A torch-bearer, yes, a hawker is bit of a stretch, after failing at first attempt

I have received multiple queries from friends wondering if I am the same individual as the chap who was arrested in Lumakanda selling torches to mourners, for use in the burial of the departed politician, Cyrus Jirongo.

I understand people on that side of the world believe torches have psychic powers and that when the battery cells dim, so will the nefarious characters who had a hand in the killing of Jirongo. The politician perished in a road accident several weeks ago.

Since I’m not competent to comment on active police investigations (let’s wait for it to go cold so we can call them bure kabisa), I’ll address myself to the serious claim that I am the same individual as a certain Peter Kimani was arrested in Lumakanda.

The answer is: yes, my name hasn’t changed, though my current occupation isn’t that of a hawker. And, yes, I did hawk in city streets, and torches were part of the merchandise.

I was fresh from high school, barely out of my teens, trekking around the city bearing contraptions that were purportedly multi-purpose. All were cheap imports from China. I was assigned a supervisor who was supposed to mentor me. He bought me a meal of ugali and matumbo on the first day.

On the second day, I hit the streets with a bunch of other young men and women. Meandering through Hurlingham, a Caucasian woman told me she’d have bought a torch if she was “feeling right.” I understood I was being proportioned. I quit the trade the following day. I had not sold a single torch.