One of my colleagues was arrested last week on her way from the office as the curfew hour slipped ominously into view.
A single mum whose domestic manager went on short leave only to send a text message declaring herself married, she was in a rush to get home before her two young sons burnt the place down in a kitchen competence-based curriculum lesson. But right ahead, glistening in the halo of the matatu headlamps, stood the boys in blue. Flagged down.