Kanjo

I detest city council askaris or kanjo as they are popularly known. They sit in their battered vehicles with all the windows reinforced with wire mesh and hungry looks on their faces waiting for some unsuspecting prey to pounce on. Woe unto you if you are unlucky and they catch you. You’ll have to make a choice between spending a few hours, or in extreme cases, days in a cell, or parting with a bribe to secure your freedom.

There’s a joke doing the rounds that even if they accuse you of shitting in the middle of Kimathi street at noon, just admit you did and get it over with.

I always thought I had mastered the skill of evading them until the evening I was caught trying to buy a novel from one of those street vendors.  I didn’t expect it. One minute I was bent over trying to choose one and in the next instant I was being hauled practically off my feet and dragged along on the streets. People turned to look, others with sympathy and others with amusement.

I was horrified and didn’t know what to do. The hand that was tightly holding my skirt was so firm that I knew I didn’t stand a chance of breaking away. He dragged me along to where one of their vans was parked. Already there was a pack of trespassers like me huddled inside awaiting their fate. He shoved me rudely onto the floor of the van and locked the door. I gingerly picked myself up and tried to find a seat.

Now, the kanjo vans have the set up of the face-me matatus we had from way before. You have to sit facing one other and the only way to avoid eye contact was if you looked at the floor. There were around ten of us huddled inside there. There was little room for movement and we were forced to either lean forward or back in order to accommodate one another.

The guy seated directly opposite me looked like he wanted to cry. He had this morose look on his face and I thought that any minute the tears would start falling. 

I looked away. 

There is nothing as sad as seeing a grown ass man reduced to such a pitiful sight. I prayed he wouldn’t start sobbing or worse wailing. I hoped he’d man up and just hold his tears at bay. No one was dead-yet.

The lady seated next to him was chewing on gum and had this don’t-care attitude about her. From the pile of stuff she held on to between her feet, I gathered she was a hawker. She probably went through this ordeal almost every day. She didn’t seem overly concerned and I wished I could adopt her attitude.

There was a strong stench of unwashed human bodies hovering inside the van and I thought I would throw up. I couldn’t clearly see where we were headed since darkness had started to creep in. 

No one said anything for a while, and then a man seated at the corner whom I hadn’t even noticed spoke up,

“Hawa watu lazima tutoe kitu kidogo watuachilie.  Mimi sitaki kulala cell.”

 “Utatulipia?”The hawker lady chimed.

H e wasn’t amused by her response, “Hio ni shida yako, kama hauna cha kujitoa nayo basi cell ndio kwako.”

She clicked her teeth in disgust but didn’t say anything else.

The weeping guy then came to life. “Kwanza leo ni Friday, tukipelekwa ndani tutakaa huko mpaka Monday ndio hata tushughulikiwe.”

I was torn between laughing and crying. On one hand it was terrifying that I may become a resident of the government for a weekend while on the other hand, the wailing guy was really funny to look at. I hate paying bribes but I knew then that I would have no other choice, unless I wanted to crown my week with a stay in police cells.

Some other lady who looked really polished said she wasn’t going to pay any bribe especially since she was picked for something she hadn’t done-they had accused her of leaning on a flower bed. She claimed she hadn’t been doing anything of the sort and was just standing next to it and furthermore she understood her rights.

I tried to tell her that kanjo and rights did not go well together but she gave me this dirty look that effectively silenced me. She looked like this type of woman who wouldn’t hesitate to engage in verbal warfare and would never lose. I didn’t want anybody to start telling me to mind my own business when I had urgent business at hand which was with the council askaris.

Eventually, the van stopped at some alley and the guys got out. They were four of them. In the dusk, they looked very sinister and I couldn’t wait to get the hell out of there. At that moment, I missed my mommy terribly. They opened the back door and told us all to get out.

They demanded three thousand shillings from each one of us. No mincing words, no nothing, they just came right out and asked for the money. I only had a thousand bob with some loose change. My heart started beating real fast. I prayed that my negotiation skills were good enough to earn me a quick exit. We faced each other and started pleading our cases. 

Looking back, I still smile when I think about the negotiation proceedings. The polished lady absolutely refused to pay a single cent. The hawker lady didn’t even remove a single shilling-as I had guessed, she was a frequent culprit- but was nevertheless released. The weeping guy actually paid more-just so they won’t change their minds and refuse to let him go. I parted with the one thousand bob after lengthy discussions and they also let me go. To date, I still wonder what happened to the polished lady.