At the foot of the famous Gikomba market, is a slum called Majengo, meaning ‘buildings’ or commonly known as ‘Kije’ by the locals. One is usually welcomed by an atmosphere of narrow lane streets with sewage water in open surface drains often emitting foul smell, thick clusters of small dilapidated mud huts with ceilings made out of either scraps of wood, gunny sacks or metal. Aside from the exterior appearance of chaos, Kije’s slum life is highly structured with various economic, religious and political interests expressed in the daily activities including crime.
A warning posted in the form of a Facebook post on the second month of 2019, has made me flinch to date as I try to imagine its tone in my head. Written by someone identified as Hessy wa Majengo. It was written:
“I won’t forget to remind you guys that form ni kureform” (your only way out is to reform) and warned the criminals to take care in the event he posts any of their pictures therein. He then went on to remind criminals that they, the police, have not run out of bullets which, he assured, would be used to ensure that law-abiding citizens are protected and concluded with: ‘Countdown starts now’.
A few hours later, news went round that the police had killed suspected gangsters in the area and a few civilians were injured in the crossfire. At around the same time, I came across another post on my newsfeed shared by a friend from the same account of Hessy wa Majengo written: “If you are unable to reach your loved one on phone or in any other way, he might be among these ones, they were gunned down recently.”
Hessys are a feared killer police squad. They appear on social media especially on Facebook with pseudonyms but are felt on the ground when criminals are felled. Hessys are a feared killer police squad. The officers who go by the alias Hessy were in a particular place…Like in this case Hessy Wa Majengo regularly post photos on different facebook platforms or even their personal walls of youths gunned down during their criminal activities. The armed youth are apparently said to be setting out to emulate the operations of a secretive gang as seen in a movie scene forgetting that those scenes are scripted and when it comes to reality, their lives are put on the line.
Amina (not her real name) said she lost her younger brother, Musa (not his real name) immediately after the Easter celebrations of 2018 to criminal activity. He was only 20 years old. She said her mother had to relocate with her younger brother to their rural home back in 2017 after he refused to continue with his education and resorted to crime. “For the few years he stayed upcountry he was doing well. Musa had ventured into carpentry and father had already allocated him part of their ancestral land where he would construct his house.”
On the fateful day Musa met his death, Amina says there was a heavy downpour that had caught people off-guard. She had just boarded a matatu from town to her place in Kasarani. When she got to the house around 9:30 PM, she heard her phone ringing and on checking, it was a new number calling. She thought to herself maybe it was a new client who was making a spa appointment with her the next day. Little did she know it was a tragic call that would remain embedded in her memory forever.
After receiving the call, the first words from the caller’s mouth were “pole sana kwa msiba dadangu” (I am sorry for your loss my sister). She was later informed by one of her brother’s childhood friends that her youngest brother, Musa was shot dead by Hessy that evening.
“Kuliendaje kwani?” (How did it happen?)
“Vile nliskia, ati jamaa (read Musa) alikuwa ametoka kununua ova alafu akapatana na Hessy njiani akirudi wakazozana kidogo kisha akakulishwa copper mbili kwa kichwa na moja ya mwisho kwa kifua.” (From the story I got is that the guy had just bought an avocado and was heading home for supper and met Hessy on the way, they had a little misunderstanding which ended in him being shot twice on the head and the last bullet to his chest).
Many thoughts raced through Amina’s mind as she hangs up the phone.
“Musa used to make occasional trips to the city to purchase tools for his workshop and would often go to see how father was doing and sometimes he would pass by my workplace and we used to catch up a little before he travelled back home. His visits were short, usually like one to three days at most. However, he overstayed on his last visit that ended up in his demise”, Amina narrated.
The police later told Amina that her brother was executed on the charges of robbery with violence. “But he wasn’t stealing on that day he was shot dead”, she thought as she made her way to the police station the following day to record a statement and later on to the City Morgue to identify and claim the body. She made a quick visit to her dad who chose to stay in Majengo and his shoe business to make ends meet as her mother chose to settle in their rural home.
“I had never seen my father cry the way he did when he received the news. My younger brother was like his favourite son of the three of us. It was pretty obvious since he had his looks in his younger days’. “The only way*sniff…*sniff* I can believe this is true is when I see my son’s body*sniff …sniff…sniff…sniff*”, he mumbled. “Ei! Musa? My son? Why did you choose to leave us this early? Did you have to be born last and choose to die first?” “I told him that I was headed to the city morgue to claim the body as I was just from the police station,” Amina continued.
“I waited for father, to calm down and freshen up and we made our way to the morgue. Never had I imagined that the first person to make me visit a morgue would be my brother more so the youngest.”
But on this day, everything had changed, Amina thought as they made their way through. From the way she described the kind of environment there, I imagined to myself so this is really how city morgue hallways were? A thoroughfare for the personnel handling human bodies as parcels. The dull floors lead towards a couple of doorways etched in grey. The walls simply grow from the floor and stretch upwards to the matching ceiling. It is a place of death: a place forgotten slowly after the initial shock of admittance.
Amina’s voice cut short my imaginative thoughts as she narrated how fortunate they were to meet a friendly officer who made the process a little easier for them as he reminisced some of the shocking tales of his experience during his time as a ‘hessy’. He regretted to date the agony he had caused some of the families in his line of duty. People assume out here that we policemen are not human, but we are. Every crossfire encounter with criminals changes you: some negatively but I am glad mine taught me to be better. I am not where I want to be but am glad I can be able to connect with people who see me as a human and a friend and no longer as an enemy. The fact that you are required by law to gun down a young man in his 20s who is full of life and trying to discover the world through crime, took a toll on me. I had to request my boss to withdraw me from the field and that is how I landed this job of helping people come and identify their deceased family members’ corpses here.”
“He led us to a room where the corpses were placed on the table,” said Amina “and directed us to the one that my brother Musa was placed upon. It was really him. My father couldn’t hold his tears. He was weeping like a toddler. I stayed there in a mix up of emotions as I viewed Musa’s body lying there peacefully like he was having an eternal slumber. The morgue attendant immediately took our details and I had to part with 500 shillings as a token to ensure that my brother’s body was properly stored until the day of his burial.”
“Before his untimely death”, Amina continued “I remember he quit school and ventured into soccer. He used to go for practise at the famous Kamukunji grounds where the renowned football star Victor Wanyama used to train on his journey to stardom every evening. Well at least, that’s what we thought. Little did we know that he was slowly being recruited into crime. I realized that the same hessy who killed him approached him a month or so before and asked him to get out of Nairobi and reform or he should start saying his last prayers. The said officer even offered to pay for his fare but his friends convinced him to stay instead.”
“The events that happened on the day he was killed still remain a mystery to me”, she lamented. “Apparently, the said officer had been asking for his whereabouts since morning. One of our neighbours in Kije revealed that, he had told him to come to my place and find a way of getting out of Majengo on that day as Hessy had come to his (read the neighbour’s) cyber inquiring about Musa’s whereabouts since he was informed that my brother hangs out there a lot in the evenings playing computer games. But Musa didn’t listen. It’s like death has a way of calling someone. Maybe he is in a better place. You know, I usually didn’t allow Musa to come to my place when I was not around because every time he came some of my items used to disappear like headphones, phone chargers and there was a time he disappeared with my Bluetooth speaker.”
Our conversation with Amina was cut short after her boss walked in to inform her of another client in waiting for a massage and hair trim. That was the cue that my pedicure appointment was done. We wished that we would hold the conversation a bit longer, but as usual time was not on our side and she had other job commitments.
“Ata sielewi vile tilifika tukaanza kuongelelea kina Hessy.” (I don’t understand how we started talking and reached a point where we started discussing the hessys).
We both burst out laughing.
Amina is the firstborn and only daughter in their family of three, now two after the untimely demise of her youngest brother. Born and raised in Majengo, she goes out of her way to ensure that she doesn’t go back there to relive her childhood.
