By Frank Bray.
The cry of silent dread still echoes in cities and localities in Kenya today. While some spaces progressively get better with time going by, there’s still need to raise concerns more and more about matters affecting the people knowing that so much evil can thrive in silence.
I had a conversation with a particular friend of mine on the phone recently, and it made me wonder why it feels like Langas is still Langas. Same reputation it had yesteryear still unshaken.
I had just called her at around 8 p.m. and was apparently prolonging my small talk beyond what was environmentally comfortable.
“I’m in Langas. Let me get home before we speak, or else my phone might be snatched by someone,” she said.
I laughed and understandingly ended the call. It reminded me of an unfortunate story another friend of mine told me just a few days around that time.
Four friends had walked out of Timber XO, heading home in the spirit of their usual clubbing days. Two girls, two boys. Paired up. As they paced through the streets, they hardly paid attention to what could be lurking in the shadows, but it would soon suffice.
They were descended upon by three armed boys who were not around to joke. There was no fighting ‐ just a humble submission to the fate that had befallen them. Having secured their ‘clients’ phones, the thieves went home happy.
Back home, Henry, one of the particular nights ‘clients,’ could not get himself to rest. His whole support system had been compromised. The phone that had been taken was as good as a livelihood. He couldn’t rest knowing everything had been jeopardized. If he didn’t get his phone back, a lot of things would be at stake. So he sought the counsel of his friends.
“I know a guy,” one friend said, thankfully.
It was a cop – a young guy the speaker and friends had grown acquainted with. Before long, he was describing his phone to the cop off the record somewhere in the streets of Langas.
“Don’t worry. I’ll get it back for you.”
Such reassuring words. Now it was time for the tracking, the location triangulation, global positioning and the whatnot of technological retrieval methods for lost property. Within a few hours, the cop presented the phone to Henry.
“That was so fast.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“How did you do it?”
It turned out simple.
“It’s a cop-thief business,” said the friendly cop. “Cops are in on this.”
He went home redeemed from the setbacks he’d have suffered on account of the robbery, thankful that he’d gotten favor with life enough to get back his device. His girlfriend and the other two friends never got that privilege.
So the ball is back in the hands of the police. If justice is a gamble and some of you are the dealers, then it’s no surprise citizens walk through life full of uncertainty and dread.
To those of you who still serve with integrity, I say stand firm. Your work is the only line between order and societal collapse.
But to those who feast on the spoils of crime and call it duty, understand this: justice doesn’t lose. It waits. It circles back. And it will find you. If not through the law, then through the consequences you summoned with your own hands. Yet we still stand with our plight. To call for a better Langas.
