Shadows Unveiled

Shopping Center Chronicles

In the bustling shopping center, the experienced butcher had an uncanny ability to deliver precisely trimmed, lean cuts of meat from young cows. Meanwhile, the friendly vegetable vendor consistently fulfilled Mama's shopping list, ensuring the children's safety as they navigated the busy Jerusalem Road. The entire neighborhood conducted their business with care and respect, fostering a tight-knit community. 

However, occasional disruptions occurred when new employees joined the ranks. On one such unfortunate day, my younger brother unknowingly brought home a rancid piece of meat. The butcher, reluctant to accept the returned merchandise, prompted my brother Joey, who fancied himself a self-appointed prosecutor, to take matters into his own hands. He stormed into the shop, hurling the offending meat at the butcher and demanding a refund. Joey chastised his sibling for ever setting foot in this shop again. 

The shop's owner, Mr. Macharia, emerged from the depths of his store, alerted by the commotion. He expressed disappointment and warned his employees of severe consequences for selling subpar products, especially to children. Losing a valued customer and neighbor was a prospect he wished to avoid at all costs. Consequently, the nickname "Wanyama," meaning "the meat guy" in Swahili, stuck with him and even extended to his children, marking a two-decade legacy.

Mistaken Identity 

As fate would have it, Mr. Macharia (Wanyama) decided to deploy a guard to watch over his property day and night. In our neighborhood, hiring a guard typically implied involvement in dubious activities. This wealthy man owned a bus company and a butcher shop, accumulating substantial wealth. One Saturday morning, the overnight guard patrolled the cul-de-sac energetically, dressed in army boots, khaki pants, a heavy watchman coat, and a warm scarf. He brandished a whip and a baton while making whistle sounds, seemingly relishing his first day on the job. Along his path, he encountered a young, bare-chested lad in pajama pants and no shoes, who appeared to be sleepwalking. 

Despite inquiries about the boy's intentions garnering no response, the guard resorted to a threat of physical harm, warning the boy against entering the intersection. Undeterred and driven by the determination to see his friends, the boy disregarded the guard's admonition.  Suddenly and without prior notice, the guard swung his whip, drawing blood from the boy's exposed back with a second forceful strike. This brutal action instilled fear in the young lad, prompting him to flee in terror. 

On that fateful Saturday morning, a day typically characterized by peace and the absence of school or work, we reluctantly roused from our beds upon hearing the distressed cries. The peculiar sound, emanating from an adolescent boy, piqued everyone's curiosity, drawing a crowd to witness an unfortunate case of mistaken identity unfold. My brother Joey, armed with a wooden club, emerged from our home like a determined warrior, led by his crying sibling to identify his assailant. Neighbors quickly joined the pursuit. 

Upon the guard's identification, seated outside the wealthy man's house, there was no room for appeal. He endured a merciless beating, screaming in agony as blows rained down relentlessly. Wanyama himself intervened, finding his employee in a brutal brawl, and attempted to halt the onslaught. Among the onlookers, my mother stood in disbelief, hoping her son would not inflict fatal harm. She pleaded with Joey to cease the violence while hurriedly recounting the events. Neighbors struggled to separate the guard from his assailants, blood now flowing from multiple wounds. 

My older brother eventually released his grip with a final blow to the head, leaving a gash that bled profusely. He pointed his club at Mr. Wanyama, warning him to keep his business at a distance, and then walked away. A compassionate neighbor provided a scarf for the injured guard to wrap around his head, and he was instructed to depart and never return. Despite receiving a merciless beating and needing medical attention, he limped away, jobless and defeated. Life, as it often is, proved itself unjust. The role of a security guard, one could not help but wonder, was fraught with challenges that demanded a clear job description and an understanding of what one must guard against before facing the unpredictable forces of the unknown.