It was one of those visits to the village. This was one of those clear sky and warm afternoons; a cool fresh breeze blowing from the east obviously making its journey to the west. All was calm and cool; peace having bonded with soil. I was strutting around enjoying the clean air oxidized overnight by the majestic blue gum trees which towered above all. These exotics “mithili ya ukoloni mamboleo” cunningly and quietly sip the underground water reserves that my grandson will one day need. There are no more indigenous Mugumo and Muratina trees that once skirted the horizons of this area. I would frequently stop to receive accolades from the ever smiling villagers.

In a huff, everyone in the shopping centre started running helter-skelter. The dreaded Mungiki gang had raided the village. No one would say so as they referred to the gang as “watu wamekuja” (people have come!). Before the stupid city boy in me could ask which people, everyone had vanished! Only then did I see vicious well-built young men like me carrying pangas and machetes charging towards me. It dawned on me that there are times you do not need to negotiate death with death. I ran as fast as my feeble legs could carry me. (Ha! I ran as fast as a deer….good old primary school days).

The only way out was to the local Wamicuba pub as all other shops were closed and there was no one in sight. Talk about survival. The usually crowded market was now empty with scattered vegetables and mitumba clothes the only evidence that minutes ago warm-blooded creation filled the place. I made a desperate dash for the Wamicuba pub as the waitresses struggled to close the doors.

In a second I was in and the waitresses had gone to hide after a failed attempt to close the doors. I did not make it far inside given that the place was dingy. It was my first time there and therefore I could not make out the geography of the pub. I knew there must be a backdoor to the court behind the building. I had to look for it fast and probably hide in the tea plantation beyond.

I did not make it. For one, some young drunk men blocked my way. Secondly, two members of the gang, Kamau and Njoroge caught up with me before I could decide in my head whether that was a staircase I saw to some rooms up there. The possibility of upstairs confused me since there are no storey houses around here. The young men sobered up from their kalikali gaze once they saw Kamau and Njoroge brandishing their newly sharpened pangas. One young man told Kamau not to harm us since we were all “inside the house” an apparent reference to Mungiki membership.

There was a moment of relief as Kamau smiled and it looked like he and his gang aide will leave us for more catch out there. Kamau is a bright young man and he demanded proof that we were all truly inside the house. In his mind he devised a simple way of telling the wheat from the tares; the greeting style! It was not a simple handshake affair.

Kamau clamped his fist and directed it towards me.

“Hii hooo!” Kamau roared. I was caught between the estate sewage and the Nairobi River. What do I say now? I wondered.

“Hiii” I muttered. There was no two way around it. Fate has conspired. Kamau slapped me hard and pushed me to the left.

“Kumbafu hii!” he snorted in satisfaction. In an instance, I was uplands meat. Ukitaka kuchinja nguruwe, chagua aliyenona, the Swahili say. I was a fat one to Kamau.

“Hii hooo!” Kamau roared again, clamping his fist towards one of the once-intoxicated man.

“Tiririki!” came the response with a firm knot of the clamped fists. That was it. The rest had it easy and I was led to the slaughter house.

I thought of running from where I had fallen when I failed the test. In a flash I saw my headless body gasping for breath and spurting blood like I was having a bloody orgasm. I saw my skinned head grinning from a green paper bag in the market place. I realized I deserved better or at least my flesh needs some decent treatment even in death. It had served me well for over twenty years. Furthermore, I could not just run from Kamau and Njoroge, his lot were too friendly it hypnotized.

I was led out of the Wamicuba pub. According to Kamau, they would not kill me, but I needed to be cleansed. They had to take me to the Italian from Sicily to be cleaned. We set out for the cleansing ceremony in the mountains, Kamau and Njoroge leading the way. They were sure as death that I was not running away. Like sheep being led to the slaughter house I followed loyally. There are times in life when you run out of options and destiny takes over. We passed by my shamba where I was growing grass for the government (ama hii gava ni ng’ombe?). I had even secured a Nissan urvan van which I used to ferry cut grass to the government silos.

Njoroge was curious and furious that I never converted the Nissan into a matatu. He was concerned that I denied them income. However, since I worked for the government I was an asset. There was no way the government would kill or imprison me. He reasoned further that while I worked for the government I would assist “The House” in varied ways.

As we approached the mountains, we had to jump some barbed wire fence that separated the village from the Nyayo Tea Zone plantations. It was an easy deal for Kamau and Njoroge to jump off the fence but the city boy could only manage to pass in between some two barbed wires that ran parallel to each other. The city boy got stuck as he bent and attempted to pass through the wires.

When I looked up, still trapped in the barbed wire, I saw a former school mate who was picking tea for the government. I asked for his help in getting through the fence and he pointed to another opening that would fit me. Still I let out a desperate whisper for help. “Unaona venye naenda, tafadhali nisaidie”. That was supposed to be a coded message to him that other than the wire trap, I was also in another trap that I needed to be rescued from.

Not far from there we arrived at a thatched hut inside the Aberdare ranges where the cleansing ceremony would take place. Kamau and Njoroge went in to brief the Italian from Sicily of their conquest as I waited outside. Down the valley I saw the majestic Chania River clear as crystal gushing down the mountains. A spot along the river bank where the cleansing ceremony would take place had been cleared. On the opposite side, more recruits were arriving, being led quietly down the valley to the slaughter house.

From the thickets behind the thatched hut, slowly, men draped in long jungle jackets and face painted in black mud started emerging. They were armed and were quietly surrounding the hut. They were the deadly Kanga squad from the Kenya Police who have been charged with the duty of clearing the Mungiki gang. My plea for help through my former school mate was bearing fruit.

The Kanga squad started shooting randomly towards the hut and the surrounding. As far as I knew none of the gang members nor the recruits had guns to return back the fire as the police spokesman would say. There was no ‘shootout’, just one-way shooting of the Mungiki gang and the recruits who were yet to join the gang. I was caught up in the melee. I was also a target of the Kanga squad despite being the one who asked for help.

When fate seemed thick, I switched to my duo role of a government task-man taking breakfast in a five star hotel as I prepare to make a presentation of how we will deliver the Teams Fibre Optic Cable by June next year. In front of me are eggs, bacon, cornflakes, uji, fruit salad, sausages, an assortment of beverages and bread. Anyway which one of the two would a city boy prefer; in a thicket being shot at and pumped with bullets or taking a fatty breakfast?