The untold tale of “Kanjo Kingdom?”

The place is along Mfagano Street, one of those crowded shops that host cellphones and accessories among other things. It is a cold and dry mid-morning, and vendors are bored having exhausted their morning chitchat. Most of them are scrolling on their computers or smartphones, occasionally getting startled at the prospective customer milling through the corridor. Oloo* is holed up in the extreme end of the small corridor lit by florescent and neon lights announcing various businesses. It is a quiet day as customers have not yet started coming in.

An old Land Rover pulls up outside and a man and woman get into the shop. They walk straight to Oloo’s shop. They look at him curiously and ask him if he knows them. Oloo responds that he has no idea who they are. They accuse him of feigning ignorance to evade justice. Oloo is now jostling in his small cubicle. The man tells him to close the shop and follow him. He tells one of his friends to take care of his shop while he settles some issues outside. Since no one has overheard their conversation, they conclude that they could be some of his clients.