked behind me and I saw his lips curl in a smile and I also turned and saw Onyango—with the youth who had opend the door for us at his feet, marching purposefully up the path. He had a way of concealing his feelings and one look at him would not have told me what he felt about the whole episode. He passed the Police van without as much as throwing a glance at it and came directly to where we were. I expected him to start complaining about what we had done to him but instead he just removed his handkerchief, wiped his brow and said, "Phew—that was a real healthy exercise—walking all that way!"

We exchanged embarrassed glances and then we all entered the big house. The room we immediately found ourselves in must have been the table-room—sofa sets lined the wall—all bedecked with embroidered cloths and occasional tables littered the middle of the room which was warm and inviting.

"Welcome . . . please sit down," to us and then he raised his voice, "Mai . . . !" and I heard Judy answer from somewhere within the house. I was looking at the walls which were embellished with framed portraits of the Assistant Chief and what must have been his family. Dwarfing all these was a wreathed portrait of the Head of State.

The table-room looked highly cared for and classy.

17

Judy came into the room from a door at the far end of it and the Assistant Chief had some words for her about undue shyness and then ordered her to shake our hands.

"You tell her your names and she will tell you hers. You are the ones who practice English mannerism" and he smiled as he sat

himself on a straight-back chair at the corner, near the window while we shook Judy's hand. Onyango was nearer her and he said,"Timan Onyango—child of God." And he crinkled his face, pretending to be hurt by Judy's shake. I was not amused.

"Judy Nekesa Wepukhulu," she said and then came to me. I was praying that she would not do anything stupid—that would arouse suspicion—as she shook my hand.

"Fred Wamatu," I said in a voice scarcely above a whiper. She had twisted her fore-finger in a way and was tickling the inside of my palm.

"Judy . . ." she stopped, looked at me, looked at the unceilinged roof and pulled her hand away even before I had time to practise the English mannerism of 'glad to meet you'!

"Your mother has not yet come from church?" the Assistant Chief asked. 1 looked at him and noticed that he had doffed his beret and his head was all grey with very little streaks of black.

"No. I think they have left the church and are at the place where the leopard is . . . was being killed." I noticed the change of tense.

"And we did not meet her on the way ... anyway, you will take her place.—After all you should be practising running your own home. I am almost eager to start drinking your bride-price before you spill it or drink it alone in bars." He was saying all those words with a half-smile and Judy was so embarrassed she was shuffling her feet and wringing her fingers and twitching her lips. She looked so beautiful! "Well, go to the cupboard and see whether there is any beer left and bring it all hefe ... and call Masinde for me." He instructed.

"That leopard is a curse to my family," he addressed us, "it almost killed my brother the other day and killed two of my sister's dogs yesterday. This morning it snatched the goat of my brother-in-law and the most severe blow has come in the death of that officer. If I would relate properly—that is my son. His father and I attended the same initiation ceremony! Such a promising hard-working youth! Now gone beyond reach! There must be someone in the family who has done something which has turned our ancestors'spirits against us and they are punishing us. After the burial, I am going to assemble

my clan for absolution rites. Except I am a Christian at heart, I would have summoned Wetangula, the location witch-doctor for prognosis but, I want to do away with all those traditional beliefs now."

I noticed that he had developed a far away look and even his face appeared a bit older. I was slowly shaking my head in sympathy and wondering how much longer Judy was going to take to fetch those beers.

The youth—Masinde—came in and started. "You sent for me?" but the old man cut him short, repeated the same counselling he had done at the gate, putting on extra emphasis on the kind of manners which the youth should portray to strangers and then ordered him to shake our hands.

He shook our hands with a dirty hand and I had to surreptitiously remove what looked like a speck of cow-dung from my thumb.

"That's better," Wepukhulu said. "Now go and fetch water and a towel for the visitors to clean their hands." Masinde left and Judy came in, balancing several beers on a tray. She hesitated, I guessed not knowing where to put the tray until her father told her to put it on the table next to me. That done, she left and I counted eight bottles of White Cup and three Tuskers, on the tray, before Judy came back with three glasses and placed a glass each at our tables.

"I can't locate the opener," she told her father while gazing at the door. She was standing only three feet away from me.

"Take this" Onyango had one at the ready, "and keep it," he added. He was seated next to me and I felt a surge of annoyance pass through me.

Judy took the opener from Onyango and started saying, "Sorry, there are no Exports," as she opened a White Cap for me and then she must have realised what she was saying because she checked herself, looked side-long at her father and opened the White Cap for me.

"Docs Wamatu drink Export only?" Onyango opened his dirty mouth and Wepukhulu turned to us. Judy hesitated before opening Onyango*! I ittker and when she did, the effort she applied was so Unions that a lot of foam and beer spilled from Onyango's bottle. I had to change the subject.

"There's the driver in the van outside," I pointed out.

"Oh! Yes. See how easily we forget things! And what happened to Masinde? These young boys!" Wepukhulu's exclamation sent us all laughing as the door opened and Masinde came in with a basin half-full of water, a towel slung over his shoulder and a piece of soap floating in the water. He placed the basin on the floor at my feet and I washed my hands, taking care to remove any blood from the nails and wondering whether Onyango would need to clean his hands.

"You don't need to clean your hands, or do you?" I asked him as Masinde pushed the basin towards him and I was towelling my hands.

"Why not? For hygiene, one has to wash his hands before and after every meal," he said as he soaped his clean hands thoroughly.

Judy had already taken a bottle of White Cap to Kinyuaat the car and she presently came back with the bottle and said that Kinyua, had said that he would not drink any beer at that hour and would prefer a soda or a cup of tea.

"Then get him a bottle of soda, I am sure there are still some," Wepukhulu told her as he took a swig from his bottle. He had a glass but was not using it. Judy went to the inner room again and came out with two bottles of Fanta which she took to Kinyua outside.

Wepukhulu had once again started his lamentations over the 'curse' in the family but I was only listening half-heartedly. He had sent Masinde to the hen-coop to select three one-colour hens, tie their legs and keep them ready.

I was in the middle of my second beer when the unmistakable sound of a land-rover engine came to our ears. I looked through the window and saw the white Police land-rover outside. The driver was talking to Kinyua.

"Those will be the photographers," I told Wepukhulu and we all left our beers and went outside.

I greeted the driver and he told me that he had left the Scene of Crime Personnel a the scene and had just come to fetch me. I knew that the photographs would have been taken even without me, but. 1 remembered that there were professional divisions in the Police Work.

While the Scenes of Crime took photographs, the General Duties personnel from the Station had to get the list of the witnesses who saw the incident while the Criminal Investigation Department recorded the statements of those witnesses and the Prosecution Branch would conduct the Inquest in court. Every department had its role, except the Special Branch who acted like unconcerned spectators, making me wonder why the Government needed such a department.

And one day. I was brave enough to ask the District Special Branch Officer Kakamega what thev did behind the doors marked KNOCK AND WAIT"

He smiled at me, the way you would smile at a mad man you knew, and answered me in one single word; "Plenty," and then quickly changed the subject by remarking about a woman who was passing h >

"Do you know her?" he asked me.

"No, I don't," 1 answered him. "You should ... she is the K.A.N. U. Vice-Chairman in Butsotso I ocation. excuse me," and he left me to go and greet the woman. I looked right and left and marched off, vowing that I would one day endeavour to know what they did—I mean what role they played in the complicated gears and wheels o\ Government machinery.

As at that day, when I was climbing into the S.O.C. land-rover to go to a scene ot death, it being three months since I had questioned the D.S.B.O.. I still did not know what the department did.

Jud) came running from inside the house just as I was slamming the door of the land-rover shut. She stopped some six feet from the car. threw an eye at the van where her father had got in and asked lOftl)

" Vc you coming back.'"

"> cs." i answered in a whisper.

"Please " she was saying and then her father called her.

"We are going to the scene again and I hope that we shall be back soon—prepare lunch . . . okay?" Wepukhulu told her.

"Yes." she answered and walked back to the house. The Land-rover started and we followed Kinyua's van w hich was already ahead of us.

We left both vehicles at the same spot where we had left them earlier. The S.O.C. team had brought a stretcher from Kakamega Police Station and Onyango. even without being told by anyone, removed the stretcher from the land-rover and wanted to carry it all the way to the scene but Wepukhulu ordered a by-stander to carry it. The fellow silently obeyed. I noticed that the residents had a lot of respect for their Assistant Chief.

The beer I had taken had cleared the melancholia and cob-webs in me and I was hearing and seeing things in very sharp perspective. The insects which had been dominant in making noise in the morning had quietened down but had been replaced by various birds. I thought I could even hear the shrill screeching of a spider-monkey—an animal I had heard was a delicacy for the residents.

The animal and bird sounds escorted us until we crossed the river and then gave way to the mourning song from the scene of death. Even a drum had been brought and I could hear its 'tom-tom' from far off.

The mourners were less hysterical this time but their number had trebled. Women had easily outnumbered the men and as we entered the glade, I could see that the dancers had moved to one side and had left the S.O.C. officers at the bodies.

The photographs had already been taken and after I exchanged greetings with the officers, the body was placed on a stretcher.

Wepukhulu then handed me something wrapped in an old newspaper. I unwrapped it, not having the vaguest idea w hat it would be and found twenty-one empty cartridges. Someone had been very careful in collecting the shells from my gun and the one from Onyango's which had automatically fired on being dropped by Kinyua. I thanked Wepukhulu. Then I told him to get some wananchi to help carry the corpse to the vehicles and when he told them that we needed bearers for the stretcher, the whole crowd

surged forward and the stretcher, normally carried by only two persons, was carried by more than a dozen men and women. Some, who could not get a place to hold it were holding onto those who were actually carrying it and we started on our journey back to the road, leaving the remains of the leopard at the scene, and escorted by the mourning song of the pall-bearers.

The crowd led us, singing, while I fell back and we started a light conversation with the officers from Kisumu.

They complained about the number of fatal accidents on the roads, which were keeping them busy every hour of the day and night; about the new Provincial Police Officer at Nyanza who had come from North Eastern Province with a war-operational mind; about the hippo which mauled a tourist at Hippo Point.

I was still very much aware that I had left a half-full bottle of beer at Wepukhulu's. I wanted to go and finish it plus of course seeing Judy and at least arranging a date as well as collecting the three hens that I was sure were intended for us.

I was planning that the S.O.C. team would take the body to Kakamega General Hospital mortuary, escorted by Onyango, while I could possibly urge Kinyua to rush me to Wepukhulu's house.

"I don't think we shall need to go to Kakamega. I will send the photographs as soon as they are ready. We had better rush back to Kisumu," the head of the S.O.C. team told me, interrupting my thoughts and making me stop abruptly. What of the beers? I almost asked him! 1 had to try and convince him.

"I thought you would take the body to the morgue, seeing that you have B land-rover. We have only the van and it is not designed to carry a stretcher," 1 pointed out to him, waving my hands at each item as 1 mentioned it and pleading with my eyes which I was trying to open wider than normal and gazing at the fellow!

'\\ e*d like to in fact very much," he could not look at me. "But you see 0U1 mobile V. H.F. set is out of order and we would not know when we are required unless we were at the base. This is the end-of-month week-end and we unfortunately expect more calls than usual " He told me and I forced myself to understand.

Ltf

Kinyua opened the rear door of the van and the stretcher was slid in. It could not fit in and had one end protruding outside the van. Two A.P.s joined it in the rear while one was to go back to the Chiefs office and make a formal report. Onyango said that he would sit at the rear of the van—to stop the stretcher from sliding out. I guessed he did not want to walk back to Kakamega.

Wepukhulu insisted that he would accompany us to Kakamega and I bye-byed the S.O.C. team as they waved heartily and left.

The crowd had then formed a ring around the van and were singing and dancing—calmly. Kinyua started the car and had to drive slowly—to avoid raising the death toll for the day, and when we were clear of the people, he stepped on the gas and the vehicle bumped on the rough road until we reached the tarmac. The change from the rough road to the smooth tarmac made me feel as if the vehicle was not moving at all.

At Kakamega General Hospital mortuary, we filled the necesary forms, which I signed and one A P. counter-signed and then deposited the body, after I had searched it. There wasn't much! A few shillings, a bunch of keys, his certificate of appointment and a dirty handkerchief.

Except for the certificate of appointment, which I handed to Wepukhulu for forwarding to the Chief, I handed all the items to the A.P.s. Then we all drove to Kakamega Police Station.

I was ready to answer any questions but, contrary to my fears, that I would be blamed for the death of the A.P., no one seemed to know what part I had played.

The sergeant was there to take the rifles back to the armoury and he congratulated me when I handed the expended shells to him.

Kinyua was supposed to drive Wepukhulu and company, back to Chavakali but the way the sergeant ordered him to do it had riled him since he told the sergeant point blank in front of all around that he would not drive that van any more on that day. He told the sergeant further that it was a Sunday, that he had been working since morning to that hour—1600 precisely—and that it was high time the Station administrators, the sergeant included, got another driver for the

station so that they could work in shifts—Amen!

He hung the van key on the rack, filled the work-ticket which he put on the shelf and walked from the station block towards the lines without another word or turning back.

I finished booking the situation report and also walked to my house, after telling Wepukhulu to remind the witnesses that their statements would be recorded the following day at Kakamega Police Station and not at Chavakali—and that therefore, they should make themselves available at Kakamega Police Station as early as 0800 hours.

CHAPTER NINE

The following day, I recorded my statement and handed it to the C.I.D. personnel. I then had a very busy time in the Crime Branch office until about 1500 hours when Judy was ushered into the office by the report officer.

She had a small suit-case with her and before I shook her hand, I looked at her head and noticed that the hair looked unkempt and that her eyes were red, showing that she had been crying.

"Your visitor," the report officer announced and left.

"Welcome . ..." I told Judy and indicated a chair to her. I was in the middle of taking the finger-prints of a confessed burglar. Judy shook her head.

"I'd rather wait for you at your house . . . "she said in a tearful voice.

"What's wrong! What has happened?" I was alarmed.

"Nothing .... I will tell you when you come home," she said and I noticed that she was on the verge of tears. I gave her the key to my house and she left with her head bent in sorrow.

I took the finger-prints extra fast and had to bang the fingers of the

burglar twice—to soften them when they stiffened. Finger-print taking was one job that I claimed to be an expert in but the fingerprints which I took on that day were worse than a novice's!!

1 rushed the burglar back to the cells, went back to the office and hurriedly compiled his file and then ran to my house. I entered without knocking and Judy was not in the table-room and so I went straight to the bedroom. She was there, lying on her tummy on the bed with her suit-case on the floor near the wardrobe.

"Judy, dear, what has happened?" I asked her as I sat on the bed and placed my hand on her back.

She broke off in a fit of sobs and I started feeling the heralds of annoyance. I gave her a minute to get herself under control and then

asked the same question again. I was caressing her back.

"He beat me!" she said through sobs. "He beat me and instead of father defending me, he also beat me! I am not going back there! I'd rather die! She raved uncontrollably.

"Who beat you?" I asked her.

"The stupid drunkard—he had the guts to even use his belt on me!" She was pressing her fingers on the eyes. I think to stop the tears from flowing, but she was not succeeding.

"Who?" I shouted shaking her. She got startled by my sudden change to violence and she sat bolt upright on the bed and looked at me with very wide but very wet eyes. Her lips were trembling lovably.

"My brother ..." she answered and controlled her tears.

"Which brother? surely not Masinde!"

"Another one . . . Khaemba . . . the older one . . . the idiot does nothing except steal from father, drink himself silly and impregnate people's daughters, making father pay compensations every year. He is hitting the thirty mark now and he is still a bachelor and he had the guts to call me a prostitute! Me? A prostitute! Oh God! ..." and she again went into her hysterics and I slowly pushed her onto the bed.

I had read in some books that emotions like those could easily be removed with a pinch of brandy but I had not brandy in the house. The closest I had to brandy were the numerousjerry-cans of chang'aa which were at the Station exhibit room, but I was not sure whether they were still palatable. I was mumbling soothing words to Judy and trying to reassure her that she was out of the reach of her brother's hands, as long as she was in my house. When she developed some relative calm I asked her exactly what had happened.

She then told me how her brother had come home as soon as we had left on Sunday and how, instead of even asking her where she had spent the previous night or even the circumstances which led to her sleeping out just started accusing her of practising prostitution from her lather's house, of beinga failure in life and even threatening her with eviction it b\ a stroke of a chance she got pregnant.

When Jud) asked him on what authority he was issuing the threats

the elder brother had turned wild,

"I am the eldest son in this home! Just because Dad is too old and does not whip you any more does not mean that I cannot!" And Judy had to challenge him to try, whereat he had ungirdled his belt, doubled it and said, "Like this ..." whipping her all over her body.

Their father had come in while this was going on, but instead of stopping it or inquiring what was wrong, he had commented, "I know she must have done something quite awful for you to do this to her . . ." and had proceeded to use his swaga-cane on her.

"I am not going back there!" she declared again, "I'd rather starve to death than go back there!"

"And what do you propose to do? How do you hope to cater for yourself all of a sudden? You have no job for instance. You have..."

"Job? I'll get a job ... all these bar-maids around town did not have to go to school to get . . ."

"Stop that!" I said raising my voice. "You want to start practising what your brother was accusing you of?"

"No! Not all bar-maids are prostitutes," she said.

"Of course—not all... but most of them are. How will you escape the net? You think you will... or tell me ... what do you propose to do to your physical attractiveness so that we drunks will not see it and fall for you?

"I don't have to do anything. After all I am not very beautiful. All I need to tell them is that I am not for sale!"

"And you hope they will murmur 'sorry lady' and leave you alone, eh? That's what you think!" I could visualise her with five men, all holding money in their hands and queing for a go!

"What would you do in my place?" she asked calmly. She had swung her legs over the edge of the bed and we were sitting side by side. I had put my arm over her shoulder.

"Marry," I told her.

"Marry? Marry who?" she sounded astounded.

"Fred Wamatu ..." I named the suitor.

For the first time since she had got into my house, she smiled.

"The problem with you men, is that you take things and twist them this way and that way until at last you make them jokes. Do you now

know that you are making a joke of my whole life and future?" she was holding my left hand fingers and she released them when she finished talking. She half-turned to face me.

**A joke—I am proposing to you. Honest. Judy, will you marry me?" 1 asked her. I sounded serious even to myself. She turned rigid and her whole body tensed. She was looking straight ahead and even my holding her close passed unnoticed. I guessed she was weighing the question before giving me an answer.

My heart was raising its tempo as a distant memory loomed distinctly. Someone had asked me that same question, but I had taken so long to give the answer that events had occurred rendering the question useless.

I was starting to reminisce over the past and I had to shake my head to cut the line of thought. Judy was speaking:

"Yes ... yes ... Oh Fred . . . you can't understand. I don't know how or what to ..." and she held me and we kissed, broke off and we looked at one another and both burst out laughing together!

"And, like a good wife, you should not be sitting on the bed at four-thirty. You should be in the kitchen preparing your husband's supper!" More laughter as we left the bedroom and together we went to the kitchen.

We checked the items of the food which we needed to buy, noting them one by one and then we went to the table-room where we budgetted. It was still within the month-end and I could afford to be a little extravagant. Even when we went to do the actual shopping, I did not strictly follow the budget and the end result was over fifty per cent more expenditure than anticipated. Then, we went back home and prepared supper together. Judy insisted that I should be in the kitchen all the while she was cooking so that I could show her how much of this and that I needed in this and that meal. I was bored stiff and I told her, "Prepare a meal that you yourself would like to eat and enjoy eating. Let me look after the pocket while you look after the cooking."

The following day, I reported on duty feeling like a million dollars. The first married night had been such a success to both of us. After a delicious supper, we had sat down and properly laid down our 'dos' and 'don't's and what Mikes' and 'dislikes' we would practise and avoid respectively. Then we had gone to bed—a warm bed and even made warmer for me by the very presence of 'my wife'!

When I said hello to Njagi, who was unaware of the previous night's developments, he looked long at me and told me,

"Be open. Tell me, what's going on?"

"Why?" I asked him smiling.

"You are so happy that your bliss is radiating all the way from your heart and literally shining on your clothes!"

"Should I not be happy?" I asked him, mocking offense.

"Why not! I'd like you to be happy, Fred."

"Thank you. To tell you the nude truth, I am now a married man and you bachelors have got to exercise a little bit of manners when you knock on my door," I announced solemnly.

"Ma-rr-ied?" he was genuinely surprised. I nodded my head.

"To . . .?"

"Mrs Judy Nekesa Frederick Wamatu nee Wepukhulu."

"Hell's teeth! That's news—eh? You are not serious."

"But I am!"

"Since when? I thought you transported her back to her father's kraal on Sunday?"

"Yesterday—yesterday at 1530 hours."

"So she is in your house now?"

"Yes. And for keeps. I have decided . . ."

"I guess you know what you are doing, Fred."

"I hope to God, I am doing right."

Then I told him all that had happened and what had led Judy to my house and how we had decided to settle. At the end, he told me,

"I am not a very good counsellor on matrimonial matteres, seeing

that I am still a loner, but you are my friend and I've just told you that I'd like you to be happy. You are my best friend, honest and your happiness is very important to me. I'd like to think that Judy is also serious about this issue and also hope that her family will not spoil any or everything. That's my wish. I hope you will be happy." And he stretched his hand and we shook hands lightly. He looked sad and I questioned him immediately.

"You'd like me to be happy and you don't look very happy yourself."

"I am alright," he told me without looking at me and he excused himself to go and check on what 'route' he would be on that day. He was in traffic duties then. I looked at him as he walked away and noticed that his head was bent and his shoulders looked slightly humped. It was as if he had an unseen heavy load which was making him drag his feet as he walked.

I entered the crime branch office and started to doubt whether the decision I had made had been really wise. Again I told myself that Njagi had his own life to live the way he wanted it and I had my own. He should not make me doubt or worse still, change my mind.

I started working, putting all concentration on my work. I did not have to worry about where to have lunch or any other meal for that matter. I even planned how I would sit for the Inspectorate Examination, the first step towards promotion. I felt that I needed to be promoted so that I could earn enough to keep Judy and me clothed and fed.

What did I need to be promoted? Quite a lot!

There were examinations to be passed. I had already done the Police Literacy Examination succesfully. I had once booked the Inspectorate Examination but had failed to turn up at the hall and had been disqualified from sitting for two sessions besides being deducted five shillings per paper. The two sessions were then over and 1 could book and sit for it.

I had also to improve my work, to attain what the police bosses reter to as merit'. 1 had only one commendation, following my gunning down of the robber but that had been long covered by other

folios, three of them adverse to my chance of advancement.

There were two disciplinary charges, one for breaking out of Police Lines and the other for using insubordinate language towards a senior officer. I clicked my tongue when I remembered how that one had come about.

I had taken Charity for a film in Kisumu. At about 2130 hours, when the film was over, we had joined Kabue, an old friend of mine from college days, for a drink.

Then, it had started raining cats and dogs and we noticed that we could not possibly go to the bus-stage and wait for a bus in that rain. We did not have enough money to hire a taxi from Kisumu to Kakamega—which would have been hard to find anyway—and so we decided to put up at Kabue's until the following day.

In the pouring rain a bus had plunged into the river and although there were no casualties as the bus had been moving slowly, the Police had been called to the rescue.

The alarm had been sounded and Fred Wamatu had not appeared. A check in his house and even Charity's—as the sergeant told me— had been fruitless.

I tried to explain but he would not listen. I was charged and fined twenty shillings for the offence and another ten shillings for an offence emanating from the first charge.

When I was marched to the station commander's office for the formal charge, I shouted at him trying to tell him how I had no control over the rain or sunshine and how it was only by luck that I was not in that bus, which incidentally was being driven from Kisumu to Kakamega and when he told me that the decision to charge me had been made by the duty officer, I asked him who held more powers in the station—the O.C.S. or a mere Duty Officer and the O.C.S. added a charge against me for using insurbodinate language.

Charity was not charged with me and although I loved her so much and would not have liked anything bad to happen to her, I felt that there was partiality in the way the whole affair had been handled. The Discipline Book procedure would have been that we get the same charge—i.e. me and Charity. I felt cheated.

After those charges, I grew so unfriendly towards the sergeant and the officer in charge that he used to call me on duty only when absolutely necessary.

The third adverse folio was the letter from the Officer Commanding Police Division, informing me that my pay would be less by fifteen shillings at the end of the month following my nonappearance in an examination hall where I was required. The O.C.P.D's letter had actually asked me to show cause why I should not forfeit the fifteen shillings but before I could reply, the payslips were handed out and mine indicated a miscellaneous deduction of fifteen shillings.

I had really to do something to make the bosses forget about those

three folios.

The leopard incident would be of little help. Kinyua had proved the hero of the sad day and I had played second fiddle.

As I sat there, completely absorbed in compiling case files, I wished that a real big case would come somehow. A case which I would successfully investigate and have a better name in the station; revive the 4 wonder-cop* image so to speak.

I was determined to be good and even made a habit of going to the office as early as 0700 hours, a whole hour before official time so that I could clear anything which might have been left the previous day before the prisoners were taken to court. I sometimes left the office long after the official 1630 hours and on occasions, I would even return to the office at night to compile any urgent case file.

I was feeling confident that I was making headway and even the various comments from my bosses indicated that they too had noticed my 4 work\ when everything was shattered to nothingness.

CHAPTER 10 1

It was three months after Judy's arrival and I hade gone to Lurambi for a case of stock-theft. We had successfully arrested the rustlers and recovered the stolen heads of cattle; five prime beef bulls and had taken them to the Police Station where they woud be held until indentification in court, before being handed back to their rightful owner.

I was handing back the S.L.R. I had used for that duty when the report officer casually informed me that I had a visitor at home.

"What kind of visitor?" I asked him. I wasn't very much interested. I had so many visitors coming to my house. Some were plain nuisances. I would find a visitor waiting for me in my house just to tell me thank you for releasing his brother on bond! I had got used to them and hated them!

"Your brother," he answered me equally casually.

"Brother?" I asked surprised, "What brother?" The report officer was smiling slyly and I was just about to lose my strained temper. I had spent the day running up and down the forest in pursuit of stolen cattle and I was not in a very amiable mood.

"That's what the fellow said—he was drunk anyway . . .

I finished booking my return and walked purposefully towards my house. Something was telling me to hurry and yet I could not know what it was. I was tired and thought that the feeling of alarm was coming from the tiredness. Brother? Who would that brother be? I decided that if I found that he was a drunk coming to ask for his brother's bond, I was going to charge him for trespass!!

When I was about fifty yards from my house, I saw some four or five officers all standing outside my door and I quickened my pace. When I came to them, one of them muttered something like, "Thank God, you've come."

"What is happening here?" I asked waving at the door of my house

which was closed.

"We don't know," answered one cop, "but whatever it is, it is not very constructive. There have been some thudding noises and when we came here, the door was closed and bolted and even our calls have not been answered. I think you'd better ..." I did not let him finish. I went to the door and rapped it impatiently calling out; "Judy!!" There was no answer and I put my ear against the door. At first I could not hear anything; but after a second or two, I heard what I thought was rustling of clothes and a heavy sigh. The sounds seemed to come either from the bedroom or bathroom.

"Judy!" I shouted again and when no response came, I moved three steps backwards and then rushed at the door with my shoulder. The door was made of very hard wood and I bounced back, clutching my shoulder which felt broken.

I went to the door with my foot, aiming at the lock and my kick burst it open and I almost fell inside.

The scene that met my eyes shocked me. Littered every where were broken pieces of furniture. The radiogram speaker was also on the floor. But, what held my eyes was the scene on the sofa-set.

A man was astride Judy who was lying on her back. The man had a long gash on his face from which thick blood was still dripping and falling on Judy's upturned face. The man had both hands on Judy's throat and I guessed he was squeezing the life out of her. Judy had her mouth open and even as I looked, a drop of blood from the man's face dripped inside the mouth.

My violent entry did not seem to have been noticed by the man, who was still holding Judy's neck. I jumped over an upturned stool and reached them, gave the man a horse-kick bang on his face and sent him sprawling over his back to the corner of the room. I followed him there and administered another kick, this time aiming at his face, which he held in both his gory hands. He collapsed in a heap and I turned my attention to Judy who was already surrounded by the officers 1 had found outside my door. One had her blouse and bras open, spilling her ripe breasts, and massaging her chest. I thought that the officer was relishing his job.

I cleared them away and knelt beside her possessively, "Judy . . . "Judy ... my darling...' I called to her but her eyes were closed and her arms were limp and lifeless. I frantically felt for her pulse and was thankful to God that it was there, albeit faint.

I looked at her face and noticed that it was swollen. Her neck was also swollen and I realised that what she needed was not massaging but the attention of a qualified doctor. I braced myself, told the cops in the house to check on the man at the corner who had all this time been neglected and I lifted Judy in my arms. I checked her weight and noticed that, despite her buxom appearance, she was light enough for me to carry.

I started walking out of the house with two cops trailing me, muttering apologies and at the same time trying to keep Judy's hands and feet from swinging or getting in uncomfortable positions. I looked straight ahead to avoid catching a glimpse of her increasingly swelling neck and face and at last we got to the Police Station.

All cops rushed to me to see what was happening and I shouted at them to stop gaping and get driver Kinyua as fast as possible. Two of them ran in different directions while the rest wanted to know how it had come that Judy's neck and face were swollen. I did not want to tell them that I did not know and so I did not answer them.

Kinyua came running from behind the station and even without the unnecessary questions of what happened, he hopped into the van and told me to get in. I climbed with difficulty into the van, still holding Judy in my hands. I placed her beside me on the seat so that I could hold her and was relieved to note that she could sit by herself and lean against me. I called her again but she did not answer.

Neither did she open her eyes.

When the van started, she briefly opened her eyes and tears streamed from them. She closed them again. As we joined the tarmac, Kinyua put the siren on and it screamed all the way to the entrance of Kakamega General Hospital.

The hour was past 1700 hours and we tound nurses engaged in their idle banters, but a sharp word from Kinyua sent them scampering here and there.

"This way please . . ." one was showing us the entrance into the

observation ward. We placed Judy on the provided bed and the nurses started fussing over her and asking their questions:

"What happened to her?"

"Attempted murder by strangulation . ..." I told her as I stretched my arms. They were aching all over.

"How . . .?" One asked. She had here bespectacled eyes upon. I almost put my hands on her neck to show her practically but, instead, I raised my arms to my own throat, "Like this . ..." I told her. Then the senior nurse sent us out of the room: "Would you two wait outside there," she pointed to the door, "we shall tell you of our findings."

"Yes, of course," I answered promptly and we left the room. When we were finally outside, Kinyua turned to me.

"Fred, what happened?" He looked concerned.

"I don't know. 1 guess that fellow is her brother. I found him chocking the life out of her. Gosh! You should have seen the bizarre spectacle! At first I thought he was raping her... he was on top of her and there was blood everywhere . . .."

"Why would he want to kill her?" he asked looking far away.

"I can but guess. The way she came to live with me was not approved by the family. You see she was running away from what she called maltreatment by the father and brother... it's a long story "

I hen, the sound ol a siren came to our ears and we both turned sharply towards the entrance of the hospital.

I he police land-rover was coming full-speed, with its head-lamps abla/e and the siren cutting into the still evening air. The storks on the trees above our heads which were making their evening calls flew iwaj m a 11 mi \ ol wings and when the siren was put off, the silence that followed would have swallowed the boom of a cannon. The drivel stopped the ear. lumped out. rushed to the back and half a

minute later, he re-appeared holding onto one end of a stretcher while another officer held the other side. They had to pass where we were standing and my heart jumped into my mouth when I saw the face of the casualty who was on the stretcher.

44 Accident . . T Kinyua asked the driver of the land-rover.

"Yes. And near-fatal!" The driver of the land-rover answered, smiling wryly at me as they passed.

"That's the brother, Kinyua—damned it! I didn't know I had done so much damage to him!"

"You did that to him?" Kinyua asked astounded. He involuntarily moved a pace backwards to widen the gap between us!

"I had to!" I tried to sound apologetic. "He was killing her. He needed only another five minutes and we would have taken the woman to the morgue rather than the observation ward. But the cut on the face was still there when I got into the house. I only kicked him."

"But it looks like his head has been crushed between two rocks?" he said.

"That will be blood only... don't you remember how much blood you had on you after killing the leopard and yet you were not even bruised?" I reminded him, I cast my eyes at my shoe and noted that it was shining with clotted blood. I looked up at once. We had been standing there for over twenty minues and it was getting cold.

"Fred . ..!" someone called me from behind and I turned and saw nurse beckoning me. I almost ran to her. She ushered me into the observation ward and on looking at her I noticed that she was very sad. I avoided the couch on the right hand side of the room, where the nurses were hovering over someone and clucking their tongues with their eyes wide open and faces showing consternation. I strode to the bed on the left of the room.

Judy lay there. She was covered up to the neck and she appeared sound asleep. One nurse touched me on the upper arm and asked me,

"Your wife?" I nodded.

"She was pregnant . . ." The statement almost made me scream.

"I . . . I . . . don't . . . maybe ..." I stammered.

"Yes. She was but unfortunately, she has miscarried. I guess she must have received a blow, and a heavy one, on her lower abdomen." She was no longer looking at me. I closed my eyes, bit my lower lip until I felt pain as a milllion thoughts whirled around my brain. I opened my eyes and for the first time directed them at the corner oi the room. There was a china basin full of bloody clothes.

"You'd better go home and come to check on her tomorrow morning," she suggested and I started walking out. I was in a trance and my legs automatically lifted and fell and we came to the police van. That is when I noticed that Kinyua had been holding me all the time.

When I sat in the van, Kinyua started it and I heard myself utter: "That's it! May the bastard die!" but Kinyua did not say anything.

The drive back to the Station was occupied by thoughts of what the nurse had said. So Judy had conceived. Yes! I should have known. She had had mild maladies in the mornings, usually preventing her from joining me at breakfast table! I should have known. She also had started growing all soft and warm and slow in a lot of things. But then it was all over; too soon! The pregnancy had been pre-maturely terminated "by her own brother! Did he do it deliberately— I wondered. Was he against her carrying my baby? My first progeny!

I felt pain as I imagined how wonderful it would have been to have had my first-born and by Judy!! I also vowed that her brother would pay for his act, through the nose.

The decision made, I felt relieved, sighed and turned to Kinyua.

"'I hank you for all you have done for me, brother," I told him and except he was driving, I would have shaken his hand.

"Don't mention it . . . you could have done the same for me," he told me and smiled.

I guess so," ! told him as we parked the vehicle outside the Police Station.

I had expected a mammoth turn-out of officers and I left the van with a scowl and clenched lists, ready to tell any nosy inquisitors to go and iump in the lake! But my preparations were unnecessary as I

found only the report officer and sentry at the station. Even the cells were unusually quiet.

I picked the O.B. to book the occurrence and then stopped short. What was I going to book? The assault on Judy?... the miscarriage?. .. the trespass by her brother? I could not make up my mind and so, after only reading a few of the day's entries, noting with relief that nothing of the episode had been booked, I closed the book and walked out towards the Ops. Room for Duty Officer's advice.

"You could land yourself in a mess in this one," he said sadly after I had told him the whole sorry story. He had listened without interrupting until I had come to the very last word. I had to tell him the whole truth and I trusted that he would understand why I did

what I did and would not immediately order me to take myself to the cells!

"What do I do now, sir?" I asked him.

"Nothing! Don't do a thing. Don't book anything in the O.B. Just let the matters follow their course. If even their father comes here, don't talk to him about the episode. Just refer him to me if he has any questions to ask. I will also talk to the O.C.S. about it but be careful. Don't even go to see that woman in the hospital. Keep off and call it quits—for good. Okay?" he had turned all cop and his words almost had a scaring effect on me.

End up my love for Judy? Call it all up? Judy ! Judy! Judy! The first woman to carry my baby? Then I got my doubts. How old was the pregnancy? Had it been really mine? I decided to ask the nurse that question first thing in the morning.

"It's okay, sir. I will do that," I told him but I knew that at least I would go and check on her condition the following day. I would wake up early and be there at 0630 hours, just have a look at her and then rush back to the station. It would be secret of course, because I would have to obey the Duty Officer's word.

I walked out of the Ops. Room, feeling thoroughly but unfairly chastised.

I hurried to my house and found Njagi there. He had tidied the table-room and cleaned all the blood from the floor and the sofa-set. Faithful Njagi! He told me in a rush of words, "... they will have to look for another scene ... not this house ..." and I had no words with which I would have felt good enough to thank him. I checked on the door and noticed that he had repaired the earlier burst lock.

I went to the bedroom and the first thing to meet my eyes was Judy's dress on the bed. I'd have to pack her things and ... I didn't know what to do with them. I went to the wardrobe and checked in the niche where we used to keep money.

Judy was a very thrifty girl and had managed my financial matters exceedingly well for the previous three months and I had felt so happy about it. Inside the niche, despite the awkwardness of the date, I found over five hundred shillings—enough to keep me going until the end of the month and I felt that I had many reasons for missing Judy—if I was going to call it quits. I picked one hundred shillings and joined Njagi in the table-room.

"Let's go to town and have a beer. I need one," I told him.

We went but Njagi would not allow me to buy the beer. He told me that he could afford to drown me in drinks and I let him proceed.

He had to hire a taxi for me at 2300 hours. I was so drunk I could not walk the short distance from town to the Police Station. That night. I pissed on the sheets which Judy had so carefully washed and ironed

I he following day 1 was roused from a drunken stupor by someone banging on my door, impatiently. I opened my eyesand had to close them immediately. They were aching and exposing them to light made them water. I rubbed and opened them once again. I checked on the wrist-watch, with the knocker still banging on the door and 1 could not believe m\ eyes The watch indicated 1000 hours! I put the

watch against my ear and heard it ticking. I could not believe it. I opened my mouth to tell whoever was knocking to stop it but I felt like I could not shout loud enough.

"Fred, Fred! Is he dead?" I heard the knocker ask.

"No! 1 am not dead!" I answered him as I swung my legs over the edge of the bed. I had removed only my shoes and* coat and was otherwise fully dressed in socks, shirt and trousers I tried to stand up and staggered back onto the bed. The fellow at the door was telling me, "You come to the Station. The O.C.S. is waiting for you. You'd better have something pleasing to tell him. He is not in a very friendly mood!" I staggered out of the bedroom and went to the table-room. My head started a tom-tom as I walked to the kitchen, gurgled water and spat it out. I checked on the small kitchen cupboard and took four Aspirins from the bottle and washed them down with water. Why had I drunk so much? I asked myself as I went to the door and opened it, again blinking at the sunshine. The knocker, who turned out to be Nasivili, the day's sentry, was tapping his fore-finger on his wrist-watch.

"10:00 hours! What is wrong, Fred?" he asked me and I felt annoyed by the way he was looking at me.

"I think you have made your point clear. You have been sent to call me and that is all. Isn't it? Now go back to the Station." I told him as I slammed the door shut in his face. I went back to the bedroom and hurriedly changed my shirt and socks. I put on my coat and walked out of the house. My hair was cropped short and I just passed my hand over it. I did not need a comb.

I went straight to the O.C.S.'s office, feeling lousy from my self-inflicted malady and knocked on the door. He called me in and I entered and closed the door. He eyed me from head to toe, shook his head and looked at his wrist-watch. Not to be out-matched, I also looked at mine. 10:15 hours.

"I guess I don't have to tell you what time it is, seeing that you also have a wrist-watch but I would like to know whether you have formulated your own hours of reporting on duty?" He said and I was relieved to note that his voice was not harsh.

"No, sir. I overslept and ..."

"I can see that. You want to tell me that you drunk too much last night?"

"No sir. I think that would be tantamount to . . ."

"To pleading guilty to a charge of failing to report on duty, which you have done anyway," he remarked. I was feeling that if I did not sit down, I would collapse and he must have noticed that.

"Sit down!" He offered me a seat and I thankfully sat down and folded my hands on my lap.

"I don't know what to tell you. I don't know how to start. You are becoming unmanageable! Tell me; why can't you keep out of trouble?" He was looking at me just the same way I used to look at an ex-convict while taking his finger-prints a second or third time.

"Sir, I think I can explain what happened." I told him.

"That I know. You abducted a girl and when the brother of the girl came to fetch her home, you knocked five of his teeth out!" Gosh! The way he said it, one would have thought he was there from the beginning to the end.

"That's not true, sir, I didn't abduct her. She is the one . . ."

"Forget it. The mess has been done. I am not asking you to tell me how it all started. I would have liked to know how it came that you almost killed the poor fellow."

"1 guess 1 used too much strength ... I mean I was annoyed. He was killing her. 1 would have done the same if I had found him with any other woman. Part of my duties as a Police Officer is to stop the commission of atrocious offences ..." I was raising my voice and he waved me to silence.

"But it happened that this was a woman you loved?" He was smiling. 1 could not believe it. He was actually smiling. I felt something move inside my chest.

"Vi's I loved her." I declared.

I much io that you were ready to kill for her."

"1 guess so. sir." 1 told him. His smile was infectious and I found myself smiling.

"You ean smile if you want," he said, still smiling. "Why I have

called you here is to tell you to go to your house and bring all the clothes which the woman left there. Her father went to the hospital this morning and picked her when she was discharged. He came here and was threatening to sue you; but I warned him against it. I told him to first look for an excuse for his son's entry into police lines and the action he did there, before he raised his complaint and I can assure you that closed the chapter. What he does not want is you having anything to do with his daughter. Just go and bring all the clothes here and forget about the woman."

"There isn't much, sir. When she came to my house, she had only three dresses. I have bought all the others . . ."

"Just go and bring her clothes. Her own clothes, okay?"

"Yes, sir," I said and stood up to go.

"And next time you want to over-drink, choose a week-end, okay?"

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

"What are you thanking me for?" he asked, the smile still playing over his lips.

"Well, sir, I must admit that I was worried about what would happen but now I feel . . ."

"Relieved—eh? Go and bring those clothes!" He shouted at me and I literally ran out of his office to the lines. I passed many cops who wanted to know what had transpired between me and the O.C.S. but I told them to go and ask the O.C.S. himself. I went to my house and packed Judy's clothes. Even what I had bought for her. They were too many and could not fit in the small suit-case in which she had carried her three dresses. I put them in my own bigger suit-case. I told myself that for all the love and happiness which she had given me the past three months, I could at least thank her by giving her the suit-case and the clothes. I wanted to write a note to her, to tell her that I still loved her and that as time went by, we would be together again, but I didn't. 1 thought her father or brother would receive the suit-case and would probably search it before handing it to her. I took the suit-case to the O.C's office and handed it to him.

"Everything is in there?" he asked me.

"Yes, sir. I thought there is no point of leaving old clothes in my house," I told him.

"Okay, get to the crime-branch office and start working. I will make sure you leave the office at 22.00 hours tonight—to compensate!" He said.

I went to the office. I could not work. I was cursing myself for having drunk the previous day. I had over-slept and had missed to see Judy in the morning. Then, I felt that it was all over. I guess our move was not blessed. I had to let her go and forget her.

The first step towards that would be getting myself another girlfriend. That would be easy, or so I thought. There were so many girls who at one time or another had told me they liked the length of my nose. Yes. There were plenty.

The mood at the Station changed against me again. 1 don't know what people want. Some commented that I had got away with the case too easily. Some even suggested that the O.C.S. who was my tribe anyway, had used tribal bias to snub the Assistant Chief and that that episode had strained the relations between the Police and other Government administration departments. What had seemed to be a relief for me had turned into a burden once again. I resorted to the only solution 1 thought I knew: drinking. Drinking and picking whores all over town.

One e\ ening, about three weeks from 'Judy's day' as I called it, the O.C P.D. caught me necking with his nurse-girlfriend. The bugger was old enough to be the girl's father but he would not see that. The following day. 1 was transferred from Kakamega Division in Western Province to the Northern Division of Nairobi Area. I guess the busses in Western Province wanted to transfer me so far from then light that we would hardly meet— either sociallyor officially.

However, the transfer livened my hopes. At last I would be nearer home and 1 would be able to more easily contact my poor parents.

rM

Nairobi, however, is where the fast pace of development both in good and evil at first overwhelmed me and I had to stay for a long time without coming to grips with the pace. It was there where calamity followed calamity.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

1

I then made up my mind that I would cease to be a cop. The things I had done in the service would surely bar my promotion. Four disciplinary convictions and two warning letters were lodged in my file. I did not want to age a constable. I would have liked to be promoted to a sergeant; so that I could live up to the lie I had told Mary. All the other boys I was with in college had been promoted some were even Chief Inspectors.

One day, on Tom Mboya Street, I bumped into Wafula, who was such a dirty thick-head in college. I was whiling my off-duty away and looking for a bribe here and there.. Wafula was in uniform and you know what rank he held? I.P! An Inspector. He told me that he was the deputy O.C.S. at Bondeni Police Station. Wafula? I did not want to think of him as deputy O.C.S.

He asked me what my rank was and instead of telling him, 1 wrote the word Constable on a piece of paper and handed it to him to read. He muttered an apology and bought me some drinks.

I felt cheated alright, but what was there to be done? I was afraid that some day Wafula might be transferred to Parklands Police Station as the officer-in-charge and God knows I would not call him 'sir' even if he wore the medals of a General!!

The others had been made Non-Commissioned Officers. People like Njoroge, who could not even make his boot shine in college! I did not want to think o\ his likes. I remembered that, when we were sitting for the Police I iteracv Examination, Njoroge had made everybody, including the invigilator laugh. There was an essay question which required the candidates to write a short composition on 'I ittle things that annoy me'. Njoroge finished the paper in three minutes We did not know whether he had refused to do that question or whether he had written the composition earlier, thus

w:

needing only to hand it in, but on looking at his paper, when we were handing them to the invigilator, I noticed that, Njoroge, besides his index number and heading of the essay, had put only one word: 'MOSQUITOES'

Another day, I asked him what he thought a sexton was and he told me without hesitation that a sexton must be a woman with a one-ton posterior!

But, maybe I was wrong. Maybe the Wafulas and the Njoroges were wiser than me. That is why they had been promoted and left me at the base of the ladder, marking time!

I had to resign! Damn it! I had to. I could not stand the humiliation any more.

People like Kiarie whose uniforms never lacked a dirty spot were also inspectors! Others like . . . there was really no point in counting them. Those who had not been promoted had resigned and were employed elsewhere. Why not me? Why not resign and go through what the others had gone through when they were seeking jobs?

My decision to resign was also influenced by the transfers. Never settled in one place and on being transferred, my marching orders invariably included a confidential note to the receiving officer since,

on arrival at any new station, I would be called to the boss's office and get a warning, 'not to take the indiscipline' I had at the previous Station to his Station.

Then came the crunch and I felt like I could kill all the Police Officers in the Republic before killing myself. Something happened that I, with all my patience, could not stand. I could not even believe it. I could not believe that the Police, being my employers, could take me to court and charge me with a fabricated charge and then, I remain in the same Police Force, calling some of those same bosses 'sir'. There was no point. There would be no 'policemanship' iri me when I met on the street with someone with whom I had shared a cell in remand. I was too proud for that.

The dull yellow cold beams of the early morning sun were just peeping through the holes in my window-curtain as I opened my eyes and blinked. I had repeatedly reminded myself that I should buy new curtains. I consulted my watch. A cheap Kienzle; a gift from a friend. It indicated 16:45 hours, 18th March, the day that I would, for the first time in my life, stand in the dock as an accused person, to answer a charge of wrongful confinement and assault. Wrongful Confinement? By me? A Police Officer? If an arrest by a Police Officer, having all powers, privileges and immunities as conferred to him by the law, can be termed wrongful, who then should arrest criminals!! Wrongful! I wish they had used the term 'unlawful'. With the word 'Law' in the charge, maybe I would have felt that what they were charging me with was legal.

I yawned. My eyes were burning. My head was still heavy with sleep. I had hardly slept. I had spent the whole night dodging in and out of short naps which were interrupted by one monstrous dream. Every time my eyes closed in a doze, a picture would form in front of my eyes. It would start remotely, with a running rider-less horse, which had no mane. The horse would be running towards a pool of water at the far end of a paddock. But before reaching it, it would turn into a dog and the dog would be chasing me. I would try to run away from the bare-toothed monster but would make no progress. I he dog would start slashing at my calves with its long fangs and then I would fall down. Then, the dog would stand on my chest and start licking m\ face with its blood-red tongue. I would scream and wake myself up to find the echo of the scream still within the confines of my room. 1 would tumble lor m\ box of matches, strike one for a light. I don't see the horse now, but sweat is oozing out of my face. I discard the match and wipe the sweat from my face with the corner of my bcd-co\ci 1 imc would go as 1 stare into the darkness. Then, I would doze again hopefully, but unsuccessfully. The horse would reappear and the last scene would be incomplete when I managed to fully wake

up.

I rolled out of bed and slipped on my slippers and wrapped a towel round my middle. Another yawn and I walked towards the door of my room. I was surprised to note that it was not bolted. I must have forgotten to bolt it last night in my mental torments.

I went out to the first common bath-room and found that there was an earlier bird than me. Someone was having his shower and whistling through the water-spray.

I went to the next bath-room and closed the door as soon as I had opened it. Shit! Someone had mistakenly relieved himself there. Can't blame him though. Without lights, all cats would look black at night... or was it deliberate? I wanted to go to the third bath-room but the 'whistler' in the first bath-room had had enough of the cold waters and was leaving the bath-room. He grunted a greeting and I grunted back. I went into the bath-room and peeled off my towel and pants; bracing myself for the first splash of the cold waters. The water was not very cold though. I soaped myself and tried to whistle through the spray as I showered but I could not form a tune. So, I concentrated on making a clean body of myself. You never know. I may make myself a good impression on the magistrate's mind, by looking clean. I have heard that a person's appearance may work wonders in the mind of the magistrate. I sauntered back to my house and put the kettle on. I had to have coffee because I was not sure whether or when I would have another cup. In prison, they do not serve you with coffee. It would be too costly owing to the inflated number of prisoners we are having in jails these days.

I carefully combed my hair and proceeded to dress in my Sunday-best; new socks—bought when our pay had been increased—about three months ago, brown safari boots, old but cleaned for the occasion, a wrangler jean—navy blue and smart—real smart, a terry young shirt, only five months old and, although the collar is starting to lose its deep blue dye, still looking good. A heavy tweed jacket, normally reserved for dates with new girls but has to be used now because of the dire importance of the occasion. A wide Klook tie— very immaculate and finally, my most fashionable Y-front pants.

I strapped my Kienzle back on my wrist and drunk two mugs of

coffee. Then, I brushed my teeth feeling them shrink from the cold water after the steaming coffee. This was to remove the bitter aftertaste of black coffee. Ready to move, I picked my wallet and counted the small change I had. Twenty-five shillings in currency notes and seventy-five cents in coins. Gosh! It was only the eighteenth and I was that broke!

I picked my cigarette packet and found that there were only seven sticks. Enough to keep me going until. . . when? I suddenly realised that I did not know what tomorrow would have in store for me. Of course I had been assured by the police—fellow colleagues—that I would be released on bond after my plea but this assurance was slowly turning into mist as I locked my quarters and pocketed the key. 1 walked towards the place where we would take an official car to town —a vehicle that i would not be able to use again from them until the criminal proceedings preferred against me were over. I had already been interdicted and was on half-pay.

As I walked, slowly, puffing on my cigarette, I weighed the chances of being released on bond or being remanded in custody. It all depended on the way the magistrate saw it. But his word would determine whether I would see the inside of my quarters tonight or the fuur grey walls and a wired air-aperture. That is what I call power. Just a word from a fellow human being like me and the graph of life changes.

I he rule to town was rather quiet except for the usual remarks that cops can't spare: a lady dressed too heavily in the warm weather; a motorist who leaves his lane and tries to overtake but is forced back into his original lane; about how much longer the meagre monthly emoluments were going to be awaited etc.

Nevertheless, they avoided one thing: commenting on my summons to appeal m court. 1 he\ were only too aware that their comments would have multiplied nn steadily growing hopelessness rather than easing m\ conscience. Onl\ the driver wished me luck as I dropped

outside the court-house.

I lit a fresh cigarette and puffed furiously. It was only 0820 hours then, a clear fourty minutes before the magistrate arrived in court. My summons had instructed me to report to the court at 0900 hours and remain in attendance until otherwise directed by the magistrate or a Police Officer.

As I walked towards the court room, a cop came along in an apparent eleventh hour rush; but I stopped him, to kindly show me where the toilets were. He must have mistaken me for one of those senior young men to whom he dutifully owes respect because he both directed and saluted me! I felt pleased. At least it seemed my Sunday-best was working. It would probably make the magistrate smile, I thought.

"John Kimtai, Peter Mwasya, James Fredrick Wamatu, you are all charged with wrongful confinement contrary to section 263 of the Penal Code and Assault contrary to section 251 of the Penal Code in that, on the 26th day of October . . ." We were standing, me and my two co-accused. My heart was beating in an usual rythm and I was feeling dry-crawed. I could also feel some slight tremor around my knees. The magistrate rumbled on until he finished reading the particulars of the charge as the Police had framed it. I was quite surprised and very angry to hear some of the fabrications. Damn them! Did they have to tell open lies? Was it to impress anyone and if so whom? I should think that if the idea was to impress, then the impression went beyond Criminal Records Office finger impression!

"Do you plead guilty or not guilty?" the magistrate asked us.

"Not guilty. Your Honour . . " the voice of Kimatai, followed by the croak of Mwasya as he said: "not guilty, Sir." Then, I braced

myself to give my word. My word had been predetermined by the previous night's conversation between me and the investigating officer. He had told me, and this in a conspirator's whisper, to plead 'not guilty' after which 1 would be released on bond, pending hearing. on a date which the magistrate—preserve his almost almight power!—would fix. I have heard that the hearing date is again determined by the diary. A mere pen and paper job. If 1st. April is engaged, so to speak, 2nd. and 3rd. April have got to be looked into.

If both those are also filled up, then, 4th. April will do.

Anyway, I did not need to scramble my mind for so long.

"Your case will be heard on 19th. and 20th. of May and you will be remanded in custody." The magistrate finished.

"Your honour, could we please be released on bond?" My voice. I could not even recognise it myself. It sounded like a dreamy croak. When the hunter gets the hunted, the blood spills. When alternatively, the hunter turns into the hunted, blood also spills but this time, thick blood. Treacle, thick blood. I could feel it choking me. I could feel it with every desperate thump-thump of my heart.

"They are asking to be released on bond, Your Honour," the interpreter told the magistrate.

About half a minute passed before the magistrate looked up from his scribbling and set his eyes on us, eyes which were scaring my guts cold. For no apparent reason, the eyes reminded me of my twenty year dead grand-mother. She had the same eyes. Slightly curved inwards and slightly blood-shot around the irises.

"Prosecutor, do you have any objection to their release on bond?" he finally asked. The prosecutor stood up, pulled the lapels of his well-starched jacket and said; "No, Your Honour." They can be released on bond." My heart started dancing inside its cage. I felt relief flowing from my forehead all the way to my belly. Even my balls kind of nudged one another. So the police had been right! We would be released on bond!

"With or without sureties?" the magistrate did not even take his eye from the table.

"With sureties. Sir," replied the Police prosecutor.

14 1 he accused persons are remanded in custody until 2nd. of April when they will be brought for mention but they may be released on bond o\ five thousand shillings each with a surety of like amount for each.* 1 1 he magistrate put his pen on his desk, rapped the table once and was out of the court even before the scanty crowd of spectators of justice had enough time to bow him out. Then, we all sat down.

Surety? How the hell would I get one? Although most of my friends knew about my predicament, I had not told any particular one to come and stand surety for me. I had decided to keep my problems to myself. After all, I had been so sure I would be released on my own free bond that the question of surety did not occur at all. I knew the catch in the surety clause; but I had to hear it from somebody else.

"What qualifies anyone to become a surety for another?" I found myself asking the prosecutor. He grinned at us and told us that the qualifications needed were either a car and having the log-book in one's name or a piece of land and having the land registration certificate in one's name. The same person must not be a Police Officer or an Officer of the court.

He also hinted to us that we, as Police Officers, should know what a surety was. He was wearing an embarrassed smile and I felt like clouting it off his face.

Then, I started feeling the pinch. I realised that I was no longer free. I was a prisoner. I had done what the Kikuyus term 'eating with a double edged dagger'. I got so shocked after the realisation that, I was not even aware of where the policeman on my left, who was tugging at my elbow was taking me. I only half-heard him talking about putting us in safe custody, pending the arrival of our sureties. Safe custody!

We were marshalled through flights of stairs while some pressmen were pushing one another to get a proper position to take photographs of us. Stupidly, I felt kind of important. For the press to cover my short walk from the court room to the cells!! It was something that had not occurred to me before.

We were taken to the Police cells and immediately I was there, I fumbled in my pocket and produced a cigarette which I lit. I puffed on it slowly, letting the shock and the impact thereof settle. I was on my fifth puff when the cop sentry walked to where we were standing.

He was a cop I had known for a long time during my service and I smiled nervously at him, hoping that he would register surprise at seeing me behind bars, possibly utter a none-too-sympathetic 'pole bwana\ but he did not smile. He looked at me straight in the face and told me without mincing words that I was a prisoner and I was not supposed to smoke, repeat, not supposed to smoke, in cells. I continued wearing my smile and attempted my humour on him by telling him that I had not been searched and so, I had slipped the cigarettes through into the cells.

That did it! He ordered us to remove all the things we had in our pockets and place them on the floor. I thought he was going to take all the things for 'safe?' custody but he picked only our cigarettes and matches and ordered us to pocket the rest of the things. Then, he pointed a finger, straight at my nose and warned or rather reminded me that I was a prisoner and that his job was to see to it that I did not escape from custody.

He added insult to his lengthy submission by saying that he knew, that ex-police officers were worse than ordinary wananchi and that he would make sure that we did not escape. "Apana mwagia rriimi ungayangu, bwaria". He sealed his trap. I felt like landing a ten-stone punch on his dirty mouth but then, I did not. I just looked at him, looked at my cigarette stub smouldering on the floor and made a mental calculation that, if I survived to finish the case, either being convicted or acquitted, I would quit being a cop immediately. I

would not, repeat not, be in the same Police Force with a mug like

that sentry!

His beha\ iour reminded me o\w hat a good friend of mine had told DK once. We were drinking. It was m\ first meeting with him since I had joined the Police Force, at the lowest rung. Ready to climb? And I

had iiisi finished telling him some oi my interesting adventures in the Force He had looked at me steadily for a long time and then

deliberately cleared his throat before saying:

"Wamatu, what I am going to tell you is strictly between me and you but, please, listen to me very carefully. You have chosen the wrong career. You can never make a good policeman. I know you only too well and that is why I am telling you this. You see, your kind of life is not what a cop would be expected to lead. You are too care-free. You are too social... I mean ... you are so easily sociable that you might as well make friends with prisoners in custody and you might as well go ahead and release them and land yourself in hot soup—I mean they'will charge you of aiding prisoners to escape.

"You would do quite well as a teacher although I doubt whether you would resist the temptation to take your class, I mean the girls, to bed. You see, in the Police Force, there is something like a curse. You'll find that you will lose all your friends, me included . . . don't interrupt me!" he said as I tried to put up my hand to defend myself and my fellow cops. I wanted to tell him that not all cops were bow-legged but he would not listen and he continued with this tirade:

"You will find that there is a contagious disease in the Force that somehow, despite all efforts by anyone, affects all of you. Corruption! You will follow the shilling in my palm all the way to jail. Like a dog will follow a man with a bone. Once a dog of corruption, always a dog of corruption. There is always a bone in the bargain. That bone is money. You will take it the first time—want more—take—want— take—want until you are jailed because when you start depending on a bribe for daily subsistence, then there is no way that you will be able to budget your pay without the extras!

"Look at me; I am only a P.2 teacher— 'Kamwalimu' —as you policemen call us; but I am doing my job quite well. I am married with two kids and well ... I don't know whether you have any proper girlfriend, except maybe the numerous professional prostitutes you cops claim to own ... don't interrupt me! You see ... now, what was I saying? . . . I see .. . about marriage—why don't you quit before they have corrupted your brain and join us? You might as well share your brains at least with your brothers and sisters in this world. This country needs more teachers than policemen. Of course, I know

your standard of education but that will not be a very big hindrance. You will start low but with your intelligence and aptitude, you can rise!"

He had paused and had taken a long swig from his bottle. He had swallowed, blinked and pulled again on his bottle. I was pondering what he had just said. I was just about to open my mouth to defend the whole force when I realised that, what Michael Gathambo had told me, was true. But, it could not be accepted.

"No. Mike, we can not all take one job. Who would be arresting the criminals if all people in the Republic hated being cops like you do?" I asked.

"Who was arresting them before you joined them? I am not telling every bow-legged, boot-licking copper-mug to resign. I am only telling you—as a friend. Pull out when the going is still smooth and please, let us not argue about that!!"

We had continued with this banter for another twenty minutes before Michael decided to go. He had made some sincere remarks to me and some had touched where he had intended them to scythe— my conscience. One of the most memorable remarks was: "I wish they'd sack you before you waste all your brains on them!!" Coming from a friend, I found that remark very threatening.

But, like all good friends did on me, Michael's advice bounced off like a golf-ball hit against a concrete wall. Once a dog, always a dog. 1 was going to remain a cop and Michael could go on teaching his brothers and sisters.

At that time, I could not even dream of being in a cell. Me? A cop?

I gave the sentry a long, hard look and wsioned him as a dog. licking its own vomit. That picture of the cop as a dog somehow consoled me. i he cop in turn, must have realised the murderous thoughts that were going on in my head because he quickly turned and went to sit on a chair at the corner. Next to the chair was a not baton.

His intermezzo served as a ^ood interval. I looked at my two friends and noticed that they too had understood our plight. We had been condemned as ex-police criminals even before the magistiate

had coin ictcd US.

We sat on a wooden bench and for no apparent reason, we avoided talking. What would talking have helped? We silently waited for the sureties to come. We all know they were not coming; but we did not want to put it in words. We did not want to believe it.

At 15.30 hours, things started happening. First, all prisoners were moved from police cells to prison cells. This killed even the small flicker of hope that was glimmering in my soul. We were actually handcuffed and ushered into the cells. I was handcuffed to a man who was charged with murder! We started loose talk.

Every prisoner wanted to know what the other prisoner had done. I found some sort of friendly and sincere sympathy among them Peter told them of our cases and by the time he finished, the other prisoners were sadly shaking their heads and muttering incomprehensible words, all aimed at consoling us.

Some ten minutes later, a Prison Warder came and opened the door to our cell. He hustled us out and told us to squat on our haunches. He told us, in a pitiable tone that, it was his unfortunate task to see that we did not escape from custody and, woe unto whoever tried to make him fail in that task. He started calling out out names.

"James Fredrick Wamatu!" he bawled.

"Yes," I stammered. I was still squatting.

"James Wamatu!'" he repeated, looking directly at me and curling his thin lips back in a snarl; just like a dog.

"That's me!" I shouted. I thought he must have been deaf not to nave heard my first answer.

"Stand up!" He shouted. He was menacingly waving his metal key-chain. I stood up awkwardly feeling like crying.

"When you are called here, you have to answer respectfully!" he shouted at me. 1 was feeling very embarrassed. My six feet and one inch height could not allow me to stand straight as I was still attached

to my fellow prisoner—the murderer—with the fetters.

"How?" I asked innocently. Honest; I did not know how to answer a Prison warder. According to the dress he was in, he had no rank symbols and I thought that he was a private or something. Although I was a constable, I did not think that I should call a Warder, Sir. Infact I thought he should call me Sir!

"Have you ever visited a motor garage here in Nairobi?" he asked. He was looking at me like something the cat brought in.

"Yes, I have."

"Do you know what they do to bent metals at the garage?"

"Of course, they straighten them."

"Well, for your information, I will repeat what I have just told you. I do not know why you are here but it is my unfortunate duty to see that you do not escape from custody. This is a job I have been given by the Government of the Republic of Kenya. At the same time, it is my duty to see that the bent metals in your criminal mind are straightened," he said this and then he stood on his right heel and swung a fist at my poor unprotected face.

The bang could be heard all over the room as I catapulted over the heads of the other prisoners, head over heels. I did not fly far though; the chain held to the murderer's wrist and served as a brake. I felt the metal bite into my wrist. I also tasted salt in my mouth where the son-of-a-bitch warder had hit me. I sat down properly and he pointed an accusing finger at me.

"I he Government has found that you are not fit to stay in a free society and that is win you have been brought here. When I call your name, you have to say, \A//ancle" or if you think you know English, 'Sir'. Failure to do that will be earning you a fist just like the one you got now, every time your name is called." He gloated. I moved my tongue around my mouth and felt the place where the skin had ruptured alter the impact. 1 swallowed the blood, as there was nowhere to spit, hating it and hating the warder so much that, except I knew that he would call his fellow warders who would clobber me to death, I w ould have challenged him to remove the handcuffs and give me five minutes toi a man-to-man fight with him. He was flogging a dead

horse. God! I felt like dying. Why must some things happen? I felt tears well in my eyes and my nose started running. My hanky was on my left-hand side trousers pocket and I had a very difficult time removing it with my right hand. I was fettered on the left. I awkwardly blew my nose with one hand, wiped the tears from my eyes and sobbed once.

"James Fredrick Wamatu!" the Warder called again. I felt that I would be failing even my prisoner self if I called him Sir or Affande, I felt that even if it had been at gun-point, I would not have called the stupid bully 'sir'.

"Yes," I said huskily. I was looking at him with cobra eyes. I thought he was going to hammer the subject of Sirs and Affandes again, but he did not even seem to have noticed the ommission. He proceeded to call the other names while each answered Affande or

Sir/ I guess the warder felt so much of a hero after being called Affande twenty times and Sir twelve times!

Our handcuffs were removed and then we were all stripped to the skin. I had repeatedly come across the word Thorough Search' in my cop career, but I had always believed that, to conduct the search whereby someone is supposed to be completely naked, one is taken to a private place, stripped and then searched. This was a different case all together. It was like a parade or show of manhood! Long black uncircumcised ones; brown bent pricks, short thick ones, hammer-headed ones; unproportionally large balls and other variable specimens were all displayed here!! I looked down at my incher and noticed that it had a tendency of inclining on the left ball. Hell!! My own nakedness on parade in front of all kinds and sorts of criminals!! I felt desperate. 1 felt lost. I felt all pains and aches that I had never felt before.

The warders came then. They carefully went through our clothes and then came the most humiliating part of the whole operation.

We were each told to stand with our legs wide apart. Then we were told to bend forwards so that the warders could check whether we had hidden any cigarettes in our arses!!! Goddamned them! What did they think we were? How would I slip a cigarette in mv posterior orifice??

I felt tears burning inside my eyes but I fought them back. I felt a choking sensation in my throat but I fought off the persistent urge to scream. I would have given anything I owned in the world to get out of that torture chamber. I would have given all, even my life to get out of the place. I wished I had not joined the copper mugs! I wished, oh how I wished, but, like the old saying goes, there were no horses.

The few prisoners who had a few cigarette stubs in their clothes received several slaps from the warders. I wondered whether it was legal to beat up a handcuffed prisoner, but I reserved the question for a later date. The punch I had received from one of the warders had reminded me of a framed message in my room: 'Never argue with a fool' and I wondered who was more of a fool than the other one—the warder or me. I decided that I was more foolish than the warder because I had managed to get myself to a position where I would be at the mercy of the semi-literate bastards! What a fool I felt!

We were then ordered to redress and our names were called again. There were about ten warders now, all ranging from the rank of Private to Superintendent. I managed to answer when I was called although a lump in my throat was obstructing me. I was also careful to say Sir this time. You never know. If one fool does a stupid thing, the same thing would still be stupid even if done by a million fools. I did not for once think that a Prison Officer could have a higher brain because of his rank—than the lowest rank—the warder—I had met. Also, their number could not stop them doing anything stupid!

We WCFC again handcuffed and marched, two-two, to the waiting lilt on the Prison Safe-Custody I ransporters, We were locked in from outside and our custodians went and sat at the reserved partition between the driver's cab and the rest o( the truck. The vehicle croaked into life alter the fifth ignition kick and lurched Slightl) as u started on the road to hell!! Again, 1 was surprised to see that we were still handcuffed even vshen the vehicle was moving. I wondered what would happen ifb) a devilish catastrophe, the truck overturned. We would be still linked to one another in chains with onl) one free hand' I said a short silent prayer.

As we were driven along Uhuru Highway, I felt a change in my mood. I suddenly did not care what would happen to me. I was even almost anxious to see what went on inside the prison barbed wires. I felt that, if I couldmanage to live through the torments, I would have a story to tell my friends. Already, there was enough to keep me busy talking for a whole week. Yes, why not see what the warders did right inside their kingdom!!

The so-called thorough search by the warders had not lived up to its expectations. A few prisoners lit some stubs of cigarettes which must have been hidden in thier noses or mouths. A half-inch stub would go through four mouths before the filter started fizzling. A newly acquired friend of mine offered me a butt and I puffed only twice before the filter divorced the ember!

On arrival at the remand prison, we were again searched. This time in an open yard with about three hundred and one eyes on my naked body. Prisoners and warders and anyone else who is allowed access into the barbed wires was inspecting my nakedness. There was even a warder with only one eye.

Anyway, after the first humiliation, 1 had developed some very strong immunity. I hardly noticed the gazes from all sides. Even when my clothes were handed back to me, I walked for a few paces from the rest of the prisoners, just to give the spectators a better view of myself before dressing. The belt and tie, shame on me; for having donned a tie! were however taken away. Even my hanky. Also my wallet plus the little change I had. My Kienzle too. I felt almost naked without the watch. It had become so much a part of me.

These items were carefully booked down against our names in a big register and then we were taken to a stinking store where we were told to pick blankets.

Every order on instruction was being passed to us in an excessively authoritative tone. Even the'one-eye' shouted at us to be quick about picking our blankets. I looked keenly at the hole where his right eye once was and when he noticed my steady ga/e he shyly turned to one side and unnecessarily pushed a prisoner who had already picked his blankets and was waiting for the next in the chain of command.

There was a scramble for the less tattered blankets but I waited until the others had picked their choices before taking the two last ones. I could see through them. They were as thick as mosquito nets!! We were then paraded to an open area where our supper was supposed to be served. We were given beans in aluminium half-bowls-half-sufurias and a white-clad convicted prisoner would add a ladle-full of what appeared to be a half-fermented malt, by look and smell, into the beans. I felt the very first signs of getting sick after merely smelling the concoction. Anyway, hunger won. I had tasted nothing the whole day except the morning mugs of coffee and my bitter saliva.

I sat on my blankets and dipped my fingers into the mud coloured mixture. We were not offered any spoons and I did not ask for one. I felt solidness just below the floating beans and when I removed the fingers, I noticed that there was some greying substance at the tips. I dipped my fingers again and produced a lump of watery 'ugali\ This time, the sickening sensation I had felt before escaped my throat and I felt a rush of bile and saliva fill my mouth. I looked right and left and noticed that none of my surly masters was looking at me. I spat into the bowl and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. Some of the prisoners were looking at me with surprise intermingled with awe. I was still brooding when one of them, white-clad prisoners, asked me whether 1 had had enough of the food. I told him yes and before I could say 'Industrial Area', he had the bowl in his hands and was dipping his fingers into it and stuffing his mouth with what appeared to be brown ugali which he got from the bowl. I got so surprised that I found myself staring at him unbelievingly. Two minutes and the food was gone. He even had the courtesy to mutter a faint thank you before his eyes started darting among the other prisoners foraging for more left-overs. 1 decided that he was a mad crank and 1 left him to his foray.

We were then taken to separate cells. 1 watched my friends go with a sinking heart I he cell into which 1 was taken was occupied by about eighteen other prisoners most o\ whom I recognised as cheap pick-pockets and pett\ thieves from around the City. They also

recognised me and, within seconds of my arrival, they were all shouting at me:

"What is a copper doing here?"

"Have you been bribed?"

"Tell us, copper, what makes you come to visit our holiday resort?

"Maybe he has come to record my statement."

"Or you stole?"

"Let him do some parade for us!"

"Yes, copper, by the left, quick march!"

"Hey, cop . . ." they were then pushing me between themselves. Everyone of them wanted to touch me. One pinched my nose while another was fumbling with my zip. I guess he wanted to feel the size of my balls, but the zip is as far as he got.

8

I punched him so hard on the nose that I felt my whole arm jar against the impact. He, in turn, landed flat on his back, with a well of blood where his nose stuck from his face. The rest of them scampered away from me and I opened my mouth for the first in a long time:

"If any of you would like to see the sun tomorrow morning, just keep off me. If on the other hand, anyone of you has written his last will and testament, let him try his hand on me!" I said sharply. I meant it. I was ready for murder then!

They were looking at me only when I was not looking at them directly. Then, one stepped forward and came to help his colleague who was still lying on the floor at my feet. I mistook his kind act as an intention to assault me and kicked him so hard on his balls immediately he was within reach. He screamed and doubled, holding his balls and that is when the door to our cells was flung open by a warder. He opened his eyes a trifle wider, when he perceived the scene.

"What is happening here? ,, he asked. He was still. He was looking at my still clenched fists.

Ask them." I answered him waving my hand to cover the whole bunch of prisoners. He turned his gaze on them, and one stepped forward;

"They were beaten by this . . . policeman," he accused me.

"Are you a policeman?" the warder asked me in a voice that was almost a whisper.

"Yes," I whispered back, although I felt that the absolute true answer I should have given should have been; 'I don't know.

"And who brought you to this cell?" he asked and even before I had a rude-enough answer to give him, he hastily added, "take your blankets and come with me."

I folded my two blankets under my left arm, jumped over the legs of the fellow I had punched, who was then sitting on the floor, holding his head between his bloody hands.

Outside the cell, the warder turned to lock the other prisoners in. They had started an insulting competition—all words aimed at hurting me, but I was already out of the cell and thus out of reach. When the warder had locked and tested the door, he turned to me.

"What is your name?"

"Wamatu,—James Fredrick Wamatu."

"And why didn't you tell us that you are a policeman?"

"Well, 1 thought you knew—I mean is it all that important? After all none of you has asked me what I was or am since I was handed over to you at the law courts."

"Were you just alone, 1 mean the only Police Officer?" The word officer sounded like 'Lucifer', to me.

"No, we were three—the other two must have been taken to other

cells.

"Oka) > ou sit here." he indicated the ground, "while I go and look for youi friends." He hurriedly left me and I started biting my finger naiK 1 felt that 1 had released some of my pent-up feelings by delivering thai punch and kick 1 stretched my right hand fingers and the) made a satisfying cracking sound. I rolled my tongue inside my mouth and felt where the other warder had punched me. I smiled at myself.

My mind attempted to make out what my punishment would be, punishment for punching and kicking other prisoners. The chances of taking me to court would be remote indeed but the mugs might decided to mete out justice their own way. What would they do to me? I was so absorbed in my thoughts that I did not hear the warder approaching. His voice sounded excessively loud when he called my name.

"Okay, now, let's go," he said and I turned and saw my other two friends. I felt more at ease with them than in the company of the other prisoners: rapists and sodomites!!

Being a cop aint' so bad after all. They changed our tattered blankets and gave us newer ones. We were taken to a different cell—the three of us. Inside that cell, we found four other prisoners. We were told that we would stay there overnight while arrangements for proper 'accommodation' were being made. The warder promised us that he would see to it that we were given our own separate cell.

He then asked if any of us wanted anything like food or . . . and I was the first one to answer. The contrast between the bully warders and this almost polite warder was so great and it had so mesmerised me that I almost shouted:

"Yes, some food please."

"Okay, then, I will be coming back," he said and we all heard his boots clatter-clatter away. I smiled at my two friends and they smiled back. I wanted to brag to them about the episode in the previous cell but I held my tongue because of the other prisoners.

I looked at the new specimens of prisoners that I had as companions and found that, one was extremely dirty. From head to his shoe-less feet. The other three were cleaner although one appeared to have been half-shaven on one half of his face while the other side had a bushy growth of both beards and side-burns. They were all half-naked, with only trousers on—no shirts.

At that time, I had no idea that I was in the company of ex-Mathare patients. They looked quite normal—on the face of it. Even the way they conversed with us was quite normal.

The warder came back with three platefuls of beans. He must have miraculously known about my dislike for the ugali because he gave me a bowl full of beans only. The only problem was salt. It was irregularly applied and I could have a bite with and another without even

a trace of salt. All the same, I did not complain. The action of the new warder were so friendly and polite that I felt that he was kind of apologising on behalf of the other warders.

He chatted with us for about twenty minutes while we munched our mealies, assuring us that we would be okay in his hands but warning against provoking the wrath of some of the warders who, as he put it, thought that prisons were their eternal living places. He told us his name—Fetus Muriithi—and said we were welcome to call on him any time we had a problem like of sending mail if we wanted anything that was within the regulations of the prisoners. We murmured our thanks.

Hey! That was good. The meal was only beans but it tasted good to me. Also, I felt good to have noticed that, amid the scum and filth of the prison warders, there was at least one with a reasoning capacity. I did not require anyone's sacrifices or extreme favours. All I needed was understanding, only.

By the time he left, my morale had been raised at least three degrees.

We asked the other prisoners who they were and what they had done and for the first time, I noticed some semblance of insanity in them. The half-shaven started by telling us how he had been arrested for stealing a gear-box but when the story was half-told, the stolen item turned into a complete wheel and by the end of the story, he was referring to it as a motor-vehicle.

1 he othei two told us incoherent stories which were plain lies and did not make an\ sense

I he last one told us in a boastful tone of how he had raped a White woman and how he had been admitted to Mathare Mental Hospital

and how he had raped a female mental patient there, gloating over the details so much that I felt disgusted. His analysis kind of triggered off the reserves of the others and they started talking. They all gave us their stories of insanity and at the end of it all, I was sure that they were insane. I was locked in a cell with nutters!!

Beause I had only two blankets, I folded one oh the floor and felt it with my hand. I could feel the stone hardness through the light sheen of comfort that was created by the blanket. The nutters advised us to remove all our clothes; if we did not want the clothes to become breeding nurseries for bed-bugs and allied blood suckers.

I stripped off all my clothes and remained with only pants. We hung our clothes over the air-aperture but they obstructed the scanty air that was filtering through it and so we had to remove them from there. I folded mine into a pillow and my two colleagues followed suit.

The air was already getting stale. We did not need to cover ourselves anyway. There was enough warmth as it was. There was also another stench emanating from the other prisoners that was enough to make one sweat.

We huddled ourselves at one corner and I pretended to be fast asleep. I could not sleep, however. Not with a mad man within three feet of me. Suppose he ran amok at night and strangled me! Jesus!! I felt a chill rundown my spine, and end at the small of my back. I said another short prayer. If matters went on like they had started, I would very easily become a Saint!!

10

I must have fallen heavily asleep somehow. Maybe because of the previous night's sleeplessness or the beans I had eaten. The only thing I know is that I slept so heavily and did not stir until the following morning at 05:00 hours. Of course I did not have a wrist-watch but we were quickly made to know, by our cell-mates, that the first census o\' prisoners is done daily at 05:00 hours and what we had

heard was the sign of the census: the rapping on the doors and the

bawling of the warders:

"Simama kwa hesabuHT they were shouting after rapping on each

door.

"Hey! Wewe! Simama kwa hesabu." he would repeat when a particular bunch in a cell appeared drowsy. He came to our cell and although we were all standing with our blankets draped over our shoulders, he shouted the same order of, 'simama kwa hesabu\ and then he peeped through the slot at the door and asked: "Ngapi hapaT*

"Nne." one mad man answered readily. I think he must have been repeating the 'nne' for so long that it had stuck firmly in his mad head.

The warder opened the door, raged at the fellow for about three minutes before he made the physical count of us and then locked the door. That is what he should have done right from the beginning. I did not see the reason why he should rely on the answer from a prisoner while he had the key to the cell.

After the first census, there was a break of about thirty minutes before the next group of'counters' arrived. This was led by a warder who must have been higher in rank than the others. He had a decorated lam-yard. I really had never been over-keen in knowing w hat the other departments in the Government wore as distinguished marks of ranks and as I looked at the officer, I made a mental calculation that I would at least be more interested in them, when the case was over.

I hen. the doors were opened and we were allowed to go and empty our over-full bladders and bowels, and also pour the urine, in a pail which uas available in the cell and which was completely full. My limbs were numb and stiff and there was a dull ache around my hips.

After washing our laces with a very hard piece of soap and very cold water, WC were served with breakfast. This consisted of w// which was contained in a dirty half-drum. It was served by another convict w ho splashed it so roughly that it was filling the bowl and overflowed onto the hands ot the prisoners, before it settled to fill only one third

of the bowl. I picked a bowl from the metre-long stack of them and to my utter surprise, I found it filthy. It had bits and pieces of what we had for supper the previous night and greasy film all over. I took it to the tap and try as I would, I could not make it any cleaner and so I removed the bits and pieces one by one, and joined the queue waiting to be served the uji. When I was served, I noticed a black unidentified floating object in the uji. I asked what it was and I was told that it was some new kind of uji. Festus, the kind warder, was not around and so I had no one to turn to, for help. I sauntered back to our cell. I tasted the uji and noticed that it was neither sugary nor salty. It was not even tasting like uji. The taste was something between wheat dough and stale ugali, I gave up the attempt to drink it, barely after the third sip and was eagerly helped to pour it by one of our cell-mates: down his mad gullet!!

Another convict came and picked our empty bowls and then the door was again locked. We sat in silence for about five minutes, scratching our backs where lice and bed-bugs had passed through in the night and biting our dirty finger-nails. Then, the warders came again and announced that all the prisoners who had arrived the previous day were required at the main gate. My heart skipped a beat! I thought that by some kind of miracle, we were going to be released! The three of us stood hurriedly and I was just about to start grinning, when a word from one of the cell-mates stopped my grin in the tracks.

"You are going for T.A.B. and Photographs. That's the only way you can stay with us. You've got to be immunized so that you may not pick any diseases from us."

I did not know what T.A.B. was and I thought that it must be a very powerful drug: to be able to immunize against madness!! The door was opened and we were paraded, two-two to the main office at the gate. The only nagging problem was that at every stop, we were supposed to squat on our haunches. A very uncomfortable position for me and my height!

T.A.B. turned out to be an injection on the upper arm. Very brief and not painful at all. Then, we were taken to the Photographer who took three snaps of each of us.