Drum Bits of Terror: Drum Bits of Terror

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143 22 eanwhile, earlier that evening, when Wanja arrived at the police station, which they later nicknamed Kuresoi,22 she was wheezing and panting. Her eyes were gaping wide and her chest heaving. Streams of sweat ran down her brow, her back, even the palms of her hands. She ran all the way from the market to the station. She had not felt the burden of distance for when the threat of danger became imminent. She had found strength and energy she did not know she had. She took to her heels like an antelope. She did not stop to think. She did not stop to look back to see who was chasing after her, she simply ran. She was shabbily dressed in a long faded maroon cotton dress with a black-and-white polka-dotted headscarf. Both her dress and headscarf were wet from sweat—thin lines of perspiration glinted on her brow, though she appeared pale-faced with deep shadows beneath her eyes. On her feet, she was wearing scuffed brown rubber shoes, with both her little toes sticking out on the sides. When she left her house, she had planned to buy her goods and then return home right away, take a quick bath, eat some food, and then go to her stall. She had not anticipated the marketplace pandemonium that had left her dumbfounded, forcing her to run to the police station for safety. Upon arrival, she noticed that the station was swarming with people—both young and old, sick, poor, affluent, people from all walks of life. Those who were able bodied lugged with them a hodgepodge of unusual cargo—bundles of clothing wrapped in old kanga. Some had them stuffed in sisal sacks. Others had woven baskets brim filled with a lot of odds and end. One man had even dragged his goat with him and tied it to a measly tree by the station. The ill-fated creature was nibbling grass near the bark of a tree, but there was hardly anything on it—the goat will be food for someone someday. 22 Kuresoi was an area in Molo which was tremendously affected by the clashes of 2007-2008. The displaced Kakamega residents identified their plights to those of people in Kuresoi. M 144 Those with means drove themselves to the station; some peddled their way there, while others rode their motorbikes. Surely, the clashes did not discriminate the poor from the rich. Older men, unable to protect their families, hung their heads in shame. Women mourned the calamity which had befallen them. The children, who were too young to understand the tragedy that had transpired, were running up and down the station as though, for once, they had the luxury of a playground. Wanja did not exchange any formal greetings with anyone. Under normal circumstances, she would have, and at the very least, some form of salutation—be it ‘good morning,’ ‘vipi,’ or ‘atherere, wae mwegha’—to almost everyone—but now, such trivialities were merely a nuisance. How could she say ‘good morning’ when it was not a good morning? Or a ‘good afternoon?’ Or ‘good evening?’ Perhaps, ‘a good hellish morning, afternoon, or evening’ would have sufficed. After catching her breath, she looked around until she spotted a patch of an unoccupied space to sit. There were no chairs. There were no benches, just a vacant space on the grounds of the station. She walked there slowly by slowly, dragging her feet; for she was done with running. She did not know any one of the people at the station. She did not recognize any familiar faces. Then, just in a twinkling, she wondered if her parents were alright. These thoughts caused her stomach muscles to tighten and a lump to crop in her throat. Tears began to sting the rims of her eyelids, but she struggled hard to tame them. She dropped her eyes to the ground lest someone saw her tearing-up. She pushed these thoughts about her parents off her mind temporarily, for she knew she had plenty of time to worry about them. It was during this time that her eyes fell upon a woman who was almost the same age as her mother. ‘She too must have run to the station,’ she thought. Perhaps, her mother and father were on their way. The woman was wearing a pale washed floral dress. Her headscarf was untidily wrapped around her head, with one tip of the scarf sticking...