For the second year in a row, the police put up a barricade on Thika Road that brought all traffic to a standstill.
Not even ambulances, private security guards, or those with essential IDs allowed by law If you work curfew between 8 p.m. and 4 a.m., you were spared.
And so I found myself on the street after midnight after leaving the office at around 9:30 p.m.
Me I was aware of a similar chaotic police roadblock on Saturday night and made sure to double check my Google Map before starting my journey home.
The road was blue with no sign of a deadlock and it showed I would in 25 minutes being at home.
The excitement of a relatively early Sunday shift and the opportunity to wish my two boys goodnight died instantly when I arrived at the roadblock that had just been installed in front of the Garden City Mall exit. < / p>
Critical Service Pass
Police vehicles and steel spikes barricaded the superhighway on either side, including about two dozen police officers patrolling between vehicles, armed with weapons as if to intimidate someone who dared Lifting fingers.
One of them approached my car and asked if I had an essential ID card. I replied in the affirmative and he advised me to take the innermost lane of the freeway if I didn’t want to spend the night on the road.
The advice was pointless. I couldn’t move an inch as the place was a big mess as everyone was trying to fill the space in front of them, hoping to eventually break the barricade.
There was no order, and the police didn’t seem to have clear instructions on what to do.
Back to the story of the man who escorted his dead mother’s body to the morgue.
After almost one and one – half an hour of chaos, screaming, uninterrupted sirens from ambulances and measured aggression of motorists towards the armed police. A group of uniformed men, accompanied by what appeared to be their commander, approached the vehicle with some visible concern that lay in front of me.
I could see their disagreement hear about whether a sick child was in the car or not before finally allowing the anxious occupants to drive past the barricade.
An ambulance standing next to me was also allowed to pass the barrier, and some lucky drivers standing in front of it were allowed to go home too. No check was made at all to determine whether or not they were essential service providers.
All this time, important service employees, including doctors, journalists, private guards and transporters of perishable food, the police to allow this in vain past the barrier.
“Munataka tuachwe na nani hapa mkienda? Tutakaa mpaka saa kumi, “…” Who stays when you are gone, we will all stay here until 4 in the morning, “said her commanding officer and waved off all curfews presented by motorists.
The suspected Der Commandant withdrew into a police car parked about 30 meters from the barricade when the appeals grew too numerous as everyone tried to represent their case by providing documentary evidence as to why they were right to be out during curfew .
Some of the more energetic drivers had the keys to their vehicles taken away to cool them down.
The excited officers lit a campfire with firewood that was unloaded from the police car, and began toasting corn on the side of the road.
Dead mother’s corpse
Then an officer in the uniform of an administrative policeman quickly came out of the police car and gave the order to the drivers to place a hearse to make de r was stuck 50 meters back on the street next to me.
“Wacha huyo apite apeleke mwili ya mama yak The morgue of Marehemu Kwa” … “Give this one opportunity, he has to take his dead mother to the morgue” the officer ordered as those dressed in traffic police uniforms cleared the street.
Then a hearse zoomed past, followed by a dark blue Mercedes Benz that was being driven by the bereaved.
Me shook his head in disbelief and disgust at the actions of the heartless policeman, the man had waved to them again and again what seemed like a passport, probably issued by his local boss, so that he can transport his dead mother’s body to the morgue.
The memory would live with him for a lifetime, I thought.
Around midnight, my boys had been waiting for me at home for a long time and had gone to bed while their mother kept calling to ask to find out how many meters I had moved since her last call.
Tired, hungry and indignant
Shortly afterwards, the man in the uniform of an administrative policeman returned with some new orders. < / p>
“Watu wa NIS, watu wa NIS”, … “Any N. Officials of the National Intelligence Service (NIS)? “Funny, I thought, the barrier even caught its own! Some men showed their ID and were released.
At this point, another ambulance was trying to drive past the tightly packed vehicles and I realized my chance had come as my car blocked the way
I decidedly went to the administrative policeman and introduced myself as a journalist. I offered to move my vehicle out of the way of the ambulance.
The policeman, who had ignored my previous request for freedom, glanced at my ID card and said, “Nation Media Group? Enda! (Come on!). “
I looked around for a moment, hesitating, guilty of leaving a car that had a young child forced to endure collective punishment, a middle-aged woman what a doctor looked like and had been bringing her case the whole time without anyone paying attention, and dozens of other drivers.
And so I drove past the barrier at 12:21 pm; tired, hungry, sleepy and outraged by what I felt was a grave injustice that befell me and my fellow passengers.