I had this inexplicable feeling that something was about to happen. You know that kind of feeling, right? The kind of feeling you have before something good - or bad - happens.
That premonition that feels so real, that you literally feel like someone just switched on one of those heavy-duty blenders in your stomach.
I think it's referred to as gut feeling (it’s that rumbling blender in your tummy).
I had one of those.
It was both the worst and best day of my life, as I came face to face with the cold and emotionless face of death... and unknowingly, face to face with my future wife.
It's funny how life often throws these little paradoxes...
My name is Kelvin - (for some reason everyone seems to call me Kevo). I am a matatu conductor attached to one of the Saccos in the capital - I am a common fixture along the Nairobi-Ruaka route…and this is my story.
Did I mention that I also run a small money enterprise called Co-op Kwa Jirani... Or rather my other half does? Well, now you know.
She has become rather popular in the area as residents can easily make Cash Withdrawals, Cash Deposits, Funds Transfer, School/College/ university Fees payments, Utility Bills Payment among other services.
Helping clients avoid long queues at the bank coupled with some fresh fruit juice (which we sell at the shop), proved to be a stroke of genius.
Ok...back to my story.
I think it's prudent to get some stereotypes of the way first.
Did I aspire to become a conductor? No...but I believe in the whole ‘make lemonade from lemons served up by life’ mantra.
The fact that I rake in Ksh60,000 on a bad month - and at least Ksh80,000 on a good month - shows that attitude goes hand in hand with success, but more on my money story later.
No, I'm not rude. Yes, I am educated (currently putting myself through a Criminology course), and No...I don't wake up everyday and pray that you forget your change. What are the other stereotypes that go with my job...
I think that covers most of the pressing stereotypes
It was just before Easter 2017…
I guess the fact that Easter is almost upon us is why I suddenly felt the urge to relive a nightmare that also turned out to be a dream come true.
Despite the number of years between now and then, I can still remember everything that happened on the day in excruciating detail, right down to the very clothes all my 14 passengers wore on the day.
Believe it or not, back in the day a 14-seater matatu actually carried 14 passengers, and operating past 10 p.m. was still legal...Aahhh, the good old days.
On this particular Thursday, business was good.
Tito (my driver) and I were on the verge of breaking our 'daily income record'.
After setting aside Mzee Musa's (matatu's owner) Ksh6,000 daily revenue target, we still had Ksh3,200 in extra income.
It was just a few minutes past 10 p.m. which meant our previous record of Ksh4.100 was about to come tumbling down...or so we thought.
You should have seen our faces. A picture of self-satisfaction meshed with unbridled joy if ever I saw one.
"Ruaka-Joyland, Ruaka-Joyland," I bellowed out in the chilly night air...or at least I tried to, as my voice was on its last shreds after another hard but 'fruitful day in the office.
Tito was busy fiddling on his phone as I hurriedly crossed Tom Mboya street (right opposite Odeon Cinema) after spotting two potential clients.
The two gentlemen didn't stand out as I zeroed in on them and noticed that one was carrying a box wrapped in sisal ropes.
Heading to Ruaka? I asked. They looked like they had just arrived in the city. Their muddy shoes brought me to this conclusion as it had been a while since Nairobi experienced a downpour.
"As a matter of fact we are," the shorter of the two men responded.
"Let me help you with that," I said as I gestured towards the box before taking it and guiding them towards our matatu across the road.
They took up the two adjoining seats on the second last row of the right-hand side of the matatu, and quickly got lost in conversation after ensuring I had placed their tightly packed box right beneath them,
I didn't pay much attention to the oddly shaped box...maybe I should have, but for some reason I just didn't.
After 20 or so minutes, the matatu was almost full with just 4 seats left.
That's when it happened.
Remember the rumbling blender in the belly moment I mentioned?
Well...it turns out there are two versions to it. One signaling something really bad, with the other a curtain-raiser for something good and magical.
How to distinguish between the two is a mystery.
Anyway, I experienced the latter kind of feeling for a microsecond when I ushered in the next passenger.
Her huge and conspicuous bag stood out. At least a meter or so in length with the bottom half wider than the rest of it.
It must have been a guitar.
She took up the seat right next to mine.
Soon enough 3 other guys boarded and we were off.
I got to talk to the strange guitar lady...but how she ended up as my Mrs is a story for another day.
As the car snaked its way past Ngara something hit me.
I was so distracted by the lady with the guitar that I didn't think about it at the time.
Why was the guy seated behind me (part of the last 3 to board) carrying what appeared to be a laptop bag at this hour?
Why was he clad in a light t-shirt and no jacket on such a chilly night?
Why was his forehead dripping with sweat when I turned towards the back to collect everyone's fare?
That's when that sickening blender in the belly feeling hit me.
Just before we got to Aga Khan, I made two conscious decisions.
I transferred all the money from my M-pesa account to my Co-op account via phone, making sure to delete all the evidence.
Secondly, I texted my favourite cop. Corporal Evans.
Based in the Gigiri area, he was the very definition of a good police officer. Bribes were taboo to him so much so that over the years we had developed our own encrypted language.
If I ever offered him a bribe at a roadblock he should take it to mean that I am under some sort of duress and in dire need of help.
"Weka roadblock bro...just passed Aga Khan...I have a bad feeling," my text which I immediately deleted read.
My mind immediately went back to the sweating stranger behind me as I tried my best to act normal.
I wondered what was in the passenger's black leather bag
I was soon gasping...
It was an unmistakable shape. You could almost feel the temperature in the matatu drop to sub-zero levels...
"Everybody stay calm. If everyone contains their desires to 'play hero', no one will be hurt," the guy with the scar said with a chilling tone, just to make sure his point hit home.
We had just driven past Karura.
I knew Evans was just 15 or so minutes away at the Gachie exit just before the village market. My main task was to make sure everyone remained calm.
Those were the longest 15 minutes of my life.
It turns out the sweaty stranger had 2 other accomplices. One was seated up front with Tito, while the other sat right next to the guitar girl.
"Let’s do everything these gentlemen ask and we'll be ok," I said in as calm a voice as I could master...hoping I was right.
That's when I heard a fear-laced voice from the front shouting.
"Ficha bag, there's a roadblock...everyone act normal. We are all just tired passengers heading home," the voice said.
As it turns out, my good friend Evans had decided to set up the roadblock at the Gigiri intersection...
This was my moment...I needed to act and act fast.
"Mpatie chwani twende," the thug behind me instructed.
"Sawa," I responded, knowing this was exactly what could probably end up saving the lives of my passengers…