Mr Sonko brings in a new servant. Jamo the boda boda guy marries a girl from Jiji Kubwa. And boom, population inflation.
Everyone knows everyone. Well, almost. We don’t trust outsiders much, so we don’t know what’s the deal with Jamo’s wife, but you get the point. And talking of trust, it’s unbelievable how much people here still don’t trust the police.
I mean, it’s only three of us here: my boss Inspector Tembo, my wife Sgt Sophia, and I, Sgt Makini. We’ve generally been good to the people. Hell, I even delivered someone’s baby one day.
Policing is such a low-key affair in Jiji Ndogo that we, the cops, usually find ourselves inventing fanciful ways to kill our time.
Like me indulging my boss, who’s on a path to senility, in trying to obtain an elixir that will supposedly reverse his ageing.
Or getting a free lunch at Nyama Ni Nyama butchery to convince people that the proprietor, Mr Wanyama, isn’t selling donkey meat.
Still, once in a while, we get the short end of the stick.
Today, we find all four us in a most precarious situation. We’re locked up inside the police post as a murderous mob surrounds the small shack, deadlocked on the most apt method by which to dispatch us from the world of the living.
“Let’s burn the darned thing,” someone shouts.
“And have the entire Kenyan police force descend on our village?” another counters. “No way!”
Someone laughs and says, “Do you listen to yourself or do words just tumble out of your mouth willy-nilly? Anything we do here is bound to catch the wrath of someone somewhere. If we steal the guns, like I had suggested, at least we’ll have a way to protect ourselves when their colleagues show up.”
Inside the rickety hovel housing the police post, Inspector Tembo asks, “I don’t get it. What’s going on?”
“It’s the shootings in Nairobi,” Sophia supplies.
Tembo looks around. “Am I confused or did I wake up in Jiji Ndogo this morning?”
“Yes, you did, sir,” I say.
“Then how did we suddenly get to Nairobi?”
“But we’re not in Nairobi.”
“Didn’t you say we locked ourselves in because someone is shooting people in Nairobi?”
Sophia pats his arm. “Dad, we didn’t lock ourselves in. There’s a mob outside that’s mad because some rogue police officers shot demonstrators in Nairobi.”
“There are no rogue officers.” Tembo puffs out his chest. “Police training is absolutely clear. Every member of the police force should act only on the provisions of the law or on direct orders from his superiors.”
“Or her superiors,” Sophia, ever the champion for feminism, corrects.
“No.” Tembo shakes his head. “Women shouldn’t be in the force.”
“What?” Sophia appears as if slapped in the face. “I’m here. And I’m your daughter.”
“I have a daughter?” Tembo’s eyes widen. “And she’s a policeman? Who’s responsible for this tragedy?”
Sophia pouts. “Is that what I am to you? A tragedy?”
“Guys!” I shout. “There’s a mob outside trying to lynch us and this is what you’re arguing over?”
“Maybe they’re mad that a woman carries a gun,” Tembo supplies. “I’d be mad, too.”
Sophia shakes her head. “He’s gone completely nuts.”
“That should be the least of your worries,” I say. “We need to know how to appease the people outside.”
Tembo walks towards the door. “I’ll handle it.”
“How?” Sophia asks.
“Simple. I’ll them you resigned.”
