Determined to “graduate,” I ended up at Central

In 2007, I was arrested while attempting to graduate

Wednesday, August 29, 2007. The day I set my foot in a police cell for the first time. And spend there. Central Police Station, Nairobi. The occurrence book read that I had stolen. A camera. Property to a relative, a business associate, hereunder, associate.

But spending a night at the cells calmed my spirits in ways I could not imagine.

Five days before my associate handed me in to the Police, the University of Nairobi had graduated its 2007 cohort. I was supposed to have graduated. So on the eve of the graduation day, on its rehearsal, I made my way into the Graduation Square.

Ideally, I had worked to ensure that I graduate. The furthest I could go towards this end was to take photographs while clad in the graduation gown. With these photographs, it will be easy to convince people that I finally graduated, I reassured myself.

But that did not happen. Not that I did not have sufficient funds to hire a gown and take photographs amidst jubilant crowds of the once fellow students. No. The 2000 Kenya shillings I had secured from money merchants on Luthuli Avenue upon offering the camera as collateral, was sufficient. I did not muster enough courage to advance this plot to fruition.

Everyone at the Square was overjoyed. Genuinely so. Everyone was unlike me. I spotted my former classmates at Chiromo. And friends from Main. Kim. Presly. Dan. Jackson, the Big Head, Stella. Faith. NAAS. Koome. But for once, it was clear that we were now worlds apart. The closest any of these friends came was to wave.

Jubilation. Occasionally, they would all try to toss the caps into the air, just the way they do in film. Once or twice, a group would break into dance. Then they filed in the seats clearly bearing their names. Spectacular. Meanwhile, I sat close to the parking bay, at the University Cafeteria. Dejected. Forlorn. I did see it coming. The migraine.


Unable to hold it any longer, I found my way out of the University premises. I cannot tell how I preferred walking all the way to Pipeline through Mombasa Road. At my friend’s place, I lay on the bed for three consecutive days, and nights. And on the fourth, my 3310 rung, the associate calling. He wanted to inquire on my whereabouts.

I was unwell, and was unable to come to our Luthuli shop. He offered to meet me around Cabanas. But I could sense that all was not well. He was accompanied by a well build plain clothed Police officer, and, as my friends tried to explain that that I have been unwell for days, he told them that I had stolen from him. That night, I spent at the Station. Reminiscent.

When I fished out the folded loan contract from my wallet in the morning and accompanied the Police to collect the camera, he offered that I could not possibly be a thief. So when he bought me coffee that afternoon, the associate leaned closer and, in a matter-of-factly tone, and citing a morphing in my behavior, offered that I must be on pot. Hence the ultimatum that I should never cross his ways again, if I valued my life.

I did not own that got into all these as I attempted to graduate. Till now.