Crowned Butcher

By Maina Wahome

""The Crowned Butcher" invites readers on a compelling journey through

the perilous political terrain of Wamathina. In the iron-clad grip of

President H.E. Megalomania's rule, tyranny and corruption thrive,

subjecting citizens to oppression and fueling a fervent yearning for change.

Against this backdrop, the lives of sev

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ukiyoto Publishing
• Release date: Aug 9, 2023
• ISBN: 9789361723872

Book preview

Crowned Butcher

A Despot's Savage Symphony of Violence

MAINA WAHOME

Ukiyoto Publishing

All global publishing rights are held by

Ukiyoto Publishing

Published in 2023

Content Copyright © MAINA WAHOME

All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in a retrieval system, in any form by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the publisher.

The moral rights of the author have been asserted.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated, without the publisher’s prior consent, in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published.

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Dedication

To Julius Kamau-A frequent demonstrator in Kenya/

In the tumultuous dance of power and the echoes of oppression, amidst a symphony of violence that reverberates through the annals of history, there emerges a resolute voice—a solitary figure standing firm, unyielding in their pursuit of justice and change. This dedication is a tribute to you, Julius Kamau, a beacon of courage and compassion, whose unwavering commitment to the cause of ending impunity and corruption in Kenya has kindled hope in the hearts of many.

Your placards, raised high, carry the weight of the marginalized and downtrodden, urging the government to listen, to act, and to dismantle the chains that bind the dreams of countless souls. Your lone demonstrations, in their silent eloquence, become a rallying cry, echoing across the vast expanse of Kenya—a clarion call for change, for a future where the seeds of prosperity can finally take root.

Through this dedication, I honour your tireless efforts, your sacrifices, and your unwavering belief in a better tomorrow. May your name forever be etched in the annals of history, alongside those who dared to challenge the status quo and carve a path towards a more just and equitable society.

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

About the Author

Chapter 1

GUNS UP! THIS IS A STRIP CITY. PANTS DOWN! IF YOU NEED ANY FAVORS, WE DON’T CARE ABOUT MERIT! WE ARE MUNCHERS AND BUTCHERS. DEMOCRACY IS HELLISH. THIS IS JITEGEMEE CITY. The atmosphere was tense.

I

t was a result of confusion and illusions due to inaccuracies, accusations, and allegations in the crippling government. They were tabled by different accusers and influencers of the skewed system. The incumbent was inhabited by law contemnors and a self-imposed, ruthless prototypical tyrant, who never governed but ruled by the gun. Wamathina residents were mere cowardly dissidents whose dissatisfactions dissipated in thin air due to their diffident ways of voicing societal vices. Nevertheless, the foresighted and the freedom fighters were not giving up the battle soon.

There was light at the end of the tunnel because similar situations were mitigated and thwarted elsewhere successfully. In the history records, it is evident that in 1815, the French leader Napoleon Bonaparte suffered his final defeat at the Battle of Waterloo in Belgium where he was defeated by British and Prussian forces.  Gerrymandering would not be of help either because the government’s ‘joist’ was weak and could not support the mushrooming obnoxious leaders.

Kioni, the sniper, was a diabolical hired assassin. He was lying prostrate on the ground with his Barrett Model 98 Bravo rifle ready to pull the trigger and kill the Minister for Defence. The latter shunned the political bigwigs and mandarins who saw power as a hegemonic heirloom notwithstanding the fact that power is ephemeral. His clothes camouflaged the environment within and his rifle which had a silencer was piled with grasses that hid his identity. The incumbent minister refused vehemently to jump on the bandwagon of impunity, injustices, and lawlessness, and he severely and severally shunned the monster called corruption which was endemic in Wamathina. He was a renowned law-abiding public servant popularly referred to as CSO (Criminalize, Strategize, and Organize). He was pilloried so because of his incessant call to the government to end impunity, political assassinations, and forced exiles of incorruptible activists. His incessant pleas fell on deaf ears. He was hunted like an elephant’s calf by a pride of starving lions. He was a visionary to the people but an adversary to the tyrants and hungry legislators. Moreover, he was a threat to the mafias and the public’s misleaders purporting to be leaders. For that reason, the incumbent wanted him dead than alive and he was like a sexual pervert in a Coventry.

The sniper’s efforts to shoot, with the aim to maim or kill him, seemed and proved futile.

Come on dumdum, I must accomplish the mission, he mused.

However, spotting him amidst the throng of passengers and kibitzers was a range of mountains. Everyone was heard saying,

Criminalize, Strategize and Organize.

    Vehicles moved at a snail speed and none could overtake another. The whole place was in a revolutionary mood that was somber. The high levels of assassinations and prejudice could not be overlooked. The hunter became the hunted. There was a heavy downpour and everyone was running to shelter themselves from the hailstones. The Minister for Defence was not left behind and he boarded his bulletproof vehicle.

The paramilitary marksman had failed in his mission and going back to the superintendent without the head of the Minister for Defence would be like trying to escape from the Guantanamo Bay penitentiary. Assassinations in Wamathina had become rampant and intertwined like dirt and street vendors. The question and the puzzle that left many with a rollercoaster of emotions was, what unleashed it? In contemporary society, compatriots have become baits and deathtraps to the critics of the incumbent. Not even the garrison or gauntlet of media attention could avert the egregious offenses of the offenders. Love has become sour and revenge is meted out for financial or ill motive gains. Just the same way it is difficult to behead a man with a blunt axe, guns have become the easiest means to brutally kill, maim and curtail the efforts and aims of revolutionaries and activists. Paternity to women has been prioritized with good genes and wallet pomposity. This has led many people to be in for rude shock in unhealthy relationships and bitterness is the sauce for their meals every day.

The sniper was gesticulating and sweating profusely like someone with delirium. He was wondering what he would tell the superintendent and Gatoboku, a hired government assassin, who had given him that mission. As a man, he gathered courage and decided to go and deliver the annoying news to him. He knew very well that it would not be welcomed with open arms. The news spread like the bushfire and it was all over in print and broadcast media that the Minister for Defence had issued decrees on matters of security in the country. Gatoboku thumped the table with anger and removed his tie which he threw out of the window fuming with anger like a pregnant pig. He was raging with fury making random movements in the room. The crimes in the country were on the increase and this was the best time to eliminate people who were anti-government. Many revolutionaries had been forced to exile and bullets were flowering every day.

Gatoboku decided to move to the city center looking for Kioni where the crime was served in abundance. The public lived in fear and every day was a looting day and this led to looming memories of those people who experienced it. No sooner had Gatoboku started moving than he was stopped by an army of armed police officers who never knew his rapport with mandarins in the government. He was smiling boldly and he knew Kioni would come looking for him later on but that did not matter anyway. Kioni was to die for his recklessness and failed mission. There was no room for certified idiots in Wamathina. That was the only way he could understand why Kioni was careless, rudderless, and reckless in his mission. It would cost his life or cost him an arm and a leg with his fortunes.

Drop that bag! Move fast towards the police vehicle, hoodlum. Move! Move, moron! Gatoboku heard a police officer bellowing behind him. He was handcuffed, dragged, and harassed several times before he could utter a word. Indeed, his peeved face was well punctuated with slaps. The lioness of a female cop with her dangling breasts, flat-bottomed butts, quivering bosom due to imbibing alcohol, protruding eyes, and thin legs gave him ultimatums to hurry up or face the wrath of the hungry and angry cops who seemed inebriated. However, there was a brown and renowned female cop called Samahani who looked motherly. She looked at him with eyes of empathy and sympathy.

He was in the Central Business District of Jitegemee in Wamathina.  He was dumbfounded because he wondered what he had done that called for all that cause of alarm. When guns ricochet and bullets begin to flower even the daring strong kings tremble. The female cop was speaking in low tones with her counterparts who had connived, assumed being ‘concerned’ and looked perilous. Their physique was something to reckon with and at the same time dread. What have I done? Why are these cops against me? Do I have counterfeits or contrabands? Do they confuse me for an insurgent or a lawbreaker who is in pursuit of his safety? All those questions ran in quick succession in him without any possible answer.

He turned a little bit to see his tormentors who were behind him.

You have the miserable audacity to turn and scrutinize us like dead remains of hominids? One cop asked angrily.

I am sorry...

Before he could even explain what made him turn, he was smacked on the face and fell in a loud thud. They told him that they don’t deal with criminals and perpetrators of criminal acts in a ruthless way but they message and massage them politely because they are visitors of the filthy and unhealthy cells. He continued marching forward heading to the designated police station.

I need to know why you are mishandling me like a criminal of a great felony, he demanded.

They all burst out in a peal of sarcastic laughter and referred to him as a nincompoop. He wondered what these cops were up to. They had walked quite a long distance and he was feeling weary.

This man is cautious, ambitious and he could get a fortune in this malpractice, Samahani said in murmurs.

He gave them time to tattle and rattle behind him without questioning. Furthermore, he loved his dental formula and he was not ready to lose it. In addition, almost everybody fears old age; yet very few attain it. However, he wouldn’t allow fear to curtail his freedom in his kingdom. He was determined never to surrender to subjugation, libel, or slander just like a person who keeps eyes wide open before marriage; half shut afterward.

Gatoboku had left his car parked in a parking square near a hotel lobby. He was instructed not to say anything because it would be used against him in a court of law. He complied with whatever they told him because he was not ready for any scuffle notwithstanding their numbers and the arsenal they could probably be possessing in their armory. He thought they were punishing him because they changed different avenues just to prolong the journey.

At a distance, he could see Jitegemee University building towers which stood erect in the city. He tried to explain to the cops whom he referred to as the expendable riffraff that he was a law-abiding citizen but his pleas fell on deaf ears.  Moreover, in Jitegemee City, you don’t trust anyone because you could be talking to a swindler, kidnapper, robber, or pickpocket. What is annoying is that you could be in urgent need and everybody dismisses you unceremoniously.

I won’t move an inch again. I am damn tired and I don’t know why I was arrested. I demand to know why I was arrested. Read my rights.

Kopa, an enigmatic and gigantic cop, almost clobbered him before Samahani intervened. She was eloquent but violent, partially benevolent and resplendent. He wished she could arrest him for the rest of his life. He would love to be in the shackles of her matrimony. But those were only wishes that he had enthused and mused.

We don’t have time to waste, you miscreant! We are almost at the police station. The so-called rights are nonsensical issues in our country, Kopa roared.

Shhh! Don’t worry. We are on duty but I promise you all will be well as soon as we reach the police station. Behind every catastrophe, there is a remedy, Samahani reassured.

All people sounded the same to him no matter how soft-spoken or loud-spoken they were. The more he tried to loosen the shackles, the more they became tighter, firmer around his wrist.

He was pushed into the police station with the traveler’s bag he had. He was trembling and shaking due to fear though he had no spasm of guilt. He was well connected like the sounds of an amplifier. He was asked if there was somebody who was within Wamathina who could be informed on the developments of his case in case he was incarcerated. He kept quiet for some time, and then replied,

My brother is within the city.

Samahani looked at him with inquisitive eyes.

He was instructed to call him to come over to the police station. He complied with whatever they said because he was torn between confusion and tiredness. The superintendent reached the office phone and directed him to make the call.

"Don’t mind sir. He will make the call using my phone.