by Meja Mwangi
“We had a meeting,” he said.
Sara rolled her eyes in despair and lay back down. Razor was looking round the room, raking the gang with his eyes, waiting for someone to tell him the rest of the story. When his eyes got to Sara, she turned her back to face the wall. Professor was sweating, when he turned to the others for support. Tension was heavy in the air.
“Whose idea was it?” Razor asked.
Professor waved at the others. They did their best to avoid eye contact. Professor wiped the sweat from his face and fingered his beard uncertain whether to sit down.
“Kifagio?” Razor called over his shoulder.
Kifagio shook his head and continued staring at the ground.
“Jitu?”
“Not me, Razor.”
Razor turned back to Professor.
“Mwalimu?”
“We were just talking,” said Professor.
“Was it your idea?”
Professor shook his head.
“It was not anyone’s idea,” Sara turned to face the room. “We were talking, remembered Chief and the other one we lost when your good friend turned out to be a policeman, and that was all.”
Then she turned to face the wall again. Razor whipped out a knife. Maina stepped back startled.
“It was not really a meeting,” the Professor said to Razor. “It was just a ... a look-back at life. Where we were then, versus where we are now. Just a matter of perspective, that was all it was. No meeting at all.”
Sara whipped around and faced the room.
“It was a meeting,” she said. “And, since no one has the manhood, I will tell you what it was all about. The two good men who died because your good friend turned out to be a police informer.”
Then she turned and faced the wall. Razor snapped round and held the knife to Maina’s neck.
“Are you a rat?” he asked.
“A rat?”
“An informer?”
“No.”
“Policeman?”
“No.”
Razor turned to the gang, pointing his knife at Kifagio. Kifagio choked on smoke from the joint he was sucking on.
“No more meetings without me,” Razor said to him.
Kifagio nodded. He was about to pass out from the smoke in his lungs.
“I will be present in all future meetings,” Razor said to all. “Is that clear?”
They nodded, all except Sara who was facing the wall and missed the knife drama.
“Yah, yah, yah,” she said aloud to herself. “Bla, bla, bla, and you are the king of the world and the brave leader of a gang of gutless cowards who can’t keep a secret.”
Razor turned to her.
“That goes for you too,” he said.
She rose from the bed. She was wearing a very short skirt and a tight, little blouse that barely covered her ample bosom. She slipped her hand in Razor’s, moved close so that her body rubbed against his, then smiled up at him.
“I did not mean to upset you,” she said. “I have nothing against your new friend. We have nothing against any of your friends. It is just that we do not want another tragedy. We have been together for how long now?”
Razor shrugged.
“Is he really worth it?” she asked.
Razor looked Maina up and down. Then he turned to the gang.
“He is my friend,” he said. “If I say someone is a friend, he is a friend.”
“Until he turns a rat?” Sara said.
“Chokora is not a rat. He is my old schoolmate.”
“You really went to school?”
“Ask him.”
Sara turned to Maina, standing by the entrance feeling unwelcome. The proceedings had left him confused and not sure whether he was coming in or going out.
“Tell her,” Razor ordered.
Standing half inside and half outside the door, Maina hesitated.
“The truth,” she said harshly.
Maina felt exposed, vulnerable, and uncertain. He could not remember having laid eyes on Razor before that day. He was almost certain Razor never attended any school he went to. But he needed a friend, read or unread and Razor was the only one at hand. It would be foolish, and dangerous to expose the only person who seemed to like him.
“Yes,” he said. “It is true.”
“Now sit,” Razor ordered.
Maina looked for a seat. Finding none, he flopped on the dust by Kifagio.
“Give him a smoke,” Razor said.
Kifagio searched his pockets, found a roll, lit it, took a long pull, and handed it to Maina. Maina hesitated. He had seen what bhangi, did to students who smoked it. They dropped out of school, became full time bhangi-smoking and stole chickens.
Maina considered the offered smoke with trepidation. What to do now? He could smoke it, and be one with the gang, or get up and run for his life. He feared that smoking the roll of bhangi would be the first stage of failure for his dreams. On the other hand, running would label him an informer. The gang would give chase, and catch him before he found his way out of Shanty Town and beat the hell out of him. They were watching and waiting.
“Smoke that thing or give it to me,” said Professor.
This was not the time for second thoughts, not with Sara regarding him with those hard eyes, and everyone else waiting for him to prove Razor wrong. He held the joint between finger and thumb, as he had seen Kifagio hold it, put it to his lips and inhaled deeply. He felt the smoke go tumbling down his throat to his lungs and block every air sack. He felt his chest inflate and swell, until he thought it would blow up, then he exploded in a fury of coughing, and choking, and retching and was about pass out on the floor. He heard the gang laughing, as Mwalimu was pounding on his back to dislodge the smoke stuck in his lungs.
Razor put away his knife and got back on the bed with Sara. She hugged him and he kissed her, and they forgot the gang.
Kifagio reached for the cigar. Maina held it back.
“Once more,” he said.
Now that he could breathe again, he had something to prove. He had to show them he was as much a man as any of them. He smiled at Kifagio. Kifagio snarled back, as he watched him take quick puffs.
“Take it easy, schoolmate,” Professor wrestled the joint from his fingers. “This thing is not for school boys.”
He took a hard pull and passed the joint to Nyoka. The joint went around, and everyone forgot about Maina. He was finally one of them, and they smoked and talked with him like an old friend. The got high and mellow, and did not understand every word everyone said anymore, but it did not matter. What mattered was they were talking, and laughing, and being friends and among friends. Maina felt he had known everyone for years and, under the influence of the joint, loved everyone regardless whether they welcomed him or not. They were one happy family, bound together by Razor’s blade, and the bhangi.
Outside, the evening wind stirred the dust and blew it through the narrow lanes, spreading the smells from the sewage, from the crematorium, and from the bhangi party going on in Razor’s house. Along with them were the smells of food, sounds of children playing, of babies crying and the moans of men beaten down by life.
Early the following day Maina returned to the city to find his friend. He searched the entire day without success. In the days that followed, he returned to the backstreets repeatedly, but it was in vain. In the end, he concluded Meja had gone home and stopped looking for him and settled in the gang.
Razor’s boys taught him how to be one of them. He learned to walk, talk, and surround himself with an air of Shanty Town gang arrogance. He learned how to live, eat and drink without money, by doing the things he had feared before. They taught him to confront the fear that had confined him to the backstreets and the dumpsters.
The professor schooled him on how to pick pockets, swipe wristwatches and lift purses from women’s handbags without getting caught; all the skills needed for survival on Main Street. Nyoka took him to the suburbs and showed him how to scale p
erimeter walls without waking up the watchmen, and how to go in and out of mansions without disturbing the guard dogs. He showed him how to open closed windows and doors and carry off whole wash-lines while the house girl was still hanging clothes. Kifagio taught him to open locked cars and take away the radios without setting off the alarms.
The lessons were frightening. Maina dreaded the day he would have to put what he was learned into practice. The thought of snatching a watch, or a wallet, and running away with a mob chasing after him, was so terrifying he thought of leaving the gang. But going back to backstreet without Meja was equally frightening. He by then was convinced Meja had given up on making it in the city and embraced the plough. He was tempted to swallow his pride and go back home, but he knew it would be too much to expect his people to accept that he, their most educated son, had failed to make it in the city and ended up in a gang.
Life in the gang was on of sporadic feasts and famines. They ate when they had food and starved when they had none. No one grumbled or complained, accepting the good and the bad, the ups and the downs as they came.
“Do you hear the children crying from hunger?” Razor asked, when they forgot why the place was named Shanty Town.
He lay on the bed with his queen and smoked bhangi. That was the one thing they always had. Their next-door neighbour was the main bhangi supplier in Shanty Town. Razor’s gang protected him from other gangs and he supplied it with all the free bhangi they could smoke. They sat for hours smoking and waiting for someone to come up with ideas on how to raise money for food and chang’aa.
Then, one very hungry afternoon, without any warning, Razor asked if anyone was hungry. Everyone assumed it to be a rhetoric question, since they were always hungry, and they disregarded the question. Razor suddenly leaped out of bed, and confronted them.
“Who is hungry?” he demanded.
They looked at one another.
“Kifagio?” he asked.
Kifagio shook his head.
“Jitu?”
Jitu shrugged.
“Nyoka?”
Nyoka laughed.
“Me hungry?” he shook his head. “Try Chokora.”
Maina was busy mending his shirt, with thread and needle borrowed from the wife of the bhangi seller next door, and missed the drift of the question.
“I am starving,” he said.
“So am I,” said Razor.
Maina continued his mending.
“Would you like to eat?” Razor asked him.
Maina looked up interested. He was certain there was no food in the house, the last time he checked, but he nodded and said he would love something to eat.
“So would I,” said Razor. “Since no one else is hungry, why don’t you go get us both something to eat?”
Maina was suddenly alarmed.
“Me?”
Razor lay back next to Sara and left him to it. He was in a panic. Kifagio gleefully explained it to him. So far everyone else had taken turns supporting the gang. All he had done was eat and learn.
Maina looked round the room. Professor was poring over his fingernails. Professor did whatever Razor said, ate whenever others ate and left the rest to providence. Jitu was dozing at his corner. Others were smoking and getting high. Only Kifagio seemed interested in Maina’s plight. He watched Maina pull the shirt over his head.
“Some advice?” He asked.
Maina turned eagerly.
“Two options,” Kifagio said. “You do as Nyoka would and walk around Shanty Town until you find a stray hen, goat or an untended kitchen. Or go to the city centre and do as you have been taught.
Razor looked over his shoulder.
“Go with him,” he said.
“Why me?” Kifagio asked.
“You like to help.”
“That is against the rules,” Kifagio protested. “He must prove himself. That is what I had to do; what we all had to.”
“And what were you before that?” Razor asked. “Before I made you what you are?”
“I was by myself,” Kifagio said. “I was ...”
His voice trailed off. He looked round the room for support. He got none.
“Lost, scared, hungry and wanted,” Razor reminded. “All of you wanted by police.”
“As I am aware,” said Professor, regarding his fingernails with interest, “nothing has changed.”
“Chokora is not wanted by anyone,” said Razor.
“Except by you,” said Nyoka.
“Shut up!”
“You made the rules,” Kifagio gained courage from the others.
“I still make the rules,” Razor told him.
“Rules are rules,” said Kifagio.
“Except for the exceptions,” said the Professors.
“What exceptions?” asked Razor.
“When the rules are broken,” Professor said, “they cease to be the rules and become just rules. And rules are made to be broken, so there is really no such thing as the rules. It is all just a matter of perspective.”
“What is he talking about?” Kifagio asked Razor.
Razor turned to Sara. She turned to face the wall.
“We can all see that Chokora is a big asset,” Professor said. “Potentially a very major asset. Therefore, quid pro quo, what applies to the rest does not apply to Chokora.”
They stared at him lost.
“What is asset?” someone asked.
“Something big,” Jicho said.
“What are you talking about?” Razor asked Professor.
“What I am saying is,” Professor went on, “Chokora has something we all wish we could have. He has youth, and energy and, before I forget, education. Education is important. Education has its uses.”
The gang stared at him.
“What are you saying?” Kifagio asked him.
Up to this point, he had assumed they were discussing gang rules and were all on the same side. Gang rules were gang rules and all gang members were equal. Professor laughed at him.
“Who told you that? Most people are less equal than others. Ask any educated man.”
“Like you?” asked Kifagio.
“That is all I am saying today. Unless anyone has a question.”
“Shut up,” Kifagio said to him.
“I already have.”
Maina tucked his shirt in his trousers, as he followed the argument, and waited for a decision to be reached, and someone to tell him what he should do. Should he stay or should he go? He watched and waited.
Kifagio suddenly took a swing at Razor. Had the blow connected Razor would have been floored, but he saw it coming, ducked and shoved Kifagio sending him into Maina. The two went down, with Kifagio on top, and he scrambled to his feet ready for another charge. He found Razor’s knife inches from his throat.
“Sasa?” said Razor. “Now?”
Kifagio turned and punched Jitu instead, knocking him flat on his back. Then he turned to Razor. He was shaking with fury.
“What now?” Sara asked them.
“Out!” Razor ordered.
Kifagio looked from the knife to Sara.
“What now?” she asked him.
“We are just talking,” he said.
“Talk is over,” said Razor. “Out!”
He advanced with the knife held in front of him. Kifagio stepped back, hands raised.
“I will do it,” he said. “I will go with Chokora.”
“Out!” Razor stabbed at the air between them.
“I did not mean it that way.”
Kifagio had his back to the wall.
“I am sorry,” he said. “I am sorry.”
He turned to Sara. She turned her back on them and lay facing the wall. He walked out without another word.
“Go with him,” Razor said to Maina.
Maina ran out after Kifagio.
It was still daytime in Shanty Town; hot and dusty and smelling of sewage. Chickens scratched in the dust, mangy dogs lay in the shade and a gang of ragged children
chased a rag ball down the lane. Kifagio glanced over his shoulder, saw Maina following and kept walking. He led down one narrow, sewage flooded road and up the next, mumbling to himself shoving people out of his way. He kicked chickens in the gutter, pushed children aside, and yelled at strangers. Maina kept his distance until they were out of Shanty Town and on their way to the city. He fell in step with Kifagio.
“I am sorry,” he said.
“You know I did not even want to know you,” Kifagio said. “If it was not for you ...”
“What did I do?”
Professor, who had been following them unnoticed, now caught up with them.
“He said I go with you,” he said.
“Why?” Kifagio demanded.
“A matter of perspective,” said Professor.
“Shut up.”
“I already have,” said Professor. “But I brought the chalk.”
“I said shut up.”
“Okay.”
He handed Maina the chalk.
“That is for you,” he said, smiling happily. “Today is your big day. Today you get to be a man.”
The chalk was for marking the victims clothing so as not to lose him in the crowd. Maina was in a panic, as he followed them along the road to the city centre and Main Street. His fear of policemen and street mobs grew with every step. He was in full panic by the time they reached Main Street. People were everywhere. Dodging around them was nerve-wracking. Every pedestrian was watching him, every policeman and watchman waiting for him to make his move so they could pounce on him. It was impossible to keep up with the others, as they went about looking for his first victim.
When the prey was finally sighted, Kifagio pointed him out to Maina. The moment he had been dreading had come.
“There is your man,” Kifagio said. “Do not lose him.”
The man was in a blue suit that bulged in the breast pocket where he had his wallet.
“You can see he is loaded,” said Professor.
Maina was so terrified he forgot everything he had learned since joining the gang.
“What do I do?” he asked them.
“What do you mean what do I do? You are a thief, you steal it.”
“There is nothing to it really,” said Professor. “You bump into him like this and you ...”