Lost Wheel

Lost Wheel

Our first assignment with the Agency in Arusha had no allowance for a vehicle, well not an Agency-supplied one. They had sold a clapped out Suzuki Jimny, at a very cheap rate, to the outfit I was working with, Hifadhi or Big E (take your pick), which was part of the deal and supposed to be for my assignment’s use. However, I quickly learned that my boots were going to wear out before I could wrestle the vehicle from Big E! A vehicle was too much of a status symbol for him to relinquish. But fate, whatever that is, caused another assignment to be abandoned. The successful candidate was unable show, which in a roundabout way freed up the little Maruti to become my project vehicle.

When we weren’t out and about, I always parked the Maruti outside our bedroom window, not for safety, although I considered it safe enough. It was the most convenient place. We were in sort of a compound, surrounded by bougainvillea hedges. There was no gate, but we didn’t see the need for one. For all that we only had two serious intrusions, the one I have written about, Sema Kweli, and the time a young fellow jumped over the bougainvillea hedge. He was being chased by an angry mob, who accused him of being a thief. His visit was brief and so was his life.

There was a water tap close to our house, probably an illegal connection, just how Big E managed that I have a fair idea… but while he tried to kick people out from time to time, women and children were aware if he was home or not, and when he was not, they came in a steady stream to chota maji – fetch water. They posed no problem at all as far as we were concerned, in fact if I saw small kids with large buckets, I usually help lift it onto their head. Twisha is what it is called.

One Sunday morning, I walked nonchalantly past the Maruti, it took a moment or two for the cogs in my head to tumble into place. For that nagging feeling of something was amiss to click. I went back to check what hadn’t quite tallied and found that the front wheel had gone! Curses! The theft of the wheel was a big nuisance on its own, but worst was I would lose half a day at the police station filling out forms! In real terms a wheel is a low-value item but you need a police report for insurance purposes, and to appease the Agency head office big noises.  The value was far below the insurance excess, but I had to follow the protocols.

I’d had other occasions to visit the police station, none of them remembered with any fondness! It’s always busy and the demeanour of the police and the place, was intimidating. There are always sorry sights of folk who have been arrested, being processed and having a tough time of it. This time I had no real problem because a couple of cops happened to remember me and I was getting to know how things worked. There was the usual wait for the sergeant to be ready for the initial report and for him to fill in the logbook, which was a good yard wide! There was another wait while he found a free officer to file the official report. The officer went off in search of carbon paper. I had taken the precaution of sticking a couple of pins in my collar to hold the sheets of the form together, which probably save another ten minutes. Last time it took ages to find them in untidy drawers. Then before the report can be handed over, there was the fee to be paid and the yellow receipt form to be filled in before finally handing it over. He offered me the chance to pay posho money, but my smile and the pins sufficed, which maintained my personal protocols. The police are always too busy to investigate small crimes like this and anyway they had no transport, so if I wanted someone to look at the scene, then I would have to take him, I opted for the less contact, the better. And anyway, this time I was on foot.

Back at Sanawari, I carried out my own investigation. The wheel hub was held up by a brick, and the brick came from the hen house at the back of Big E’s property, the outline of where it had been sitting, probably for years, stuck out like a sore toe. The thief was at least careful not to damage the hub, by leaving it propped it up, but all the wheel nuts were missing, which was a further pain in the differential! The mark where the wheel had been rolled out the gateway and down the road was still plainly visible.

It was pretty clear that someone in Big E’s family had stolen the wheel, my number one suspect was young Baraka. I suspected his parents did too, though they kept quiet feinting all knowledge. I sensed there was embarrassment for them, which in a way could have been because the security lapse, a failure on their part. But no, that wasn’t the cause of their embarrassment, I didn’t find out the complete story until much later, after we had moved away. Mama Baraka finally confided that Baraka, who I knew had been a senior boy at his secondary school, managed to get a fellow student pregnant. The news was kept from us for the time we were there. He also kept the news from his parents for as long as he possibly could. It would have been disaster for the girl and her family because the health department, in those days, carried out regular, compulsory pregnancy tests and pregnant girls were kicked out of school! Baraka had the urgent need for some money ‘to help out in the early days of the situation'.

I knew that I couldn’t say anything to Big E anyway, my focus was to get the Maruti back on the road. I fitted the spare, which had been locked in the back of the vehicle. It was just a matter of securing it in place with one wheel nut from each of the remaining wheels. No big deal. Suzuki wheels fitted the Maruti so replacing the stolen one wasn’t an issue, but the Suzuki agents had no new wheel nuts, so I had to source them through the street markets. Soon we were back in business.

I suppose Baraka could have handled the situation better, and maybe if he’d come to us… but, ‘You can’t put an old head on young shoulders.’