An overloaded matatu made its way across the busy streets of Nairobi, down through the Globe overpass joining Ngara road. The matatu sped down Thika Highway, its engine coughing like as if it was suffering from tuberculosis or something. By the time they got to Muthaiga, the conductor was busy collecting fare and dishing out change. Some had boarded the matatu for Kshs. 80/-, some who knew the conductor language boarded the same matatu for Kshs. 60/-, others Kshs. 50/-. Most had actually boarded after intense persuasion from the conductor, who was a young man, barely in his thirties. He had an oversized beard, making him look, say twice his age. Yet his youth was not at all obscured, from the manner in which he sang along to all the jams in the local radio station that the driver had found wise to tune to.
Jabali was totally unaware that the conductor was talking to him when he harshly demanded for, "Pesa hapo nyuma!" The young lady seated next to him tugged him, awakening him from his deep thoughts. He reached for his wallet and retrieved a worn out Kshs. 100/- note and handed it to the conductor. He could have swore he smelled his reeking armpits as he stretched out his arms to receive the cash. Bloody conductors and their malodorous character. He handed him back his change before Jabali could offer it to him to start off a deodorant procurement savings project.
This man Jabali would be easily mistaken for those young men of his age who trod the streets of Nairobi everyday, looking ever busy yet not having any business in the streets for starters. On the sly, so you would say, often being con-men, very well dressed, suits literally a smokescreen of the real picture. Jabali was however not of this kind. In fact, he was working at a very prestigious company as the Chief Legal Officer, or the General Counsel if you wish. He was earning quite a good salary, something between none of your business, but good enough to have bought his fast car just the previous month and at a very young age of 26. He still regrets why he went to a drinking spree just two weeks later after the purchase since he ended up ramming his Subaru Forester into a billboard, rendering its fate into the hands of the mechanics at the Subaru service and repair centre. Anyway, my point is, some would have considered it downright incorrect and at its worst foolishly braggadocio if Jabali was to really disclose the kind of success his young life was offering.
Jabali had always thought the new look Safaricom stadium looked iridescent in the night, and he always stared through the window in awe. Today was not any different than was the custom. Similarly, it always reminded him of nearing his alighting point, so he tapped the conductor who cared not even look behind but just mumbled and nodded his head. Jabali looked at his watch, it was 2130 hrs. The matatu screeched to a halt, and he squeezed his way through the seated people. He felt relieved, the stuffed matatu gad been nauseating, then again he needed to get home in time for the Champions League match that was only minutes away.
He strutted down the murram road, tugged his earphones into his ears and unclasped his holster. Well, besides owning a licensed firearm, Jabali was also a black-belt holder and had even represented the country in The Under 20 Commonwealth Karate competitions as well as other estimable events. He however hardly ever required his skill on day to day instances, though he always felt his fighting prowess would come in handy some day. This day perhaps.
Jabali kept walking, he was now less than 300 meters from the lavish "Bermuda Apartments" where he rented a two-bedroom house. The road had been all deserted, creepy and lonely, with Brobdingnagian grass on either side, something that only worsened matters. The night was dark, the moon was losing a battle against the heavy clouds. From a distance, Jabali could spot headlights. Far away, little, and seemingly the only thing in sight. Then, suddenly, he could feel from his gut some presence. He was not alone, at least not around, and his doubts were soon to be confirmed. "Look! Like ten meters yonder! What are those, rabid dogs?" Jabali wondered. Then, three men emerged from the blues, standing as if to waylay a surrendered prey.
A lot of thoughts ran concurrently inside Jabali's head, rendering him rooted to the spot as if he was one of those Beefeaters at the tower of London. He was not sure what had actually rendered him to this stupor. Maybe the intensity of the verisimilitude that lay before him, the fact that he was on the verge of being mugged. Only a fool would be expecting goodnight wishes from a trio of rugged looking men, in heavy coats and caps obstructing your way home. Or maybe it was the fact that he had never been in this situation before. One thing he was sure though is that it was not fear. No way! If anything, he had cherished for such a day, not consciously per se, but this inner self that had always bayed for such rogue blood. You know. Just to dish out a sword for a sword sentence to this bunch of coward men.
Despite the fact that Jabali was strapped, he was not so prepared for a small war. Although he carried an AMT Hardballer in his holsters, it unfortunately had just a single bullet, something that Jabali was barely unaware about. Luckily, he took a fancy and decided to go for hardball and reserve the Hardballer for tasks equal to its class. He had the confidence of a god, no way a bunch of men would whoop his black-belt ego, let alone his black-belt martial arts.
He noticed the three men advance towards him, just in time when Lil Wayne was going hard in his earphones on the duffle bag boy chorus, "I ain't never ran from a nigga and I damn sho ain't bout to pick today to start running..." What happened next would have fitted a Hollywood action fiction. It all started with a few words though, something like;
"Come on buddy, what you got in em pockets?"
"Listen dude I dont want no trouble just let me go home."
"You trying to play saint on us you piece of..."
Jabali had expected the word 'shit', and since he hated that word so much, he had instantly directed a well calculated karate chop on the muggers chin, sending him sprawling on the ground, writhing in pain like an earthworm. One of the other two muggers then held Jabali's head and locked it in his arm. Jabali then twisted himself into a counter. He jumped, wrapping his legs across his assailant's neck, he then lifted him off the ground and flung him off his legs like a piece of paper, which caused the mugger to bump into his colleague who was already on the ground. The third mugger must have thought that Jabali was lightning, he ran off, back into the savanna, shouting atop of his lungs, "Big Mike! Big Mike!"
Big Mike? Jabali was sure he'd heard not so appealing news about that Big Mike guy. He sure hadn't met him, but today he would, because Big Mike had instantly reacted to the cries. He had a good earshot, very good that he could easily pick the voice of his fellow gang member, the gang he himself had named The Shield. His ears were so big, and could pick sound so well that he had to wear plugs just to make sure normal sounds did not sound like blaring vuvuzelas.
So Jabali chose to put them off before this Big Mike had responded to the distress call. He banged the two assailants heads' together, and sensed their blood run cold. He then bent over to tie his laces, when suddenly a figure emerged. He had thought of what this Big Mike guy probably was like, but he had not imagined what he saw. "How about Giant Mike! Heavens!" He thought. Big Mike wasn't the kind of statured people you meet everyday. He was 1.95 meters tall, heavy built as Jabali was later on to attest after being thrown off by his arms, which Big Mike pulled so casually, done as if in a flourish. His hair was tailored, or was it? His dreadlocks looked shaggy even in the darkness. The number of kicks and chops that Jabali had swung at him appeared to have been like breakfast to him. They had however caused the big man to lose his dear earplugs from his lobes.
Jabali must have literally felt the jaws of death crush him when Big Mike finally pointed his gun at him. "One in the chamber! I had this baby oiled up just for you." Big Mike roared, only to his surprise, to realise that Jabali had also drawn out a gun, despite being torn on the ground. His knee had already been bruised, his elbow hurt and he could taste the blood bleeding in his mouth. He was not going down without a fight. The third mugger had returned for a while, found the situation and ran away again just in time before he could piss his pants.
At this moment, Jabali noticed that his customised gun was actually warning him that it only had one bullet in the loaded magazine. "What have we here? These shoulda been revolvers maybe, pull a Russian Roulette you know, or what you think buddy? You wanna know what I think, huh? I swear imma stick this into your mouth once I am with you!" Jabali struggled to utter albeit the pain was killing him. He struggled to get to his feet, making sure his barrels were aimed at the enemy. Then, almost by surprise, he also noticed something hilarious about Big Mike. It was all about his ears. Well, they must have been cut out for his stature, but his ears were abnormally big, and Jabali couldn't help it but into a guffaw. He laughed, uncontrollably, probably also laughing at himself and his desperation. It was one of those moments that are like a possession, wondering how he'd take control of matters. It was his only way of releasing the immense tension, when amidst his laughter, he picked out what he had correctly thought to have been a whimper of agony from Big Mike, who was now on his knees, trying desperately to cover his ears. His eardrums were literally busting, and this finally occurred to Jabali to be his greatest weakness. Big Mike desperately tried to find his earplugs but to no avail. Meanwhile, Jabali continued making great noises, laughing and screaming like a demented hobo, as he picked up a rock from the ground, stood up and struck Big Mike hard on the head. Blood gushed out, but Big Mike seemed more concerned about his ears if anything. So Jabali took his gun, and rang a shot just next to Big Mike's elephant ears. He collapsed to the ground in a loud thud, and instantly passed out.
Jabali must have felt like a conquistador, he could not believe how he had managed to take down 'The Shield'. He got to his wallet, took out a Kshs. 500/- and tucked it into Big Mike's shirt. "You probably gon need some stitches you arsehole!" He whispered rather intently as if he expected Big Mike to be hearing him in his knockout state. Then he got up, took his earphones and wallet from the ground and hurried home. He though he should have showed a middle finger to the watchman at the gate rather than fall for his usual cigarette scrounge. He raced up the stairs, to him elevators were invented only for ladies use. Immediately he got into the house, he switched on the TV just in time to celebrate an Arsenal goal. He walked away, then came back with a bottle of whiskey in his hand. He planned to clean his wounds and at the same time sip some.
Then his phone rung... "Halo? Hey babe? Yes yes, I got home fine, no hustles at all... I'm watching the game, have supper then, eer, probably call it a night... I hope so too! Last night she cooked some terrible food, I had to teach her what condiments to use and where... You should move in with me love... Wait, wait... Yes! Goooooooooal!!! Wait, haha, sorry about that... We just scored! Okay... Sorry. Where were we? Halo? Halo?? Sh*t!"
Jabali was totally unaware that the conductor was talking to him when he harshly demanded for, "Pesa hapo nyuma!" The young lady seated next to him tugged him, awakening him from his deep thoughts. He reached for his wallet and retrieved a worn out Kshs. 100/- note and handed it to the conductor. He could have swore he smelled his reeking armpits as he stretched out his arms to receive the cash. Bloody conductors and their malodorous character. He handed him back his change before Jabali could offer it to him to start off a deodorant procurement savings project.
This man Jabali would be easily mistaken for those young men of his age who trod the streets of Nairobi everyday, looking ever busy yet not having any business in the streets for starters. On the sly, so you would say, often being con-men, very well dressed, suits literally a smokescreen of the real picture. Jabali was however not of this kind. In fact, he was working at a very prestigious company as the Chief Legal Officer, or the General Counsel if you wish. He was earning quite a good salary, something between none of your business, but good enough to have bought his fast car just the previous month and at a very young age of 26. He still regrets why he went to a drinking spree just two weeks later after the purchase since he ended up ramming his Subaru Forester into a billboard, rendering its fate into the hands of the mechanics at the Subaru service and repair centre. Anyway, my point is, some would have considered it downright incorrect and at its worst foolishly braggadocio if Jabali was to really disclose the kind of success his young life was offering.
Jabali had always thought the new look Safaricom stadium looked iridescent in the night, and he always stared through the window in awe. Today was not any different than was the custom. Similarly, it always reminded him of nearing his alighting point, so he tapped the conductor who cared not even look behind but just mumbled and nodded his head. Jabali looked at his watch, it was 2130 hrs. The matatu screeched to a halt, and he squeezed his way through the seated people. He felt relieved, the stuffed matatu gad been nauseating, then again he needed to get home in time for the Champions League match that was only minutes away.
He strutted down the murram road, tugged his earphones into his ears and unclasped his holster. Well, besides owning a licensed firearm, Jabali was also a black-belt holder and had even represented the country in The Under 20 Commonwealth Karate competitions as well as other estimable events. He however hardly ever required his skill on day to day instances, though he always felt his fighting prowess would come in handy some day. This day perhaps.
Jabali kept walking, he was now less than 300 meters from the lavish "Bermuda Apartments" where he rented a two-bedroom house. The road had been all deserted, creepy and lonely, with Brobdingnagian grass on either side, something that only worsened matters. The night was dark, the moon was losing a battle against the heavy clouds. From a distance, Jabali could spot headlights. Far away, little, and seemingly the only thing in sight. Then, suddenly, he could feel from his gut some presence. He was not alone, at least not around, and his doubts were soon to be confirmed. "Look! Like ten meters yonder! What are those, rabid dogs?" Jabali wondered. Then, three men emerged from the blues, standing as if to waylay a surrendered prey.
A lot of thoughts ran concurrently inside Jabali's head, rendering him rooted to the spot as if he was one of those Beefeaters at the tower of London. He was not sure what had actually rendered him to this stupor. Maybe the intensity of the verisimilitude that lay before him, the fact that he was on the verge of being mugged. Only a fool would be expecting goodnight wishes from a trio of rugged looking men, in heavy coats and caps obstructing your way home. Or maybe it was the fact that he had never been in this situation before. One thing he was sure though is that it was not fear. No way! If anything, he had cherished for such a day, not consciously per se, but this inner self that had always bayed for such rogue blood. You know. Just to dish out a sword for a sword sentence to this bunch of coward men.
Despite the fact that Jabali was strapped, he was not so prepared for a small war. Although he carried an AMT Hardballer in his holsters, it unfortunately had just a single bullet, something that Jabali was barely unaware about. Luckily, he took a fancy and decided to go for hardball and reserve the Hardballer for tasks equal to its class. He had the confidence of a god, no way a bunch of men would whoop his black-belt ego, let alone his black-belt martial arts.He noticed the three men advance towards him, just in time when Lil Wayne was going hard in his earphones on the duffle bag boy chorus, "I ain't never ran from a nigga and I damn sho ain't bout to pick today to start running..." What happened next would have fitted a Hollywood action fiction. It all started with a few words though, something like;
"Come on buddy, what you got in em pockets?"
"Listen dude I dont want no trouble just let me go home."
"You trying to play saint on us you piece of..."
Jabali had expected the word 'shit', and since he hated that word so much, he had instantly directed a well calculated karate chop on the muggers chin, sending him sprawling on the ground, writhing in pain like an earthworm. One of the other two muggers then held Jabali's head and locked it in his arm. Jabali then twisted himself into a counter. He jumped, wrapping his legs across his assailant's neck, he then lifted him off the ground and flung him off his legs like a piece of paper, which caused the mugger to bump into his colleague who was already on the ground. The third mugger must have thought that Jabali was lightning, he ran off, back into the savanna, shouting atop of his lungs, "Big Mike! Big Mike!"
Big Mike? Jabali was sure he'd heard not so appealing news about that Big Mike guy. He sure hadn't met him, but today he would, because Big Mike had instantly reacted to the cries. He had a good earshot, very good that he could easily pick the voice of his fellow gang member, the gang he himself had named The Shield. His ears were so big, and could pick sound so well that he had to wear plugs just to make sure normal sounds did not sound like blaring vuvuzelas.
So Jabali chose to put them off before this Big Mike had responded to the distress call. He banged the two assailants heads' together, and sensed their blood run cold. He then bent over to tie his laces, when suddenly a figure emerged. He had thought of what this Big Mike guy probably was like, but he had not imagined what he saw. "How about Giant Mike! Heavens!" He thought. Big Mike wasn't the kind of statured people you meet everyday. He was 1.95 meters tall, heavy built as Jabali was later on to attest after being thrown off by his arms, which Big Mike pulled so casually, done as if in a flourish. His hair was tailored, or was it? His dreadlocks looked shaggy even in the darkness. The number of kicks and chops that Jabali had swung at him appeared to have been like breakfast to him. They had however caused the big man to lose his dear earplugs from his lobes.
Jabali must have literally felt the jaws of death crush him when Big Mike finally pointed his gun at him. "One in the chamber! I had this baby oiled up just for you." Big Mike roared, only to his surprise, to realise that Jabali had also drawn out a gun, despite being torn on the ground. His knee had already been bruised, his elbow hurt and he could taste the blood bleeding in his mouth. He was not going down without a fight. The third mugger had returned for a while, found the situation and ran away again just in time before he could piss his pants.
Jabali must have felt like a conquistador, he could not believe how he had managed to take down 'The Shield'. He got to his wallet, took out a Kshs. 500/- and tucked it into Big Mike's shirt. "You probably gon need some stitches you arsehole!" He whispered rather intently as if he expected Big Mike to be hearing him in his knockout state. Then he got up, took his earphones and wallet from the ground and hurried home. He though he should have showed a middle finger to the watchman at the gate rather than fall for his usual cigarette scrounge. He raced up the stairs, to him elevators were invented only for ladies use. Immediately he got into the house, he switched on the TV just in time to celebrate an Arsenal goal. He walked away, then came back with a bottle of whiskey in his hand. He planned to clean his wounds and at the same time sip some.
Then his phone rung... "Halo? Hey babe? Yes yes, I got home fine, no hustles at all... I'm watching the game, have supper then, eer, probably call it a night... I hope so too! Last night she cooked some terrible food, I had to teach her what condiments to use and where... You should move in with me love... Wait, wait... Yes! Goooooooooal!!! Wait, haha, sorry about that... We just scored! Okay... Sorry. Where were we? Halo? Halo?? Sh*t!"
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