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.
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