by Peter Kimani
They went past Dido the cat, now walking about but still in a separate world.
Upon seeing his owners, Caesar the dog stood up and wagged his tail as he accompanied them to the car.
Haywood thought he saw a curtain being pulled aside in Dixon’s room, which had some lights on. But that may have been wishful thinking. Hannah’s lights were already out. As they got into the back of the car, the thought entered both Haywood’s and Felicity’s minds that it may have been stolen and the license plate changed to read, KAZ 581 N.
Enock was still beside the gate. At ten o’clock, his supervisor would come for a routine check and Enock would begin hourly walkabouts at midnight, carrying his baton and shining his flashlight. His beat ended at five every morning. As he opened the gate for the white car to exit, he was not at all suspicious. The two men had not stayed very long. And there they were taking out their teacher and his wife for dinner, as they had explained.
“Asante,” Kizito said through the side window closest to the guard.
“Sawa, sawa, Enock!” Haywood added reassuringly.
Enock saluted them as the car drove out.
At around ten to eight, there was still a lot of traffic on the roads. They did not head, as the Haywoods might have thought, to Deep Sea. Instead, Juma turned right on Eldama Raveen Road, left past the bank building onto the lower end of Peponi Road, then drove straight ahead. The car headed past the Westgate Shopping Mall, repaired and fortified since the terror attack.
A confusion of thoughts invaded the Haywoods. Foremost among them: were they going to come out of all this alive? Felicity wondered whether she would ever see her grandchildren again. Then she wondered whether she had turned off the oven. Haywood wondered what he could do, proactively, in this situation. As a mental diversion each of them resorted to identifying landmarks along the way, reminiscent of the observation game they had played with their children on their way to school, or on safaris. After a couple of minutes of driving, they came to the Sarit Centre.
The car turned right at an intersection and then left onto Waiyaki Way, heading in the direction of downtown Nairobi, past what was once the landmark Westlands Roundabout, now sealed off as part of supposed improvements in traffic flow. A bit farther down, Juma took a slip road and made a U-turn that put him back on the highway, but going in the opposite direction, toward Naivasha, the nearest sizable town.
“Where are we going?” Felicity asked.
“You talk too much, woman!” Juma snapped. “Nyamaza!”
“Don’t speak to my wife like that!”
“Don’t you talk to me like that!” Juma shot back. “Or you will see!”
Silence reigned from that point onward, at least for the Haywoods.
Juma and Kizito continued to have animated exchanges in the English and Kiswahili hybrid known as Sheng. The Haywoods couldn’t follow everything but they registered disagreement on what to do next. The farther along they went, the more Juma drove like a maniac. Felicity thought that she was going to vomit. Juma turned left on a bypass to take the Escarpment Road. With no streetlights, it became impossible for Haywood and Felicity to get their bearings. Eventually, the car stopped in forested terrain.
“Time to get out and stretch,” Juma said. It was his turn to pull out his gun.
“And then for the blindfolds and then into the boot for Bwana Haywood,” Kizito said. “Just like in the movies. Felicity will remain in the backseat with me.”
Haywood felt his powerlessness even more keenly.
The Haywoods were blindfolded with colorful khanga cutoffs. This was particularly uncomfortable for Felicity, because of the added pressure of her spectacles. She was made to lie across the backseat, facedown. Haywood was made to get into the boot, facedown.
Juma started the car. They drove at breakneck speed and stopped, then drove at breakneck speed again and stopped, for what must have been an hour or more. Juma and Kizito lit up a marijuana joint, after which their exchanges became even more animated and contentious. Felicity had only tried a joint once, at her high school. She found the smell absolutely nauseating and wished to God that it would go away.
* * *
Felicity’s prayer was answered a bit later. The car came to a halt. Someone got out and walked away, followed by an interlude of silence. After what seemed like an eternity, the person returned to the car. Juma and Kizito talked to each other before one of them walked away once more.
How strange, Felicity thought, that she and Richard were going through an experience that was visited upon a significant number of African Kenyans every day but which mzungus like her would take as a sign to leave the country immediately. Haywood wondered what they should do, if they survived the ordeal, to have Juma and Kizito apprehended? He could go to the Spring Valley Police Station and have the incident recorded and a report issued to him, for a small bribe. But he knew that nothing much would happen after that.
Both Haywood and Felicity were trying to find an explanation for the sudden lull in events.
Actually, Juma had driven the car back toward Nairobi and into the Westlands area. It was Kizito who had first walked off to make a maximum withdrawal from an ATM machine beside Sky Park Plaza on Waiyaki Way. Then he returned awhile later to make a second maximum withdrawal five minutes after midnight, it being a brand-new day.
Juma and Kizito took out 400,000 shillings at the ATMs.That was close to four thousand American dollars. Not a bad outing. But it had to be worthwhile for them: robbery with violence was a serious crime in Kenya. If found guilty of it, Juma and Kizito could spend decades in prison. Unless, of course, the police pumped bullets into them in an ambush, long before any trial.
Once Kizito was back in the car for the second time, Juma drove past the rear of the Sarit Centre and turned left onto School Lane. He stopped the car some distance along a darkened path just short of Westlands Primary School.
Juma opened a side door and the boot to let Felicity and Haywood out. He removed their blindfolds. “Okay, good peepo. It’s time for us to say goodbye.”
“Si you are fellow Kenyans,” Kizito stated. “You know how to get back home from here, don’t you?”
“Yes, we do,” Haywood answered, although he couldn’t quite tell where they were.
“Ahead is School Lane which, as good citizens, you must take every time you go to vote,” Kizito said.
“Mama Felicity,” Juma began, in an effort to prove that he, too, was capable of charm, “I don’t want to be remembered as the bad one. Here . . .” He reached into his trouser pocket and presented Felicity with the two rings he had taken earlier. “Sasa, off you go!” he commanded.
Haywood and Felicity started walking, hand in hand. They turned left to head back to Karuna Road. It would take them half an hour at most to get back home.
“Kwaherini,” Juma and Kizito called out, waving to the couple as they drove past them.
The Haywoods said nothing in reply. They were speechless. They saw the car turn right to continue along School Lane. It let out two hoots of farewell, then disappeared.
THE HERMIT IN THE HELMET
by Ngũgĩ wa Thiong'o
Kawangware
This saga took place during the colonial era, when whites owned our soil, water, air, and, well, our bodies, and even tried to own our soul. Our soil and soul. And because most of you were born after Independence, stories about those colonial days may sound like fables. So, if you find this tale hard to believe, I won't blame you. If I had not been there and saw it all with my own eyes, I would not have believed it either, no matter from whose mouth.
Kanage, the subject of our tale, was a respected teacher in the elementary school called the Whetstone of Wonders (WoW), located in Wonder Village. Some nicknamed him Mr. Wonderful, and others, Kanage Son of Wonders. He had an incredible crop of dark hair, multilayered curls of soft shiny blackness, the result of diligent grooming with comb and oil.
His reputation, though, resided less in the color and softness of his hair than in
his knowledge of English. He spoke it through the nose, like the colonial white settler owners of the language. It was said that his English was so difficult, or conk, as some pupils would say colloquially, that even some white owners of the language were left shaking their heads in disbelief, having tried but miserably failed to figure out what he meant. Nobody had actually seen or heard him speak to any white person, so none of us knew where or how the rumor started. Some people surmised that Kanage himself started the rumor, for he became visibly upset when people doubted the veracity of such tales. What most irritated him was the lack of opportunity to engage the owners of the language in public view.
The opportunity came unexpectedly. And all because of his church and voice. Wait. Let me explain.
Kanage and Salome, his wife, were faithful churchgoers. Accompanied by their son and daughter, Gacagĩ and Gaceri, they were often the first on the holy premises and the last to leave. They remained a regular faithful foursome, until the children became teens, and developed other uses for their time. The church was named after Elijah, the prophet said not to have died and been buried like other people, but that when his time came, his clothes turned into wings of glory and, in broad daylight and with people cheering him on, he flew to heaven.
There were some who denied that version and asserted that Elijah ascended to heaven in a horse-drawn carriage of fiery flames. Fiery flames without the horses burning? some asked doubtfully. The dispute deepened with years, the arguments nearly driving some of the disputants crazy.
Kanage was in the camp of those who claimed Elijah ascended to heaven in a fiery carriage, but Salome was among those who claimed that Elijah's clothes turned into wings of glory. The dispute over the manner of Elijah's ascendancy almost split the church in two.
Well, let me first fill you in. Church divisions did not begin in our times. And I am not just talking about the original parting ways between Orthodoxists, and Catholics, or later between Catholics and Protestants. During the colonial days, the churches, even those within the same camp, used to split into sects, which would vie with each other for which had more followers, especially followers with deep pockets, every church and sect claiming that God was on their side. Some even claimed that angels visited their churches regularly, but that they could only be seen by those without sin.
Samuel Solomon TT, for Truth Teller, the leader of the Church of Elijah, believed that the best shepherd holds the herd together in the same kraal. He asked that both factions listen carefully to hear what the Book of God said about Elijah's ascent to heaven. So he opened the Bible and read out: And it came to pass that as they continued on and talked, that suddenly a chariot of fire appeared with horses of fire, and separated the two of them; and Elijah went up by a whirlwind into heaven.
But no matter how much Samuel Solomon TT read the Bible, no faction would budge. You have heard for yourselves, they said, he was lifted by wind, the horses just met him in the air, just an escort, he entered heaven as he was. The others would counter: Didn't you hear the scriptures? Didn't you hear about horses and chariot and fire?
Samuel Solomon TT, or Double T as young people called him, beseeched his followers to end disagreements: what was important was not whether he went up in a chariot, or his clothes, but the fact that Prophet Elijah went to heaven in public view. If the manner of his going to heaven, in a carriage or in his clothes, was what was important, God would have let Solomon know.
His words touched Kanage deeply, which made him want to sing. Oh yes, his voice! It was soft like castor seed oil. Whenever he got an opening to show off its pitch, low or high, Kanage would seize the time and break into song. And that was what he did: lead in a call-and-response.
What matters is not how Elijah went to heaven
What matters is that he went up there
The heavenly doors opened and let him in
He dwelt therein with God.
And as the others responded, they would jump up and down; it felt as if their voices would split the iron-corrugated roof.
Up in heaven
Even we
Powered by faith
We will fly there
Up there in heaven.
Far from abating, the disagreements deepened till some of the congregants, especially the more affluent, swore to leave the Church of Elijah, or the Church of God Is God, and form another, the Temple of God Is the Savior, to be named after Prophet Elisha. This threatened to split many homes. Even the house of Kanage and Salome.
Salome threatened to join the new Church of Elisha, or the Temple of God Is the Savior, claiming that it would be the best for those who wanted quick riches, but Kanage swore never to leave the Church of Elijah, for it was the Church of God Is God. The new tensions made Solomon set a special Sunday for prayers for the unity of the church.
And on that day, Solomon kneeled down before the congregation and besought God to do a miracle in public view to show how Elijah ascended to heaven, so that tensions within them would cease, and all the people would come to know truly that the Church of Elijah was the true church. He called upon God to remind the people that Elisha was Elijah's follower, his son really, and a child does not defy their father.
I was there, in the church, that Sunday. Samuel Solomon prayed nonstop for nearly the whole day, till sweat drops fell from his face to the floor, and in no time formed a stream. After he was done, he told us to be patient and wait for God's miracle, but he was quick to remind us that God cannot be ordered to do this or that, He does his will as He wills. He might reveal the truth after one day, or a month, or even after several years, what was important was for them to wait patiently and without hasty splits.
His words so moved Kanage that he broke into another song, with the others joining in the chorus:
God is never commanded
God is never bribed
God does not marry
God does not get married
God is not pushed around
God wills what He wills
When He wills
His wonders are done
Done done done dane done
Done done done dane done.
Samuel Solomon was overjoyed by Kanage's support, and he proclaimed that the words in the hymn were actually God's own, through the mouth of His chosen vehicle, Kanage himself.
The praise pierced Kanage's ear, the spirit seized him again, and he raised his voice in song:
Wash my soiled soul
Whiten it bright
Wash my soiled soul
Whiten it brighter than stars
Wash me my soul
Whiten it whiter than snow.
At first, even Salome, his wife, was taken aback, but then she joined him in the last lines. And then it happened. Just as he finished the song, who should enter the church?
A white man.
Yes, that fatal morning an Englishman came to our church, and guess what, he wore a pith helmet, the kind we called a basin. We had seen similar helmets worn by the governor of the colony, as he toured the provinces and then sat in a high chair before adoring hundreds, with native dancers beating the drums and doing aerial acrobatics, but that was only in pictures. This white man dwelled among us. Whatever its shortcoming compared with that of the governor, for us in our village, it was the first time that we were seeing a similar headgear at close quarters. It covered his entire head, including his hair.
Samuel Solomon Double T beamed with happiness. Already, he could imagine his church's fame spreading village to village, region to region—nay, the whole colony.
And immediately, the preacher made the stranger a guest of honor and invited him to sit in the front row, near him. The visitor nodded his acceptance of the honor, took the seat, the helmet still on his head. But he did look a little surprised when Solomon added that because he was now their guest of honor, he would be given time to talk to the congregation. When Kanage heard that he would be the interpreter, he jumped up, saying, quite loudly, "Yes, yes." Even though inter
preting was a big honor, Kanage would have loved a conversation between the two of them, so that the whole assembly could see him defeat an Englishman in spoken English.
Englishman: I am Smith Livingstone
Kanage: I am Maker of Living Stones.
Englishman: I flew here . . .
Kanage: I flew myself here . . .
The helmet still on his head, the Englishman said he appreciated the honor; he was really on a study tour on the state of Christian worship in the rural communities and this church's architecture had caught his eye. The church building had a steeple, like some of the Gothic churches in Europe, and it was really this that attracted him to the church. How had such a style reached the rural areas of this colony?
Who does this white man think he is? I wondered. To visit us simply because of a steeple? Or maybe it was Kanage who was not interpreting correctly.
He then asked us to open the Bible to the Book of Matthew, the text that says: Blessed are the meek: for they shall inherit the earth. After which he gave a short sermon. The text, he said, called upon people to reject the machete-armed gangsters who spread terror under the pretext of demanding freedom. The freedom of the soul was the true and everlasting freedom and for that all one needed was Faith, Cross, and Christ.
After the service, and looking very holy, the Englishman mingled with the congregation, even shaking hands with some. And all the time he was taking pictures of the church, particularly the steeple, from different angles.
When his turn to shake hands with the guest of honor came, his first ever with a white personage—he had never shaken the hand of a white man before—Kanage was all meekness, but once he grasped the white hand and shook it vigorously, muttering something through the nose, he would not let go. Even when the Englishman tried to free his hand, Kanage tightened the grip, making us all wonder: How is this going to end?
I was torn between the spectacle of the handshake and the steeple. For some reason I had never paid any particular attention to it until the Englishman mentioned it as what drew him to our church. I realized that it was indeed unique to this church. The steeple ended in a spire. I wondered if there were any documents relating to our church's origins. When my eyes turned to Kanage and the mzungu, I found the pair still locked in the handshake, the Englishman trying to free his hand and Kanage tightening the grip on it.