BAD BLOOD

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Bottomline: ‘Nduthi gang’; this group of henchmen who are mostly Chelsea FC supporters always gang up to intimidate motorists even when one of them is clearly on the wrong-side of the law

A few minutes shy of 3am, Friday morning; the seventh date of September 2018.We snake our way into Nakuru town.

We are on transit, travelling to Eldoret town from  Mombasa,  – yes, the same old Arabic town that threatened to pursue secession by seeking ‘unlawful’ separation from our Kenyan marriage arrangement some years.

Our mode of transport, a Scania KCK 107 whose final letter of the medium sized yellow steel plate at the central rare I miss to recall vividly but only on vague memory grounds. The transport vessel has some speed efficacy that made her earn the title “chopper” from its clientele – none other but Tahmeed coach. The very one that normally speeds at erratic paces across borders into Tanzania and Uganda – Kenya’s and East African ultimate passenger and cargo bus service.

This particular peculiar bus company has got somewhat a creepy history on matters road carnage’s. As James Baldwin would have it put – people are trapped in history and history is trapped in them. We passengers therefore had no room for pretentious acting but rather remained transfixed to the vehicle’s ground extremely baffled.

The 49 seater packed with wayfarers to the brim – full capacity tries to meticulously maneuver its way slowly, probably at 20 Km/Ph past a tricky junction at the very heart of Nakuru town. With a rare quadruple of diversions , with a canter safely parked at the road connecting the junction to the north, this two cringe worthy factors are enough to work simultaneously eventually causing mayhem. Total chaos leading tumultuously to an unprecedented accident.

We are fast asleep trying to catch the final gasps of a sweet morning’s beauteous dream and Boom! everything suddenly but most surely goes south. Startled,we all wake up from our  sleep, deciding in unison postpone for later. We have an issue right now. I had no idea what had woke me up. A noise? I didn’t think so.

” Mayday, mayday! We have suffered a technical hitch and the ship is about to capsize,” this is whatever would have been yelled out so clearly enough for the deaf to hear were we in the deep sea. However,we are on land, an accident is soon enough about to get subject to fabrication and distortion. stay with me.

Being wise and with an apt eagle’s vision, our driver contemplates stopping, which he actually does. The old man, probably in his early 70’s or late 60’s, his abundant head of hair overall white rather than a patchy grey. his pale blue eyes a little watery. rheumy even, squinting so much staunchly applies brakes to bring the ” chopper ” to a precise halt.

A boda boda guy emanating from the very road on the north comes straight only to knock the side of our bus at least 2.19 yards from the driver’s bus door. No one was present as witness at the time all this happened. The man on the motor bike jumps off board long before impact – leaving the safety of the two passengers of opposite gender at the mercy and grace of their Creator.

I think I was first to sight the ugly unfolding, all other passengers inside our bus came peeping near my window in a bid to have a glimpse of the victims.

I was seated at number 16 labelled as D1 away from the aisle and just adjacent to the window. A cute light skinned slay queen, travelling back to campus from the look of things saw this as her perfect opportunity to touch, talk, cuddle, gaze, stare, caress as she fondly asked me to explain the grisly affair. We had remained rather silent from the onset of the journey. Pardon me for I didn’t take my chance when it presented itself to me head on. Right now I’m only concerned of the well being of the other ‘light skin’ conversing with the tarmac down there, few metres shy from my seat mathematically, of course using vectors.

” Amegonga?” our driver asked definitively as he hand braked the bus while stepping out to offer somewhat a helping hand that would see the woman airlifted to the nearest health facility in within the shortest time possible.

This is the solemn point at which I heeded some Hunter. S. Thompson’s utterances . There is no such thing as paranoia, your worst fear could come true at any moment.

The guy came thudding atop the tarmacked road. So did the woman – both aboard the bike initially. The woman consistently held her left rare limb in excruciating pain as curious onlookers started flocking the accident scene. The leg appeared fractured and slightly twisted on its outer side. It was so horrendous, so nasty,so ugly. The guy on the other hand fortunately managed to assist himself up getting away unscathed.

Soon enough, the place was crowded. Fellow commercial motor bike riders ‘Nduthi gang’; this group of henchmen who are mostly Chelsea FC supporters always gang up to intimidate motorists even when one of them is clearly on the wrong-side of the law, commercial sex workers and parents accompanying their kids to school waiting for school vans close by summed up the cohort of potential eye witnesses who tried to rush the woman to a nearby clinic. A taxi was sourced thus the woman rushed for medical attention.

While still wondering where the late Sharon Otieno’s husband was when whatever that met her did meet her, we were busy reminiscing whether our journey would proceed unperturbed. The police soon arrived at the place,one dark gentleman, so soft spoken swiftly sketched the junction on his notebook and went ahead to jot down the respective plate numbers of both the bus and the slightly damaged motor bike. He pulled off our insurance sticker against the windscreen before proceeding to confiscate our driver’s Driving Licence (DL) before directing our next stop as Nakuru central police station.

We would camp for more than four hours awaiting office hours,precisely for madam inspector in charge of traffic offences. Efforts to have passengers ferried and the driver return to follow up on the aforementioned case did hit a snag. The Occurrence Book was open shortly past midnight, but even it could not come to our dire rescue at a point we very much needed some.

The cards had changed arms no sooner had we settled the scene less than a quarter an hour. As our bus drove off as redirected by the men in blue, the commercial sex workers were busy yelling, wailing and jeering at us. All this irked us in the bus. Allegedly, our bus driver did smash the hell out of the bike cyclist out of spite and reversed so it appears as if the bike did run over the bus. The vice versa ain’t true as per the highly infuriated pack of flesh peddlers.

Unajua hawa madereva wa bus. Wanaona boda boda hivi hivi. Kakitu kadogo. Maybe hata alikaona kasura kake hakukapenda. Akaamua kukagongelea mbali. Alafu sasa amageuza akarudi nyuma. Ati ndio tuone yeye ndo amegongwa!” reiterated the lead vocalist amid a rather irked and temperamental troop of ladies. Many among who appeared feminists judging from their vibrant eloquence on issues affecting women, their verbal cues and body language.

So a rift did develop. Between we the travelers on transit and the commercial sex workers of Nakuru town. I never for once imagined these young ladies could turn out more chaotic than the mayhem LAPD and Compton PD faced every one instance they tried to stop the best rapper of all time, Tupac Shakur stage named as 2pac – a symbol of resistance till death untimely met the young lad late 90’s.

They had their own version of a controversial “Sydney Sheldon” kind of a piece as a story. We of course as the other side of the coin had our own tale of the nasty occurrence. The women blocked our purported route of travel shouting that no one shall enjoy leave before literally each among the wayfarers contributing money to cater for the victim’s hospital bills.

So central police station was our next stop that saw us camp from 4 AM till 8 AM for the inspector to arrive so as she carries out inspection of our vehicle for it were unsafe to ferry passengers after accident involvement.

Because we weren’t the only case, we categorically had to wait until not earlier than 12 PM, then our patience steadily starts paying back. we head straight for the Nakuru Motor Vehicle Inspection Center. After some few bureaucratic system of checks and balances, our driver was given a white sheet of paper. Probably whose use was to actually prove the vehicle underwent inspection.

We had to return ab the same central police station for our vehicle to get cleared – this means our sticker was replaced back at its original spot and the man on the wheel given back his DL.

Then we continued with our sour trip, which irked many amid an almost fully packed 49 seater bus.

With the underway 16%, 8% V.A.T on petroleum products agenda, Kenya has to really get serious and show the common citizen value for their money. We don’t refuse to pay taxes, but let the usual flaws get minimized or well curbed.Let us see impeccable infrastructure and state of the art health facilities across the country so that in case of a road carnage lives may be salvaged at the nearest health facility. There is no health facility along Nairobi-Mombasa Highway that can be used as a Trauma centre despite the numerous accidents that occur along this stretch.

 

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