Drum Bits of Terror: Drum Bits of Terror

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131 20 even at night! The sun was down, and darkness had overcome the suburb; it was natural. That evening, when Samuel Kivuitu, head of the Electoral Commission of Kenya, announced the incumbent candidate winner of a coveted presidency, everything changed in an instant for almost everyone. The word of President Kibaki’s win spread like a wild fire, as spontaneous chaos erupted. There was anger among many. Distress engulfed the nation. People became suspicious of one another. Maraba was not immune to this suspicion. That was not the norm. Most people knew the opposition had triumphed over the incumbent. That was vetoed by overt corruption. That was not a surprise. Sam, who was still in town when the news broke, was making his way home. He had neither heard the news nor knew what had happened. He only noticed the commotion. Right away, he knew all was not well. People were either hurrying or running to somewhere. Startled by the commotion, he too started running like everyone else. Young people were running away. Older people were running away. Even the disabled braved the tumult, hobbling along for their safety. Men and women empty handed were running out of fear. But what fear? Their bare feet slapped hard on the hot dry asphalt. Streams of sweat drenched their glittery faces in the hue of dust. Sam followed suit. And running they did, down the steep embankment from the town, down past the Indian cremation heading towards the Kenya Seed; its steel gates were tightly fastened to bar away would be intruders. Sam pressed on, hoping to make it safely home to his suburb before sunset. There was no turning back. When Sam got at the end of the tarmac, the road forked, one side veering towards the right, while the other was simply a dirt road, a continuation of the same path he had used several years ago when he first came to town. In the confusion, and on this particular day, he could not think. For a split second, he could not remember where he was, for the ruckus was too much for him to bear. He just stood still S 132 and bamboozled in the middle of the road, trying to decide which path to take, as though he had never been on that road before. He could taste, through the after smoke of burning tires, the fresh chance of a tumultuous present. A sharp turn towards to the right would lengthen his trip, forcing him to run past the Kenya Cereal Board; then, make another sharp left turn to head-on down to his suburb. If he continued to press downward, he would only have a shorter distance. This was not very confusing, but, at that juncture, it in deed was as baffling as anything he had ever experienced. He favoured the latter because of its safety. Without thinking, he sprinted to the left, torpedoing homeward with the speed of lightning. He ran until he was close to the front of Tharau’s property where a bunch of hoodlums were congregating. Immediately, he knew what they about to do. Then, he did the unexpected! He tried to reason with them. What followed was blatantly fantastic—some of the hoodlums tossed kerosene bombs into the house. The house erupted into flames. Others, menacingly, started to harass Sam. Sensing danger, he started running again. Danger was too close for comfort. To his left and as he forged forward, there was a smug plume of smoke. Then tongues of fierce flames, destructive beautiful flames, shoot up high through Tharau’s Hostel consuming everything in its path. This was the very house Sam had worked on during his early days in town. The giant orange flames cascaded upwards into the deep-blue sky. Sam watched with horror as the iron roof of the house begun to crumple like a house of cards, glass windows crackling like fire crackers, as tongues of flame shoot through the already busted windows. Dark smoke, as dark as a locomotive’s, oozed off the already caved roof. Behind the dark smokes, hot orange tongues of flame sizzled, gobbling everything in its path. The Bermuda Blue paint on its walls darkened as the house was ravenously consumed. Agitated spectators brandishing machetes and waving twigs in the air guarded the entrance into the compound lest any daring nincompoop attempt dousing the flames. Suddenly, Sam saw dozens of young men rapidly pumping their legs in a mad fury emerge...