Fuck you for making me almost shit my pants. Fuck you for your Gollumesque sliminess, and the reminder that the Dark Side still lurks. Fuck you for forcing me to give you all the money I had on me (except for the 50 Shillings you allowed me to keep in order to catch a bus home. Thanks for that). And Fuck you for me buying you the Coca-Colas you slurped down with your forked tongues.

But first, a short history lesson.
Osama Bin Laden. Remember Him? I know, barely, right?
In 1998, back before he was the international superstar of terrorism, Osama came to the public spotlight via the United States Embassy bombing in Nairobi, in which 212 people died and 4,000 were injured. As a result, the Nairobi City Council granted far-reaching powers to it’s street team of plain-clothes thugs, initially on the look-out for potential terrorists in the Central Business District–basically the only area of downtown that looks like a clean, modern city. Fair enough.

Flash forward to 2010 and these same thugs now have the authority to interrogate, humiliate, fine and imprison anyone (including whitey) for so much as dropping a toothpick on the sidewalk. That’s right, a toothpick. But wait, it gets better. Feel like chatting on your cell phone while crossing a street in the CBD? The city council spies are on you. How about using your cell phone while walking on a busy sidewalk? There they are, grabbing you by the back of your pants, giving you a wedgie and escorting you in this humiliating manner to wherever their paddy wagons are parked.

Or in the case of yours truly? My heinous crime was giving a couple beggars (one of whom insisted on talking about Prime Minister Stephen Harper once he learned I was from Canada) 100 Shillings–the equivalent of about a buck thirty. What an asshole I am. Might as well just shoot me.
A few blocks later a man with crooked teeth and dressed in khaki trousers and a black dress shirt, slithers up to me. His energy reminds me of Gollum, except he’s much taller. He tells me he’s with City Council. I’ve heard of their dirty tricks so my knees go weak. I feel my anus pucker.
The City Council thug informs me that I didn’t give money to a couple of beggars but in fact to Zimbabwean terrorists instead. No shit? I guess now they can go and buy a loaf of bread for the warhead they’re working on in the private 4 foot by 4 foot shack they live in in one of the many over-crowded slums.

Then short Gollum appears. His teeth are also crooked in a face that is too narrow, like it was squished on purpose at birth. He wears an oversize purple dress coat and black trousers. He flashes his badge and tells me we’re going for a walk. I wait for his gnarled hand to reach down the back of my pants, yank upwards and parade me down the street like a trophy. But to my relief he has the decency not to. He leads me down an alley, into a small restaurant and motions for me to sit at a table. Outside is parked the city council paddy wagon, it’s every window wrapped in protective steel mesh. I’ve heard stories about city council slime bags so I know that if I don’t cooperate I’m in store for a long ride in their wagon, a night in jail and a hearing before a corrupt judge, in which I’d be forced to hemorrhage money, then be asked to leave the country.
As I’m sitting there explaining to the Gollums that I’ve been in Kenya for a month, more Gollums appear around me and at other tables in the restaurant. They too have sets of crooked teeth. Their sudden appearance makes me feel it necessary to turn up the charm. So I pepper my discussions with Swahili, tell them I’m working for an NGO based in Canada. Jackpot.

An NGO? They ask, then deflate slightly in their seats.

Yes, based in Canada, I tell them.

Ah, Canada, they nod their heads, Kenya has good relations with Canada.

Yes, yes, Canadians love Kenya, I enthuse. That’s why we come here in droves to help the poor people in the slums of Mathare and Makadera and Kibera. Did I mention I myself live in Buru Buru?

I can see their hand-wringing stop. They begin to get agitated at the fact that I’m actually a good guy, with good intentions. Their synapses are misfiring from the long-absent thoughts of decency reentering their brains. They’re shuffling in their seats, motioning for larger, tougher Gollums to have a crack at me.
I buy a round of Cokes. This deflates them more. They even thank me.
Then their chief slithers up beside me in his chair. His eyes are close-set. And you guessed it, his teeth are crooked. Stained brown too.

Stop lying to us, he says with hot, fetid breath. How much money did you give the terrorists?

Like I said, 100 Shillings.

Impossible, Chief Gollum motions with a wag of his finger. We found 12,000 counterfeit Shillings on them.

Look, I gave two beggars 100 Shillings. That’s it. We do this all the time in Canada. Had I known it was an offence I would not have done it. Rest assured, it will not happen again.

Let me see your bank card, Chief Gollum asks.

I bring out my wallet and show them that I only have ID and 500 shillings. I tell them that I don’t have a bank card and that I only ever come to town with a maximum of 1000 Shillings. In case of incidents just like this one.
They mull over their response, talk hurriedly in Swahili then leave. Except for little Gollum. He motions for the 500 Shillings. I give it to him but tell him I still need bus fair to get home. He returns 50 shillings, walks me outside and points me towards the Hilton.
Take the number 46, he says.
He asks my name. Robert, I tell him. He takes my hand, shakes it and says, now we are friends. Then he slithers away.

Fuck you Gollum, I mutter to myself as I walk to the bus. Fuck you and your corrupt system. You give Africa a bad name, asshole. And you and your dishonest way of life are the main reason why so many of your brothers and sisters live in abject poverty.

This entry was posted on Thursday, February 25th, 2010 at 5:35 am and is filed under Notes From The Jungle, Stranger Than Fiction. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.