Blind Fold: Mombasa Raha, My Foot, #1

By Haroun Risa

A 24yr old girl was found dead on the highway, after it was said she suddenly jumped from the matatu she boarded.

Something in her identity sent chills down the spine of Inspector Raju, as he remembered a bizarre institute which replaced a single gender high school. 

He only had to go to his journalist friend Ruth, who would go undercover as a student at Mama Suzanna International Institute, for them both to discover something so horrific and shocking...which still took place to this day...among other brutal things committed to the single gender in that school.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Haroun Risa
• Release date: Sep 4, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215775486

Book preview

PROLOGUE: DISCOVERY

Thika Road Superhighway, near the Garden City mall.

According to the passengers who were aboard, she was shouting at the conductor to stop the matatu, but you know matatu conductors, said one officer as he walked alongside Inspector Raju, some officers clearing the onlookers from crowding around the corpse as others placed barriers.

Oh yeah...I know them alright, said Inspector Raju, crouching down to take a closer look at the corpse. In this country, you can never negotiate with a conductor and succeed.

Especially if it concerns bus fare, said the officer as Inspector Raju turned the corpse’s left arm.

So the matatu went past where she was to alight...and when she got hysterical, she tried to alight but fell down the highway?

The officer nodded, saying, And when she tried to stand up, the truck hit her.

Hysteria, unreasonable conductors, and a truck driver who almost got into an accident after running over the poor girl, thought Inspector Raju as he inserted his hand into her left pocket.

He found an old version of the small wallets the telephone company gave upon buying a SIM card, but it was the girl’s student ID which sent chills down his spine.

As the officer continued to prepare the corpse for transportation, Inspector Raju looked at the student ID.

Abigail Naimutie.

The school name was what made him remember a story he began hearing from people in the station...about illegal recruitment agencies masquerading as vocational colleges.

Mama Suzanna Institute.

You found something?

What do you know about this Mama Suzanna Institute? asked Inspector Raju.

The officer looked up, concerned by what he just heard.

Did you say Mama Suzanna?

Inspector Raju nodded, handing him the ID.

Of late, Inspector, there have been blogs about a second single-gender institute which doesn’t really live up to what the first single-gender institute has been doing, said Inspector Raju.

From what I heard, sir, the girls who were sent to the institute always look like they’re in prison, said the officer. People have confirmed a lot of those girls are never cheerful. Occasionally, some even sport bruises on their faces and limbs.

As two more officers came to zip up the body bag, Inspector Raju reflected on the institute he just came across, not knowing he just stumbled upon one of the most controversial vocational colleges in Kenya.

This time, he was going to uncover a horrific cycle of events which still took place in East Africa, even after being declared illegal.

... My name, on Earth, was Raphael.

A man who had begun accomplishing the things which got me invites to nephews’ graduation parties and nieces’ wedding receptions.

And, of course, in such gatherings you found the usual relatives who knew the Bible more than the Council of Nicaea, alongside the MC who humiliated relatives while trying to look spontaneous and comical, without a clue as to how many enemies he just created.

Oh, and lastly, there are those who don’t just fly abroad, but remain there because of the bondage the lifestyle abroad infected them with, thanks to wanting to look important in the eyes of family members.

Those are the ones whose voices you hear from a phone call during an event...but many family members will have no clue about their appearance or posture.

Not many of us had ever thought we would reach the sky for a brief moment...and then see it for the last time.

I found myself waking up to a room, with a screen. There was an on-going drizzle outside.

My clothes were what surprised me at first.

I was wearing all-white, except for a strange black piece of cloth tied around my left thigh.

It had a date.

May 18, 2007.

Just so you know...your case was a lot more intriguing, said a voice behind me.

I turned around and came into contact with a ten-year old child. He was wearing the same garments, with the same strange piece of cloth around his left thigh.

The difference between you and me, Raphael, he continued, you lived for a while. I never even felt adolescence.

How do you know my name? I blurted out.

Because, Raphael, continued the ten-year old. We both got buried on the same day, same time, which is why we’re in the same room.

As the ten-year old grabbed a remote control, I couldn’t believe how death felt.

I felt hollow, with a good number of your senses no longer as active as they were when life pumped within your veins in the form of blood.

The black cloth on your thigh, by the way, said the ten-year old, motioning me to take a look. is your official expiry date; one thing we both share in common.

As I looked at the screen, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.

I was looking at my own funeral.

I was looking at the true colours of a good number of family members whose guilt dropped down their eyes through their tears as they let me down one last time.

You want to see how your ex-wife treats Samuel?

Wait...what?! I asked, shocked.

The ten-year old skipped the video, and for a moment the screen was black.

And then...a woman whose hypocrisy alongside her love for the bottle made me leave marched down a corridor towards a bedroom door.

You’re about to see why Samuel became the person he became, Raphael, said the ten-year old.

CHAPTER ONE

Nairobi, Kenya.

December 2006.

Wake up! she said as she banged on Samuel’s door, startling him awake.

I want to see work done in this house quickly!

In a jiffy Samuel began looking for his clothes, knowing the daily routine; clean up the dog shit outside, sweep the kitchen coop, clean everywhere before putting a toothbrush in the mouth, let alone breakfast.

I want work done exactly the way I want. NOW!

Samuel could see them; three rascals peeking at me from their own little kennel, their faces racked with guilt, knowing I have to clean up after them day in, day out.

With the Madam, it was always work.

What work have you done?

What are you doing now?

Why are you just sitting idle, not doing anything productive?

Many who passed under her had taken flight long ago, some being so bitter they left behind their luggage to rot; there were three suitcases, and two gym bags belonging to two relatives who had finished high school and were in the transition period between college and life.

How many househelps have I seen being pummelled by her?

How many times have I ended up in the same situation, pummelled to a pulp so I can "conform"? thought Samuel as he finished up.

There. All clean, Samuel muttered to myself. Now for the van.

Samuel had no knowledge of anyone who would be woken up at 5am, ordered to wash a PSV van parked outside waiting for its driver, before even wearing his school uniform. In Samuel’s case, the KCPE Prayer Day was coming up...but he didn’t feel worried because at least in Madam’s case, all she had to do was walk to school.

What Madam didn't know was the seeds you sow in others, and in equal measure, you reaped in your own.

Samuel turned to the van and paused. The van looked sad, its headlights looking like the droopy eyes of a mourner, caked in dust, from afar looking like it moved diagonally, the two front wheels propped up by two stones, oil spilled under it.

The cause of the heated argument last night.

She had no right to treat Munene, the driver, the way she did, but because Madam had an egoistic nature which complimented her feared temper, Munene had walked away with two front-wheel tires he claimed to have bought with his own money.

Was Maureen a good house help?

Was Munene a good driver?

Yes, they were.

The only crime they committed was working for the wrong boss, explaining the look on Munene's face every time he had to face her, every time he had to bring home the target of the day, knowing he has to stand there and take insult after insult, not caring whether it was late into the night or early in the morning.

Maureen was a good cook, but she didn't believe in adding more soup to the food, something her community didn't regularly do.

After some time with us, she upped and left after a heated argument with Madam over undercooked food, and what Samuel hoped for was she was happy somewhere else, with a few children, or employed somewhere.

The bottom line was Maureen had escaped to freedom, something he once tried, with no idea what adulthood truly entailed.

The same person who burned my Diploma in Air Traffic Control was now the same person shedding tears for me.

Do you see how powerful human emotion can become? said the ten-year old, standing near me as the video clip continued. The person who showed me my funeral told me how emotions clouded reason so fast.

I couldn’t believe how right the ten-year old was, because many of the ones who were shedding tears were people I asked for help from in my younger days, but never got assistance of any kind.

The way it felt, the human wasn’t as valuable when alive, but on the day the human died, the value automatically boiled over in tears, as many unresolved issues became reminders of how short life turned out to be.

An uncle of mine was busy consoling my ex-wife on the podium, a few minutes after she tried to read a speech. The uncle was the same person who, in my younger days, replied to me with the following message:

Hi Raphael, We are doing well. God is good and faithful always and we rejoice in him. We will be away on Christmas Day. Will you celebrate it with your people instead?

From the text message it was never said, but it became crystal clear.

You never were a part of us, and you never will