Musings of a Close Protection officer

It had been too good to last; We (I and 5 others) had been diligently performing our close protection duties to our principal.  until early in October when we got the short, succinct directive that we had been redeployed from the very important Persons (VIP) Protection wing to the less savoury general duties section (GD). GD for police work is a calling without a job description; everything goes almost like that of a domestic house worker…but then I’m digressing.

The redeployment signal also indicated that I was to report to my new workstation which was at Kondele Police Station in the politically restive city of Kisumu. For some violent reason, Kondele has been nicknamed “Republic”; It is a tough neighborhood and the youth there are said to be extra tough. Their muscles have muscles.

It was too good to last; but then it had been a good break. After having been headhunted from GD duties, spruced up, retrained and finally deployed as a bodyguard for the top principal. The fact that I and the top principal hailed from the same village of Wamunyoro was not a coincidence. Close protection duties involve extensive policing training. This included extra re-training on small arms, tactical planning, legislation, advanced driving, defensive driving, and the critical soft skills needed for effective interaction with principals and the public, such as teamwork, diplomacy, leadership, politics and silence. We were also trained to have a dose of common sense.

My pre-deployment training entirely changed my overall outlook on policing duties and life in general. My wardrobe also changed significantly; Until my VIP re-deployment, I had never heard of Bespoke suits or Gucci or even loafers.  I had owned only one threadbare suit, last worn during a funeral about a year before. My clothes were all sourced from the outdoor market, or Gikosh, as it is colloquially known. They were a good selection, but then they retained a certain pungent smell which even the best detergent could not entirely eliminate.

From a lowly policeman who occasionally huggered town with anti-riot gear, suddenly, I was making purchases of suits on Moi Avenue, my leather shoes were now exclusively from Turkey, and my haircuts, just like for my contemporaries, were done west of Tom Mboya Street. I found myself adorning a golden ring on my finger, the little finger no less. I used just a touch of the right perfume, which the sales lady had praised as “having an intense woody aromatic fragrance with a classy scent radiating a manly aura”.

And then the allowances started streaming in …there was laundry allowance, risk, night out, travelling, confidential security, and then there was imprest. Not to mention the occasional “Pesa ya Lunch” from the deep pockets of our principal.

But then we were professionals, our wraparound sunglasses gave as an intimidating air, our suits elicited professionalism. we effectively represented our principal as our behavior and turnout directly impact his reputation and career. We were ruthlessly devoted to the primary role of protecting our principal from harm. The major threat was of course, assassination and the lesser attributes of physical assault on their person, there was also the likely danger from abduction or kidnapping. Sometimes, too the principal could be harmed indirectly through the immeadiate family. We therefore were always supposed to think way far beyond the box and ensure effective proportionate security arrangements.

But then there are big challenges for a Close Protection officer; for one, the principal and his immeadiate families adopt very big egos and it takes much to daily live with the excesses of snobs; it eats into yourself esteem.  It gets even more serious, the bodyguard knows that daily he is in harm’s way, which leads to some psychological stress referred to as general anxiety disorder by the mental health experts.  Our hours are also crazy, and we are perennially on the move, and such a kind of arrangement leaves little time for life-work balance,e with familial time fading. It did for me.

 My one-time lovely mama Waitherero suddenly seemed too kienyeji…I got entangled with a more chic lady with talons for fingernails and everything that goes with it.

It was too good to last; political storms were aimed against our principal. But then our principal is no pushover -a Jaba- Like a professional boxer, he bobbed, ducked, weaved, danced and counter-punched. But it was like fighting an octopus. He was finally felled which made me and other close protection officers casualties of the political storm.

With my redeployment, I needed time to be at service headquarters to attempt to pull strings. I booked a return flight from Nairobi to Kisumu, and with my best suit, I intended to intimidate the Kondele station commander into giving me my annual leave. If granted leave, I wanted to make moves at the force headquarters for my redeployment to a juicier assignment.

I walked into the Kondele station, ignored the reporting office, sauntered into the humble office of the Station commander, and explained myself. But this senior policeman was made of sterner stuff. He called out to the sergeant major, the official bully of all the police in the station.

“Major!” he called out

“Umeshindwa na kazi? Nani huyu? Amengiaje kwangu” he asked

I am almost frog-marched out by the barrel-chested sergeant major.

“Wuololololo Yaye!” The sergeant major called out to no one in particular while throwing down his beret.

PC anakuja kazi na suit! ati ni VIP? Na ananuka marashi kama Koinange!!! Koinange imekuja Kondele!!”

It takes much for the police at Kondele station to smile, but this time they were roaring with laughter; a rare occurrence.

“Nikifunga macho, nifungue, umevaa combat na rungu tayari kwenda patrol!” He ordered.

It is early evening, and I am in my borrowed combat uniform. I hoist the unwieldy G-3 weapon over my left shoulder and, together with three others, book ourselves out for a night

patrol on the muddy and tough streets of Kondele.

I stifle a sigh. When a big tree comes down, everybody notices only the tree, but then many other saplings come down, too.

I sigh, this too shall pass.