Living in my 3rd world problems! Aiyaiyai!

I live in the middle house in our building. 2 houses up, 2 down and 2 to each side. So you would think I have a safe haven of sorts.

I like to think I am a fairly cautious person. Never live on the ground floor because you become a target and never live at the top so that you can save yourself in time of emergency. Do not let strangers into your house because they will rob you blind while you are in the kitchen,a lways switch off sockets so that you don't burn your house down when KPLC is in a mood, always check the security situation in an area, carry a torch and so on and so on.

So, yesterday as I bounded up the stairs to the safest house on the 2nd floor of my building, my mind was on today's deadlines. I had finally made some sort of breakthrough and I was going to change and go for a run to celebrate my accomplishments and then come and cook myself some Kikuyu stew full of potatoes and few sprinkles of beef. I hadn't had potato filled stew in a bit so you can imagine my excitement.So up the stairs I hopped until I came to a wide open door. My first thought was to check for my keys in my bag just incase I had forgotten to lock the door. My brain was still aclimitising to the scene. So i peeped in and as loud as I could I shouted "Hello!Hello!Anybody there?!" Yes, I did that because I watch too much CSI. And polite people answer back. So I called out a second time. The lights were on, so I figured, no one would be stupid enough to leave the lights on. Well, they were stupid enough.

After 2 excruciating minutes of listening in from the door, I decided in true James Bond fashion to slither into the house. Quietly. I removed my shoes and walked along the edge of the walls. My house is really not very big. Infact, it is a tiny little box from which you can scope the whole house at the door. Which begged the question of why I was creeping around! Well, desperate times. It took me all of that creeping before I noticed that my house had been turned inside out. The seat cushions were on the floor, the drawers were overturned,the bags had been sniffed at. The least they could have done was try and rearrange the clothes. My underwear was on the floor. Who touches a stranger's underwear.....WHO!!!! And then reads your bank statement. Argh!

At about this point, when I was staring in disbelief at my worldly possessions, my mind started screaming from the inside, loudly. This manifested itself as running around the corridor checking which neighbours house had been broken into. I was livid, I was confused but most of all, I was insane. The rest of the houses rested peacefully like they usually do on a Monday afternoon. I ran back to the house and pretty much just hovered confused for a few minutes. "The cops, yes, call the cops" "WAIT!Where are the cops! Oh yes, the cops!" I then put my bag down and ran out to get the cops. Midway to the door, I remembered. "Oh Lord, they have taken my Nashville!" My brain did not register at first that the said "Nashville" was in my laptop and my laptop was gone. It was just screaming, "What do these people want me to watch tonight?" So back to the bedroom. No laptop. No laptop bag. I screamed from my throat a little.

Off to the cops I started: As I ran down the stairs two steps at a time to report this heinous crime against humanity, I remembered that I had left my door unlocked. Clearly the theft had not improved my sense of security. I ran back up. Please note, all this time, I had touched absolutely nothing in the house. The crime unit at the cop shop may want to take prints and photos. I wanted the thieves' prints to be the ones with the freshest ones. The prints on top are not mine sir. I have not even lifted a cloth off the floor. Yes, they would come and find a fresh crime scene. Yes Sir!! The only available padlock I had was a little padlock that I use to lock my suitcases. That is all the protection I gave my house.....after a crime.

On my way to the cop shop, I decided to pass by the hardware, I needed a lock, something like they used at Fort Knox or State House. With eyeball recognition if possible. If it was possible to get one which recognises only my spit, I would have bought it. After a lengthy informed discussion with the hardware lady, I told her to give me what they use to lock their shop. If it is good enough for them, it is good enough for me. So I bought, the meanest padlock you ever saw. Proud of myself, I forgot all about the cops and marched on home with my padlock. I shall confront the landlady with this padlock. She shall feel my fear and confusion. She shall feel sorry for me and hire plain clothes police to guard my door. Getting home, I bump into the caretaker, who in no uncertain terms, begs me not to tell the landlady because he would lose his job. So I gave him an option. He can let her know that I have been broken into (and violated) and then I shall take it from there. This seemed to please him some. The mammoth padlock I was so proud of, was too big for my lock. I almost broke down and wailed, right there on the public corridor! All I wanted to do, was go for a run and make stew with a lot of potatoes.

The landlady did call shortly after, and talked to me for an hour where we itemised everything that happened (over the phone), nominated and discarded suspects, including anybody who had ever picked me up or dropped me outside the gate(that woman knows a lot more of my life than I am comfortable with), discussed her first home as a single woman, came up with conspiracy theories, that ended up going nowhere and then finally said our goodnights, sorries and no problems. She called about an hour later to discuss more conspiracy theories and ask if I had made a list. Where would I start, I wondered!I locked myself in with my small padlock and hoped my brittle prayers will keep the devil away from my house. I was going to give myself at least the meal of potatoes.

I slept in the sitting room. Or rather, I stayed half awake and had a start every time there was a noise on the corridor. They were not going to come creeping in on me while I slept peacefully in the bedroom. I was the protector of my fort, small as it may be. I quietly prayed that we would eventually pass a right to own guns. Then I would sit with it by the door all night and hope the a@#!! come back. By morning I was tired and wound up. I repacked my padlock and went to the cop shop. I have been to several cop shops to collect abstracts and such like things. I had never quite noticed what happens. The smells, the shouts, the evil laughter from the cells, the crying women on the benches.... There was once after I had quite a terrifying accident that I went, but I was so shaken, my mother wrote the police report for me. Police stations here are not like those on TV. Cops don't spend 4 hrs a day in the gym to build abs, buildings are not big, beautiful and intimidating with nice waiting chairs. No. This is reality. The cops are mostly short, annoyed people. The buildings are colourless with a blue band around the middle. The minute you enter one of those places, your mind instantly goes to anything you may have done wrong. They might see it in your eyes and their sarcastic remarks may make you confess. Next thing you know, you are behind there with all those hardened criminals. So you widen your eyes and speak in low tones and you pull your skirt down and you explain yourself in clear and concise sentences. Actually you don't explain yourself. You look at them through this metal grill and you say, "Nilivunjiwa nyumba"....Blank stare! He writes. "Jina, madam" .I mumble...Back ground noise of a mother outside shouting at her son who is inside the cell "Namba ya simu"....More mumbling on my end. Another cop walks in and asks the people in the cell at the back what they are in for and if they have been fined an appropriate amount........More mumbling from me, more shouts from the angry mother. "Ulifika nyumbani saa ngapi?"....More mumbling.....more writing... A pretty woman walks behind me with a bucket on her way back to the cell... "Na nini ikaibiwa? .....Huko nyuma nyamazeni".....More mumbling. Finally he removes a small piece of paper from a lunch box tin, where he simple writes my name and the word "THEFT" on it. I guess they did start by stealing my padlock! No CSI to my rescue, no bustle of leather jackets of concerned crime unit. Just a small paper with my name on it written "theft" with a date stamp! I held onto the paper like it would magically bring my dignity back.

I then went to exchange my super padlock, for a more reasonably sized one, trudged through the mud back home and locked my door. I then said a loud prayer in tongues just in case anybody was lurking around. Le sigh!!!....these my 3rd world problems! If you have a laptop with a large batman sticker which has NASHVILLE on pause, PLEASE BRING IT BACK TO MAMA!