Criminal acts have been on the rise in Kenya

The level and severity of crime in Nairobi and other parts of the country have been building up over the years since the time when my pockets were first picked, surprisingly in Meru.

In the ‘80s, police officers on the beat were not armed and only plainclothes and Special Branch officers had firearms.

With time, things got so bad that even police officers were afraid of venturing into some parts of the city.

Criminals became so bold and daring that thugs could drive to the Woodley estate home of a colleague, the late Gichuru Njihia at mid-day and after cleaning him out, “request” that he assists them.

My first brush with muggers was in the late ‘80s at Satellite, where I had just moved into a modest flat.

I was in the habit of whiling away the evening over a couple of drinks at the local shopping centre and going home only to sleep.

One evening, I was making my way home through unlit backstreets when I met three men.

One made as if to ask me the time and before I knew it, he had a sharp object at my neck.

Briskly, they removed my shoes and were in the process of removing my pair of trousers when a car approached and the scene of crime was bathed in the light of its head lamps. The men melted into the darkness, leaving me struggling to pull up my pamts.

I was terribly indignant at the personal violation. The blood of my warrior Meru ancestors rose and I felt that the indignity called for immediate revenge. Rushing to my house which was nearby, I armed myself to the teeth with an axe, a Somali sword (simi) and a kitchen knife.

Then I proceeded to patrol the dark streets hoping to meet the thugs again.

When a figure loomed out of the darkness, I believed I finally had a chance to teach a thug not to mess with the son of Reuben M’Muthamia and challenged the man to stop right where he was. Instead of heeding my order, the fellow turned tail and ran back the way he had come screaming at the top of his lungs.

After a couple of hours of fruitless search I decided to report the indignity at the police post down the road.

When I walked in the report office still armed to the teeth, I found a man waving his hands and incoherently talking to a police officer. When he saw me, he hid behind the officer and, pointing wildly, said, “There he is! That is one of the people who attacked and robbed me!”

It took a while for sanity and order to be restored sufficiently for the police officers to deduce from our explanations that both of us were victims of muggers.

They had, they explained, received numerous reports of that nature and it seemed that a gang was active in the area.

After being advised to exercise care, we were sent on our way.

I hesitate, dear reader, to tell you about the second and last time I was mugged because although it happened after midnight when I was in my cups, I was the victim of a lone mugger.

To cut a long and shameful story short, I manfully engaged in combat with an adversary who was so elusive my punches sailed futilely past him.

Eventually, I had to admit that even a Meru warrior knows when he is beaten and lying in ditch in which I had fallen, I allowed the mugger to take off my shoes and the trousers of my Kaunda suit.

Luckily, it was at night and I could use the cover of darkness to hide my shame as I went back to my house.