A witness account: The city’s 1-minute muggers

I have heard many stories of people getting mugged, and it sounds terrifying. Well, a few days ago, I got to witness it first-hand. It happened so fast, I am still not sure whether it actually took place or whether I imagined it.

I had gone on an errand those sides of River Road where they sell just about anything you will ever need in this life. I was just about to get into one of the many shops when I noticed some commotion on the other side of the street from the corner of my eye.

Naturally, I stopped to see what was happening. A group of around six young men had surrounded a man. At the blink of the eye, the besieged man was suspended in the air, with six pairs of hands literally shaking him up, what we call kurifworifwo, (though I doubt this is the spelling) in my mother tongue, like you do when shaking out a tablecloth to get rid of bits of food.

Believe it or not, within seconds, the poor man had been relieved of what looked like a laptop bag, jacket and shoes.

All this, and I exaggerate not, was done in under a minute, after which the gang quickly disappeared, leaving the poor man seated on the dirty pavement, his trouser pockets inside out, looking dazed and traumatised.

As for me, I stood rooted on the spot through it all, my mouth hanging open in shock and disbelief at what I had just witnessed.

I once expressed here, my dismay at how one can be robbed in broad daylight in the full glare of a thousand spectators yet no one will come to your aid. After that incident, however, I understand how helpless a spectator may be in such a situation, given my reaction on that day.

As I looked at that young man, who was still seated on the dirt trying to figure out what had just happened to him, it occurred to me that that could have been me there, looking all alone and lost, curious Kenyans milling about me, staring, asking no one in particular what had happened.

Before that day, I had always assumed that as long as you walked and behaved as if you belonged in the backstreets of Nairobi, you know, with a confident swagger that said you walked these streets daily and that you were right at home, chewing gum with your mouth open for effect, then muggers like the ones I saw at work that day would steer clear of you.

Before then, I would spot young women in high heels and short skirts clutching their handbags to their chests and looking around them furtively and chuckle to myself because they might as well have been a billboard beckoning muggers, inviting them to rob them.

But after that day, it occurred to me that those young women and I, the self-declared streetwise Nairobian with no jewellery on show, subdued dressing, sensible shoes and a mouth full of gum, were fair game to Nairobi City’s muggers.

All they had to do was corner me and go ahead to rob me with the speed of lightening, whether I looked at home in the backstreets or not. How I hope me and you will never fall victim to that group.