The Police Cell Felt Like Home.

I cannot wait to make some parts of my life into a television series. I’m still quite young and there’s more to experience, so who knows how many seasons it will run. Best believe, if I bag Hulu, HBO or Netflix, I bet, they’ll want to renew it every season. We’ll, here’s one. You have the pleasure of reading through it before it’s acted out. Ha! May God see these dreams through. It was a normal Friday in June, the weather was warm enough and I was holding on to the sun before the dreaded July winters storm through our land. I hate winters! It’s July now, and I’m wearing socks, I’m craving hot drinks, wearing hoodies something I don’t like doing. But, what can we do? Anyway, back to my story. Focus Lisa. Being a Friday, I knew the evening would have me at my local chilling and vibing. If you’ve been keeping up, it’s the same local, that I got proposed to. I’m loyal to that place. I was excited to be ending my week with some company, cheap gin and good music. I got to the place earlier than everyone and started out my evening. I had ordered my usual ‘about to fuck it up meal’, two shawarmas from Mama Nilishe, a swahili restaurant I absolutely love that’s based in the local and my bottle of gin and my sneaked in Coca-Cola that I’d gotten from Quickmart. I had small talk with the regular faces and the staff as they all came to say hi and make one two, jokes about my ankle length dreads and just vibed. Within no time, my company arrived and we sank into the night. The last thing I remember,  is dancing to an amapiano song. Then it all went black! 

The next morning, I woke up to a loud bang at the door, coupled with a nasty pungent smell of an unwashed bathroom. I was lying in a pancake-thin mattress with six other girls, sandwiched between two of them. We were all each others big spoon and small spoon. I slowly raised my head and saw Two other women standing by the wall. The walls had all these weird writings on the wall. I panicked. Where the fuck am I? Did I participate in an orgy? If so, why is this orgy in such a dingy place? Why do we still have our clothes on? Where are my shoes? Why are there no men? I shouted, “Fuck! Niko wapi?” I stormed out of the bed and looked around. One girl started laughing and came towards me.

” Cool kid, uko Muthangari!” 

I stared at her blankly, shocked to my pits! I was in a jail cell. No, no, no, I was at my local last night. How the fuck did I end up here? The other women woke up slowly by slowly and I just couldn’t fathom. The cell was opened and the meal guy came to serve breakfast. Tea, that I swear had more water in it than milk and boflo. I couldn’t even eat or think. The girls tried to get me to eat, but I refused. It was then that they asked me why I was so shocked, yet the night before I had come in the cell rapping and singing and giving out stories. One of the ladies, I’ll call her, Hannah, narrated to me. I’ll translate in English. 

“Well, you walked in here past midnight, singing and dancing to the cops. You were also crying, but laughing at the same time. You told us how you were done with alcohol because it makes you horny and confident in bed. You asked all of our names, and at some point even asked if you could sing for us a worship song to encourage us, then when you started, you said Fuck it, and switched to Reggae. You were throwing your dreadlocks left, right and centre and everyone joined you. I had to convince you to eat, and you and I shared some fries, I’d gotten from outside, then you just fell in the mattress and passed out.” 

By the time she was done narrating, everyone was laughing and talking about how much life I brought to the cell, the previous night. 

Have you ever heard a story and wondered if its really you or some someone else? I was shooketh. Me, Lisa, I Had turned into the compositions and inshas I used to write in high school. What a mess! One of the much older ladies, who turned to be one of my favourites, lent me her extra pair of shoes. Guys, I had no shoes. None at all! People started talking and chatting,  and somehow I just slowly settled. They kept reminding me and acting out how I came in last night, with all my English, hence the name , cool kid. Lol! After around thirty minutes, I was called to the inspectors office. I was curious as to how and why I’d gotten there in the first place. 

“Lisa, habari, kwa nini ulivunja Mercedes benz ya wenyewe alafu ukawatusi?” the lady asked. 

Yoh! At this point, I knew I was fucked. Like this is it bitch, I’m going to jail for a long time. I damaged someone’s Mercedes benz! How? Where? The cops told me where I did it and how according to the filed report and honestly, I was shocked because I had no recollection of ever being in that Club. At this point, I started crying because, I should have just stayed home. The cops told me how much money was needed and yoh! The cops handling me were nice. I guess, I can be grateful for that. One of them, I’ll call him, Fuya, gave me his phone to call one of the girls I was with

I can’t get into details, but from what I heard, I burnt! Nilichoma kuchoma. Even worse, no recollection of any of that happening. After listening, I just sat down, looked at the cop, then laughed together. The laughter of disbelief and shock. I hang in their offices for around two hours, just talking, sharing experiences and bonding, and it somehow took the stress away. We exchanged contacts with Fuya and told me to call him in future whenever shit happens, and I just said, Nope! On God, I can never be in such an embarrassing situation again. I got escorted back to the cell, as we waited for the OCS to come to the station and what I thought would be a one hour wait, ended up to be seven hours. 

In that seven hours, I can honestly say, I had never laughed so hard in my life. My cell mates had the funniest, craziest stories of their lives and why they ended up there. One was caught selling weed that were wrapped inside chocolate wraps and tried to bribe the cops with 30 shillings and four rolls of weed. Another went to his husbands house and damaged all the electronics. Infidelity issues. He got so pissed and called the cops on them, the wife and her two daughters. They insisted to be arrested with their mother because they stood by her. Another’s ex boyfriend snitched to the cops, that she was running an operation where she sold illicit brew without a licence. Another, stole his ex boyfriends goat, roasted it and called the entire flat to celebrate. There were two who got drunk and ravaged down a few bottles in a liquor store. It was madness. The conversations switched from that, to men and their madness, to life, the economy and so many things. For most of them, it wasn’t their first time, hence their calm demeanour through out. At some point, we ended playing cards, wordscapes on the smart ones who had their gadgets in, while plaiting hairs and chilling, with the occasional 30 minute naps. Some had their people send them blankets, food from outside and money. What amazed me is how generous they were. They kept insisting. “Cool Kid, eat! These chips are many, even the chicken, let’s share!” I mean. 

I had heard horror stories of jail cells, but I was going through a whole different thing. After the laughs, there came moments where some would break down and share out personal, deep stories and it just bonded everyone together. The girl who was caught selling illicit brew without a licence, had lost her whole family in 2007, and she’d been surviving since, doing odd jobs and finally saved enough for a liquor store and a mini pub. I admired that strength. Other ladies spoke on abusive partners, abusive city Council officers who nagged them for cash every now and then. It was deep guys. I got so many stories that day, that showed me, how life is different for so many of us. 

There was a talent show at some point, where people sang, rapped, twerked,  I mean. Honestly, I had a blast in a dingy, smelly cell. At around 7pm, when dinner was Brought, the usual, ugali and cabbage, the plates weren’t enough and some of us missed. I wasn’t hungry and honestly, there was nothing that attracted me to that food. Two ladies, got in their bags and gave me and three others tea they’d saved from breakfast and bread,  to share. The gesture was so sweet, even though my tummy was tucked tight, I ate it. I mean, just how kind can people be. We ate and chatted for a while, then I was called to clear out. I honestly thanked them for making my stay there so easy and doable. I returned the borrowed slippers and left. Fuya, the kind cop, had given a jacket to keep me warm through the day and I returned it grateful. 

On my way home, I reflected a lot. In as much as yes, I’m not proud of how I ended up there. But, it could have been a lot worse. Instead, I met nice cell mates, dealt with kind cops, and I was alive. It bothers me that those hours in my life are still dark and lost to me, but I’m good.  It could’ve been way worse. Got a harsh, tough lesson that came with friendships. I mean, that’s why I drink alone guy! People will disappoint you. I actually now understand some people in my life who distance themselves from the crowd, etc. The crowd is the ghetto! I think about those girls from time to time, hoping they are okay and things are good. They may have not known it, but they made my first time in a cell very hospitable! Cheers Queens!