• A minor accident that could usually turn into romantic banter goes south fast
Remember how I wrote about spending a night in jail after a fender-bender involving a woman who called her boyfriend on me? Granted, I had instigated the accident hoping to get her digits, but did that justify the lies she and her boyfriend trumped up to get me to spend the night on a cold hard floor?
“Officer,” the woman said, “he threatened me with a weapon.”
“What kind of weapon?”
“A rope of some sort he had around his neck. I think he was demonstrating how he would choke me with it.”
“It’s a stethoscope!” I burst out in awe. “I was coming from work.”
The police officer threw me daggers. “Nyamaza wewe! You’ll get your chance to explain your side of the story.”
Needless to say, I never got the chance to explain anything, in addition to which, I was denied bond. Only after vehement protestations was I allowed to call my lawyer, who, as luck would have it, happened to be on holiday in Mombasa with his family.
“Uli-mess na mbaya, huh?” said one of my cellmates, a guy who looked like he had been in a fight with the Devil and lived to talk about it. And at the peak of irony, his real name was Jacob. “Najua msee unaweza lambisha kakitu ulale kwako.”
“That’s outrageous!” I shouted. “I don’t have to bribe anyone so I can post bail for a minor traffic accident.”
Jacob smiled. “Obviously, huna clue vile justice system inakuanga huku. Si mambo na guilty or innocent, it’s who you know, dude.”
“Why haven’t you called your guy?”
When Jacob stood up and I realised he was bigger than the Devil himself, our conversation died a sorry, wimpy death. I couldn’t sleep a wink knowing such a giant was only a few feet away from me, and I was only too glad to see my lawyer in the morning.
“What are they charging me with?” I asked him.
“They’re releasing you pending investigation.”
“Investigation into what?”
“It means you messed with the wrong guy but hopefully having learned your lesson, you’re free to go.”
“Who are you — Jacob’s brother?”
“Why do you think I’m Esau?”
“Never mind. I’ll sue these people for every cent they have.”
A smile on his lips, he whipped out his phone.
“Who are you calling?”
“My contractor,” he said. “By the time you lose that case, you’ll have paid me enough to build a four-bedroom mansion in Syokimau.”
And that’s how I learned that “Kenya ina wenyewe”.