Janitorial Orientation

The time had come to say goodbye to the colleagues and clients I had known for the four eventful years as a cab driver. I remember the last clients I ferried quite well. They were a group of workers from the British Airways cargo section who were my regular clients and I used to carry them every day to the airport and back to their homes. When I told them that that was my last assignment, they could not believe their ears. I told them that I already had a letter of appointment from my new work place and I had also handed in my resignation. I had been excited since I passed the interview but looking at my beloved clients faces now, I was not so sure. Anyhow, as soon as I dropped the last one off, I went back to base one and parked my car for the last time.

My colleagues were envious and sad at the same time. I was not so sure any more if I really wanted to leave but I put on a brave face and told myself that this was the day I had prayed for for a long time.

The following day, I wore the best trouser and shirt I could find, and finished off the look with a tie. I arrived at my new work place at 7 am. When I walked through the gate, the guard asked me harshly, “Iko wapi?” (Where is it?). I had no idea what he was asking about. He asked me where the milk was. I suddenly remembered that my new job title was Driver\Janitor. In addition to driving, I was also supposed to make tea and clean the office. It was the first time I got to know the meaning of the title, janitor. It always sounded like a highly technical job. It was alright, but not in the way I had imagined. I sullenly walked back to the nearby kiosk and picked the milk. I went back to the office and proceeded to make tea. While it boiled, I had to go and clean the offices and toilets while making sure there was enough tissue paper. On getting back to the kitchen, the milk had boiled over. Right then I realized that I had to find a practical formula or else my new job would be in jeopardy.

When the tea boiled and I poured it into the flasks ready for the staff, I observed that there were no clean cups. Instead, there was a big heap of dirty dishes at the sink. I frantically got to washing them because it suddenly dawned on me that people would not be able to take tea as soon as they came into the office. It was while I was doing the dishes that my colleague and fellow driver walked in. By virtue of me being the last one to be hired, had been transformed into the ‘senior’ driver. He didn't have to clean any more and he seemed to be enjoying that fact. He was amused by my tie and couldn't understand why I thought I needed it. He kindly advised me to remove it or risk it getting soaked in dirty dish water. Needless to say, that was the second last time I wore a tie while working at that organization. The last time was much later when I sat for an interview, but that is the story for another day.

That first day was quite tough for me but thankfully, the staff was friendly and helpful. After a few hours, there was a semblance of order in my kitchen and toilets. I was now ready for my first driving assignment. My then supervisor asked me to drop one of the lady members of staff in town. I was a bit nervous since this was my first time ever to work in an office environment. The lady was nice and talkative and we got on quite well. When we reached her meeting venue and she was about to alight, I had to consciously hold myself back from asking her to pay for the trip. It was the first time in years that I had ferried a passenger for “free”.

When I drove back to the office, I was depressed to find the heap of cups at the sink just as high as I had found it in the morning. The flasks were also empty. These office types can drink a lot of tea in a very short time. Oh well, I had asked for it. My janitorial orientation was just starting and I was getting the impression that the only beautiful thing about being a janitor was the name.

Partaking of a Prophesy

We were like vultures and could smell a potential client from miles away. When a person who had been spotted from afar off came nearer and was confirmed to be a passenger, it became a matter of fearful competition to see which driver would be the lucky one. We would jostle among ourselves and each of us had our own technique to attract passengers to our car. The technique I found most effective was by a guy by the name Robert. He used to let us rush to and crowd around the client but he would stand next to his car. As the client came closer, he would open the rear door and say in a cool voice, “Welcome”. Many of my colleagues used to claim that he used witchcraft to woo clients. I thought differently because I could tell that all he had above us was good PR.

One of the most longstanding passenger wooing techniques is the raised forefinger accompanied by the shout, “Taxi!” One group of clients that we used to like were drivers for the big NGOs. They used to drive to base in their huge four wheel drive vehicles fitted with winches and hi-lift jacks. The loudest shouter of “Taxi!” would be asked to follow the NGO driver to his office where he would park the big car and be dropped home in the taxi.

These NGO drivers were so cool and each of us held secret ambitions of one day landing a job as an NGO driver. My own ambition however, was not held so secretly. I would take every opportunity when several of us were at base, to taut my colleagues. I used to tell them that I was with them for only a short while and soon I would join a big NGO. I told them they would raise the ‘Taxi!’ Finger at me and plead with me to let them follow me as I parked my big car. They were not amused and neither did they take me seriously. They dismissed me as a day dreamer. This however did not discourage me, I continued prophesying.

I had a really nice client who I often drove around since she always asked that I be the one to pick her up. She worked for one of the International NGOs but I did not know then what position she held there. We used to have interesting discussions whenever I drove her and every trip seemed too short. One day, one of her workmates who also happened to be my friend informed me that there was an open vacancy for a driver at their organisation. He advised me to apply and try my luck. I sent my application and waited although I didn’t think much about it.

One week later, I received a call. I was being invited for an interview. I was quite nervous as I prepared for the interview since I didn’t know what to expect. The day of the interview arrived soon enough and I set off. I had been told to come in at 10 am but I thought that was just a test (All interviews are held early in the morning – or so I thought). I got to the area at 8 am and waited at a nearby bus stop shelter. At 9 am I walked in only to realize that there were 10 interviewees slotted for grilling and each of us had his own time. I had to wait again and this only helped to turn me into a bag of nerves. After what seemed like ages of nail biting anxiety, it was finally my turn and I was called in.

When I walked in, the first face I saw was of my friend. My favourite passenger was seated there in the company of two other ladies. From the look of things, she appeared to be in charge – which she was. I was to learn later that she was the Human Resource Manager. I managed to relax and the interview went well. The rest as they say is history. I passed the interview despite being failed once in the practical test. The ladies who had interviewed me demanded a second opinion and I was retested by a different person. I had gotten the job and was now no longer a taxi driver. I wondered how my ‘former’ colleagues would react once they realized that my prophesy had come true, and they would have to fight for a chance to drive me home. Only time would tell.

Search for the Elusive MAU MAU Truth

My new car, “Omega”, came at a time when being a cabbie had become completely natural to me. I didn't get lost anymore and I no longer got intimated by my passengers. Every day was exciting for me.  I looked forward to meeting new people and learning about what they do. I could get diverse information ranging from banking to astrology, for free from my clients. I also got to visit many places in Nairobi and also away in the country side. I was finally comfortable and happy with my job – new car, new places, new people, what more could I ask for? What I didn't realize then, was that I had such a limited time there.

There is an organization known as the Kenya Human Rights Commission and as the name implies, it deals with rights issues. KHRC as its known in short has a transport contract with our company. This meant that we handled a lot of their staff and visitors on many occasions. It was on one such assignment for the KHRC that I got the chance to drive the current Chief Justice Willy Mutunga. At that time he was working with the KHRC and they had a group of visitors from different. I recall them discussing the famous Kenyan detention without trial and one of the visitors asked Mutunga how long he was detained. He casually replied, “Eighteen months”. They were so shocked that somebody could be imprisoned for so long but the CJ added, “That is a short time by Kenyan standards”. Nobody had the heart for that discussion again and they started talking about easier subjects.

Around the same time, the KHRC has just completed preliminary findings that showed that the British government had violated the rights of the MAU MAU guerillas. All they needed now was some hard evidence to support their case. They got three young professionals. These were recent graduates and  were bubbling with energy. Two were ladies who had just been admitted to the bar as advocates, and the other one was a young man who was had just graduated from the school of journalism. The trio was charged with collecting  as much information as possible from as many MAU MAU war veterans as they could find. To do this they had to go to the one place in Kenya with the highest concentration of the former freedom fighters. This as it turns out, happened to be in what is in present day Nyeri county. Our company chose Omega for the assignment and it was going to be on my shift.

I was excited on the morning we left since a trip out of the congested city was always welcome. Apparently somebody had done a pre-visit and discovered dense clusters of the senior citizens in the areas of Othaya and Mukurweini. Consequently, all our forays were going to be in these two areas. We were early and by 8 am, we arrived at the first major town of Nyeri, a place known as Karatina. We took our breakfast there as we bought time, ostensibly to give the old guys time to wake up and congregate at a predetermined venue. After breakfast we drove off and an hour later we arrived at Othaya. There was already a big crowd of very old men and women gathered outside an old hall which was yet to be opened. I couldn't wait to hear their story.

Once everybody was settled inside, the video camera, voice recorder, and note books were put at the ready. It was going to be a long day since the old people talk extremely slowly. The story was long but interesting. I came to realize that some of the people were more willing to talk than others. The ones who were hesitant to talk were those who the others said had been senior-most within the MAU MAU rankings. They were the generals and they had the most to tell but they were not talking. We urgently needed to find out what was wrong. We came to learn that there is an oath of secrecy that was administered to all those who fought in the war. This oath was in levels with the highest being the sixth. Apparently, the higher the level, the deeper the secrecy. All was not gloom though because at Othaya, we got to meet the former president Kibaki's sister who had also been a MAU MAU fighter.

The next day we went to Mukurweini and the story was the same. The people who were at the heart of the action were not talking. They were acting as if they were senile and they would say things that did not make sense. We still got our story though from those who had taken less than three oaths, but getting it from the horse's mouth proved to be a tall order.

I was happy to hear the old men getting compensated some weeks ago but we shall probably never get to know the whole story of what really transpired in those dark days. Only God knows.

New Car, New Baby

I had never driven a brand new car before. I was as excited as a small boy. The company had just acquired 10 brand new Nissan Sunny N16s and I was in line for a promotion. I got a shiny new metallic green one code named “Omega”. It came complete with polythene wrappings on the seats. My partner and I decided that since the wrappings were the only proof that the car was new, we were not going to remove them – at least not just yet. After three days however, we had to remove them owing to the sweaty backs due to the hot Nairobi weather. Our clients were also not too keen to sit on polythene just to please two naive drivers.

I was handed the new car the same month that my wife was due to deliver our second child. It was a double blessing – A new car and a new baby. The rest of my colleagues who also got the new cars were very excited. We had just proved again that ours was the premier taxi company in Nairobi and by extension, the whole of the country. The cars were different from what we were used to however and despite being Japanese, they had a European convention. Their wiper control was on the right hand side of the steering column while their lights switch was on the left. This led to embarrassing moments when a driver would put on the wipers when he meant to flash the headlights in a show-off.

New car aside, I was anxious to get my new baby. I was going through the toughest time of fatherhood. It was that time in the pregnancy where everybody is at the mercy of the unborn child. Every day as I left home for work, I would wonder whether today would be the day. I did not have long to wait. The day came one week after I had been given the new car. I was at work when I got the call from home that labor pains had set in. I was informed that my wife had been taken to a nearby hospital. I was tense but optimistic that everything would turn out well. That was not to be as I received a terse call later in the evening which completely changed the mood.

Apparently, my wife had developed a condition known as cord prolapse. I was told go to the hospital immediately and transfer her to a different hospital since the one she was in did not have the required facilities. She needed an immediate caesarian section operation. I requested the manager to allow me to take the car to go and transfer my wife and he agreed. I drove off and found her writhing in pain on a bench. She was with a friend from home who assisted me to get her into the one week old car. We drove the short distance to the better equipped hospital and the doctor was called from his house nearby.

By the time the doctor arrived, I was a bag of nerves and didn't know what to expect. When the doctor was about to examine my wife, he gave me a look that made me realize why African men are not allowed in delivery rooms. He ordered me out and for once, I didn't mind another man looking under my wife's skirt. I left the room and the next person I saw was bringing me papers of indemnity to sign. In my state at the time, I could have signed anything. My wife was wheeled to the operating room and I was left to sweat the cold night away as I waited. After what seemed like eternity, but was probably about three hours, I was called to see my wife and my new daughter. My beautiful daughter Hellen was sleeping peacefully and my wife was still groggily coming back from anesthesia.

That was the most important assignment I ever carried out in that car and it was now ready to earn me some commission to buy pampers for my baby. It did not disappoint for the few months that were remaining of my life as a taxi driver. For my wife, the whole incident was an extremely close call and I almost lost her. When I look at Hellen today however, I tend to think it was worth it. She has filled our lives with so much cheer.

The Involuntary Detoxification

Many workers in Nairobi like to treat themselves to an expensive meal from time to time and we were not any different. Across the road from Babylon base, there was a restaurant which was operated by a cheerful middle-aged lady. She would always be positioned at the door welcoming the diners and shouting orders to the army of waiters. The restaurant was in a building which had been previously used as some British settler's residence. It was a lovely wooden house which was now painted brilliant white both inside and out. The restaurant did not have a name. We used to refer to it as the Mama Customer's Place. This was inspired by her popular greeting as anybody entered the restaurant – “Karibu Customer!” (meaning, Welcome Customer!)

Mama Customer's place was not particularly high class by common standards. To us however, it had five star status in comparison to the dingy joints we frequented during normal days. This was the time before illegal structures were demolished by the Nairobi City Council. The place we usually went to was an iron sheet shack constructed over a road side trench. One could look through the cracks in the wooden floor to see the huge field rats jostling for the morsels which fell through. It was one place where we encouraged each other to manage our expectations. What took us there were the pocket friendly prices. We always looked forward to the time we would go for our monthly treat (It normally happened after payday).

Due to the nature of our work, it was virtually impossible to have a meal together as when one car came back to base, another one would leave. It would be several months before we got a quorum to have a meal together. This mainly happened at night when no restaurant would be open. On this particular day however, we were in luck. Only one guy was away and so we locked our cars and crossed the road to Mama Customer's place. We were six and after the usual pleasantries, we occupied one table. We all ordered chicken since we considered it to be the single most elegant dish for humble taxi drivers who had just been paid.

As I was eating, I realized that Mama Customer's chicken did not taste as fresh as it usually did. I only ate a small piece and could not continue. I took vegetables instead. My colleagues really dug in and were done in no time at all. I was left behind as always happened to me since am a slow eater. We all went back to work and it was quite busy up till late in the evening. When we reassembled at night, each of us had embarrassing stories of impromptu diarrhea and having to leave clients in the car to attend to the loose bowels. The guy who had missed the lunch date was really enjoying the stories and probably silently thanking God for missing out on the drama. I was not so lucky as I was affected even after the few bites.

It was rather unfortunate for us that the incontinence did not end with the day. On the contrary, it progressed right through the night. One inconvenience we had was the fact that the toilets in the shopping mall were located on the first floor. In addition to this, the escalators were usually switched off at night. Using the stairs was not going to be a viable option. We pleaded with the security men to switch on the escalators for us and they were kind enough to oblige. At any one time for the rest of the night, there were two of us on the escalators – one going up, and the other going down. These were not enjoyable escalator rides and there were no acknowledging hand waves. There were only downcast faces of wonder of how soon the next ride would be.

By the time we signed off in the morning, all of us with the exception of the lucky guy, had visibly lost weight. Needless to say, we never went back to Mama Customer's place. We heard that a lot of people got sick that day from eating stale chicken. She even got a few nasty law suits, but not from us. From there it was downhill for her business. A few months later, in an unfortunate turn of events, the restaurant burnt down from a supposed electrical fault. Even after detoxifying us involuntarily, I was really sad for her.  

Paxi Tarking!

Working at Babylon base taught me the art of dealing with stubborn people. It used to be an open secret that an uncomfortably large number of people did not have much regard for taxi drivers. Sometimes we carried passengers who, it appeared, thought of drivers as mere vehicle components. They would use foul language and expect us to perform miracles when they were late for engagements or flights. That was notwithstanding the crazy Nairobi traffic.

There was a morning when I was dispatched to pick a client who used to be extra-fussy. I drove into her compound and the housekeeper came out to inform me that she would be along shortly. I ended up waiting for almost an hour - not that I minded, since I would charge for the waiting time. When she came out however, she had in her hand a steaming mug of coffee. I assumed that she wanted to gulp it down before boarding the car, but I was wrong. She got into the back seat of the car with the coffee and as if that was not enough, she informed me that she was running late.

I had previously driven in many and diverse conditions ranging from storms to dark nights with two days of skipped sleep, but I had never driven a late and moody, coffee-sipping woman. This trip was going to be the greatest test of my driving skills and patience yet. When I drove out of her gate and joined the already piled-up traffic, I was not enthusiastic anymore. This was going to be one long morning. The lady did not improve matters with her constant reminders that she was going to be late. I do not consider the fact that not a drop of coffee spilt on her a result of good driving skill. It was merely by the grace of God that I managed to drop her at her destination dry, and on time. Now all I had to do was drop her beloved mug back to her house  ready for the future torture of another driver.

I do not know whether it happens to other people but, sometimes when i'm nervous, I tend to mix up my syllables. This always happens when I am speaking English. I guess the situation is made worse by the fact that English is not my first language. It is one of those things which happen at the worst possible times leading to extreme embarrassment.

One of the things we had to constantly do at Babylon base was to request, convince, and sometimes, chase people away from the parking slots reserved for taxis. We had to do this unpleasant work everyday or risk having nowhere legitimate to conduct our business. Unfortunately for us, most of the people we had to chase away had bad attitudes which was what made them feel like they had the right to park there in the first place.

One day I was the first one to drive back to base after an assignment. I found all the slots occupied by shoppers apart from one which I took. After a few minutes, one of the cars pulled out and all I had to do was prevent somebody from taking it up. Fate had however decided that I would not have it easy. At that moment, a lady drove up and despite my frantic gestures that she does not park there, she proceeded to do exactly that. By the time I walked up to her window to explain, I was raging mad. She made me more agitated by asking why there were other cars which did not look like taxis parked there. Incidentally, my car was the only taxi there.

I had a hard time convincing her and to make matters worse, she seemed to be enjoying the useless argument. She then asked me why I thought she should move her car out. I fumed, “This is a Paxi Tarking!” (I meant Taxi Parking). She broke into a smile of victory as she backed out of the precious parking space.

P.S. I wish there was a spell check function in speech.

A Visit to the Witch Doctor

Our company used to have clients in the form of NGOs. The NGOs we dealt with were so diverse and dealt with issues ranging from poverty eradication to human rights violation interventions. Most arms of the United Nations were our faithful clients. These organizations had many interesting employees who would share a lot about what they did and we used to be very enlightened on the activities of NGOs in general. Some of these organizations used to call for cabs occasionally but some would call every day. One such organization used to assist people who had been tortured in the hands of the police. Although they only had a handful of employees, they had many of these torture victims at any one time and they used to hire cabs for them.

There is an estate in Nairobi known as Shauri Moyo. I am reliably informed that it is one of the oldest in our beautiful city and was put up by the colonialists, alongside other similar estates to house laborers employed by the railway company. Shauri Moyo comprises of blocks of buildings each of which has eight rooms whose doors lead off a dark corridor in the middle of the building. Each room is big enough to house a family but without attention to any comfort. There is a communal toilet and bathroom at the end of the corridor and all the occupants of the eight rooms have to share them. The houses have wooden windows ostensibly to remove the need of curtains and to cut cost. Despite the modesty afforded by these humble houses, many famous Kenyans were brought up here.

In one block in the heart of Shauri Moyo, there lived a slim but fussy man and his obese wife. I would never have known them had it not been for good old unpredictable fate. It happened that the couple was not very good with their neighbors. This led to frequent quarrels during which no word was out of bounds in the mouth of my small friend. One day, one of the neighbors had had enough and called in the police. When the police came and tried to arrest the man, the wife refused. She held on to the legs of her husband and told them they would have to drag her along as well. This they did but only for a few feet out of the door before she proved to be too heavy. The police had by now lost their patience and they decided to deal with her conclusively. They picked her up and raised her in the air with outstretched arms. They then let go and she came crashing down. She landed heavily on her hips and could not walk anymore.

This happened at a time when the police were reputed to inflict a lot of unjustified torture on innocent civilians. The torture victims’ organization took up the case of the big woman to see to it that she got justice and the required health care. That was the time I got to know the couple because my colleague and I were assigned to be taking them on their visits to doctors and lawyers. This was an extremely strenuous assignment and I never used to look forward to the days I would be with the couple. The problem was that she could not walk since the police incident. To make matters worse, she did not have a wheel chair and so her husband and I would have to carry her everywhere. This included getting her out of the cramped house into the car, then from the car into elevators and doctors offices, and then back again. Sometimes we used to borrow a plastic chair with arms so that we could lift her more easily since she was rather big and well-rounded and not easy to hold.

Apparently, the sad incident had not helped to change the attitude of the grumpy man. He continued to make enemies everywhere he went until the organization could not handle him anymore. He was becoming a danger to other torture victims who were also beneficiaries and was portraying the organization in bad light to its donors. The organization had no choice but to drop the case and stop assisting the crippled lady. However, nobody informed my company about the turn of events and so nobody was prepared for the decision the small man took.

One morning I reported to work and the manager called me on the radio. He asked me to go and pick my usual clients from Shauri Moyo. I did not particularly like dealing with the client but I didn’t mind the commission the work usually entailed. It normally used to be full-day hire and the organization used to pay on account so the passengers only had to sign a voucher. What I didn't know was that now the clients were paying in cash (which they had done upfront) and were not going to see a “normal” doctor.

I drove to Shauri Moyo and proceeded to help my friend load his wife into the car. Once we were settled in the car, I asked them where we were going. The man answered asked me to drive towards Thika, which is a town about 40 kilometers North of Nairobi. I didn't think much of it so I just drove to Thika. When we reached Thika town, I asked him which building we were going to. He told me that the doctor was not within the town. All this time I had been thinking we were going to see some kind of a specialist. I started wondering seriously about where we were supposed to be going. I knew the best doctors were in Nairobi so I couldn’t understand what we were going. I was losing my patience and told the man to just tell me where exactly we were going instead of giving me piecemeal directions. He then opened up and told me that this was a privately paid trip and the organization was not involved (That made sense now!). He instructed me to drive to another town known as Matuu which is 80 kilometers from Thika along the Thika – Garisa road.

We went well past Matuu and then turned off from the main road into a dust road. We arrived at a small village shopping center. By now we had been driving for almost three hours and we stopped for soda and for the man to ask for directions. We were on the right track, we were told (Where to, I could only guess!). We left the center and followed the newly given direction to go deeper into the bush. After about twenty minutes, we drove into a traditional homestead which had four grass-thatched huts. One was square shaped and was in the center and it was surrounded by round ones which were smaller. The compound was marked at the periphery with a thorn hedge and there were a few sheep and goats lying in the shades of the few acacia trees growing in the compound.

There was another car in the compound and I parked next to it. We got the lady out of the car and proceeded to take her into the square hut at the directions of a small old man who was dressed in a faded long coat and appeared to either have shorts or nothing on underneath (I was never able to find out). He had a stoop and was unexpectedly soft-spoken. My clients were Kikuyu and so he was speaking to us in Kikuyu. The previous group had been Merus and he had been conversing to them in the language. I was shocked to learn that this was the doctor we had come all the way to see. It dawned on me when I entered the hut. We placed the woman on an animal skin and when I looked around; I saw all kinds of paraphernalia. There were drums the size of large barrels placed against the wall. There was also what appeared to be the “altar” where there were small pieces of bones and strange animal teeth. A small framed mirror with a painted cross was placed on the floor against the wall.

Once the patient was settled, the “doctor” proceeded to “read the story”. This entailed telling her where she came from and what was ailing her. I found this interesting because you didn't tell the doctor anything. Instead, he told you all about yourself. He told her that there was a neighbor who was “ruining” her. After the “story” we had to wait until the following day since treatment cannot be performed on the same day. This was completely unexpected. I had not planned to spend the night and this was going to be rather inconvenient. I however assumed that the office was aware of this.

 I could not communicate with the office since it was out of range to use the radio call and in those days I did not have a mobile phone. Even if I did, I doubt if there would have been any network considering the remoteness of the area. After the session, my clients and I left the compound to go to the center and sort out where we were going to sleep and also to get something to eat. The center was small and desolate. There were no lodgings or guest houses. The only accommodation we could find was a small room without a single piece of furniture. It would have to do as there was no other option.

By now it was late afternoon and we needed to eat. The man went and bought some roast mutton. The lady refused to eat since she was Muslim and it could not be confirmed if the animal had been slaughtered by a Muslim. It took a lot of coercion by the husband for her to accept to eat and even then she did so grumblingly. When it was time to sleep, the lady had to sleep on the hard floor which thankfully was not cold since the area was extremely hot. The husband and I had the relative comfort of the car seats but he had to go check on the wife severally throughout the night. He provided washroom services for her by the use of a small plastic pail which he had to empty regularly.

Morning could not have reached sooner and I dragged my dirty sticky self (there was no bathroom and no water to bath with) to drive my clients back to the doctor’s for “treatment”. When we arrived at the doctor’s compound, we found the other patients already there. The doctor was very organized and people were “treated” on a strictly first come first served basis. I got the opportunity to witness the Meru guy and his family getting treated. He was there with his wife and two daughters who had been falling sick “too regularly”. He was asked to bring a brand new razor blade and two bottles of tusker beer. When he did, he was made to sit on a traditional stool and some small incisions were made on his toes just behind the nails. This drew some blood and some mixture was rubbed in. Next he was given the tusker and told to sip and then spray it into the air. He had to repeat this severally and all this time the doctor was chanting some undecipherable words. After this the family was declared delivered (whatever that meant).

It was now our turn to be treated. We carried the big woman into the hut and placed her on the animal skin. We were then told to bring two twenty shilling coins to be used in the treatment. Unfortunately, none of us had the coins. It was up to me to drive to the center and get change while they waited. I drove off and somewhere along the way, the radio crackled to life. A few meters on, it died again. This was interesting and I decided to back up and see whether it had been just static interference. When I went back, I was surprised to hear clear conversation from our company. I hear that in rare instances, VHF radios do transmit over longer distances than the usual 40 kilometer radius. This was one of those instances. Now that I had the chance, I decided to update the office. When the director was informed I was on the radio, he rushed to the radio room and in no uncertain terms, ordered me to drive back to Nairobi immediately. Apparently, the clients had only paid to be dropped in Thika and nothing more. Drive back is what I did against the compassion I felt for the sick woman. I never even went back to inform them that I was leaving.

Back in Nairobi, my colleagues could not get enough of my story and for a short time; I was a celebrity of sorts. I however never stopped worrying about what had become of my clients. It was the only time I had had to abandon my clients. A few months later, I got to meet the man and he was not amused to see me. He told me that they got stranded there for a whole week and it was only through the assistance of a patient who had driven there seeking treatment that they were able to get back to Nairobi. I was very sorry about it but there was nothing I could do. He further told me that the witch doctor had offered to vanquish me. He would have invoked my image on his mirror with the cross and cut on it to draw blood. This would then have meant instant death wherever I was; most likely through a tragic accident as I was speeding back to Nairobi. My client had pleaded with the witch doctor to spare me because after all I was only an employee.

About a year later, I heard that the lady had passed on due to her sickness.