Sgt Sophia and I have spent the entire day hauling in motorbikes owned by riders without proper licences.
Expectedly, it’s the largest portion of the lot. I can’t, in good conscience, say I was unaware that most of the bikers in Jiji Ndogo (in the entire country, to be honest), operate on our dusty thoroughfare in complete contravention of the law. With the job — or lack, thereof — situation in the country, we all kind of laid back and let the boys make some change.
Kevo is the last man we haul in for the day, and he doesn’t come easily.
“The faster we do this, the faster you get to go back to your mama, Kevo,” Sophia says, hitching him into the Police Post by the back of his trousers.
“Why are you doing this, man? Tunatafuta ganje tu. Nini mbaya na hiyo?”
“The law, Kevo,” I tell him. “The boss has spoken.”
“Mtu mmoja ana-mess tunalipa sisi wote?”
“One person?” Sophia is so livid she almost gives the poor boy a wedgie. “A whole bunch of your comrades molested a poor woman whose only crime was driving in the streets of her own country.”
“I wasn’t there. That’s no reason mtuumize wote.”
“You know what they say about one bad apple, right?” I say. “It spoils the whole bunch. Now you have to pay for the sins of your peers. Besides, let’s face it, Kevo, this isn’t the first time boda boda guys have pooped in the coop.”
Sophia laughs. “Pooped in the coop. I like that.”
“Sasa hiyo hata inamaanisha nini?”
“It means, spread em’!”
Kevo spreads his legs apart. “Kama ni mchuma, si mngepata first time mlini-search.”
“I don’t mean your legs, moron. I mean your fingers.” She whips out the fingerprint kit. “I’m taking your prints.”
“Yaani mnataka kutuingiza kwa system? Hiyo si poa, manze. Si fair.”
“It’s actually quite simple. You got nothing to hide, you got nothing to fear.”
“Kevo,” I say, taking off the handcuffs. “The instructions are not that different from any other people operating passenger service vehicles. Good conduct, licence, safety equipment.”
“Safety equipment gani? Siku hizi nani hata huvaa belt kwa basi?”
“You should’ve learned from those bus guys who molested that lady, actually.”
“They learned, alright. They learned it’s okay to think through their ding-a-lings, instead of their brains.” Sophia presses Kevo’s finger a little too hard. Kevo screams. “I’m sorry, citizen, did that hurt or did you think about what they do to people who molest women in prison?”
“Mimi hata sijawahi peleka dame home juu niko na nduthi. I live with my mum. She would kill me.”
Sophia finishes up with the prints. “What do you think, Makini? Kevo sounds like one of the good ones.”
“I know he’s one of the good ones.”
“Cool. Si unipatie nduthi yangu niende basi. Nitatafuta hizo vitu zote mnataka.”
“Unfortunately, we can’t do that. Once you get your documents in order, then you come for your bike. Like my partner said, if you’ve done nothing wrong, you have nothing to fear, right?”
“Okay, okay. I’ll come clean.”
“You will?”
“Kuna wakati tukiwa high school, wasee walichoma dorm.”
“You set a dormitory on fire?”
“No, not me. Mamurio wengine. Mimi si kudu kitu, lakini si kuripot.”
“Is that all?”
“Na DCI wakijua? Si I’ll never get bike yangu tena?”
“That’s nothing.” Sophia tucks away the kit, gets in Kevo’s face. “Wait until they dig out stuff about that time in Class 5 when you killed your neighbour’s dog. Then you’ll be finished.”
