The police are people, too, and we deserve your love

The masses cheering viral clip of a cop being beaten broke my heart

In Summary

• The posting really pushes our motto ‘Utumishi Kwa Wote’ to the max


Seeing a video clip of a man beating up my fellow policeman hit me to the core. And more so the comments of support for the man breaking the law. It’s not merely a stand of solidarity with my fellow journeymen, it’s a call of compassion for another human being tasked with a “mostly” thankless job. I say mostly because when push comes to shove, our presence is greatly appreciated.

Take, for instance, being a policeman in a small village like Jiji Ndogo. The posting really pushes our motto “Utumishi Kwa Wote” to the max. Not only do we represent law and order, we’re the sole overseers of all kinds of emergencies.

Now don’t get me wrong. Getting someone out of a bind feels really good, as if for a brief moment, I were Superman lifting a bus to free trapped accident victims. For a few seconds, I can understand how Lwanda Magere must have felt after conquering a battalion.

But you get the idea, right? I only channel Spiderman once the good deed is over and done with. Picture this. A herpetophobe like myself (con’t even try pronouncing it, but according to Mwendaa, our village madman, it refers to someone like myself who wants to crap his pants every time they see even a tiny snake) is called to a house because Mrs Wayua has an unwelcome guest in her house. That’s a job for me, Mr Utumishi Kwa Wote. I’m the law, after all. Then the guest turns out not to be some stranger claiming squatter’s rights, but a freaking Central African rock python the size of Omieri.

Granted, I’ll put on a brave face because Mrs Wayua and all those spectators milling outside expect me to, especially now that rubberneckers have phones that record video. But on the inside, I truly do feel ready to pop open the ol’ back door and free my lunch.

Even as I wrangle the beast with a 10-foot pole while uttering such macho statements like, “Woiye, si utoke tu urudi kwenu msituni”, I take the occasional break to make sure my bowels haven’t moved.

But trust me, a snake, even one large enough to be worshipped, is nothing compared to another momentous occasion some people deem a “miracle”. A miracle it might be, but a good sight it’s not. I’m talking about childbirth. Only yesterday, I was called to a young lady’s house because her water had broken before she could get to the hospital.

It reminded me of another time long ago, when I was called upon to summon Bertha, our resident midwife, for a similar occasion. Only that, on that occasion, I was able to bring the traditional nurse to the scene on time. Yesterday, Bertha was nowhere to be found. I hoped against hope that another person, perhaps a woman who had gone through the experience, would step in and step up.

“Si wewe ni askari,” growled the poor woman lying on the bed, her long nails digging into my wrist in a death grip. “Unafaa kujua hii mambo. Huyu mtoto anakuja upende usipende.”

“Tutasaidiana,” said the woman’s husband, a look of determination on his face.

The minute the woman in labour pulled up her skirt, her husband collapsed to the floor in a dead faint. So much for the spirit of comradery. It was now up to me to “Kutumikia wote.”

Folks, if you’re a man who’s never witnessed childbirth, then don’t keep us out of the room for nothing. It’s an experience that humbles you and bestows upon you an immense respect for the fair sex. If men were to be trusted with bearing children, the population of the world would be about one dozen people. Max.

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