Bombing the Moon by Nancy Chislett

Author:Nancy Chislett
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Now or Never Publishing
Published: 2022-09-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FIVE

DEVIN

By the time I drive past the Southern Bypass, blue sky coaxes me to go as far as I want. I chose Karen. The neighbourhood is a straight, forty-minute drive. It’s Saturday. Traffic is light, yet cars stop on the highway a mile ahead.

I flick the radio on. Even though it’s only February, and the election is not until July, a news bulletin talks of a flash protest in Nairobi. Behind the voice of the reporter, I hear a hiss-scream of a whistle. The sounds of people shouting. The reporter describes placards and rivers of men with raised fists. I turn to a new station. A woman accuses the president of corruption. The story cuts to a speech made by Raila. Another interview. A woman speaks of ethnic tension. She calls for peace no matter the outcome. Next is a young man. A resident of Kibera. He’s asked what will happen if Kenyatta is re-elected. He says there will be war. The reporter, with a mocking tone, asks what army will be summoned on their behalf. The young man says, “There will be machetes.” The segment ends with a father, talking about leaving the city with his wife and kids in July.

Vehicles on the highway still don’t move. I come to a stop. People have their engines off. I see that I’m car number umpteen in line. I get out and stand on my bumper. Heads spin in my direction with expressions of horror. “Can’t see the problem,” I say. Hands gesture feverishly. I return to the cool leather seats of the Land Cruiser.

I turn the radio down and flick my lighter on and off. Use its glossy surface to shine a reflection into the cabin of the truck ahead.

And I needed to get away.

December galloped headlong into a blur. Paul had me delivering seven days a week. The money piled up in my suite to the point I didn’t know where to put it. It’s almost March. I have more money than I’d ever have imagined. I’ve also had enough of the hostility from Mugbo’s men. Their snarky mugs blend in memory. They insult me. Make sudden noises and laugh at my response. Bluster meant to topsy-turvy the white kid. I can take it. Along the line, fear became history. It lifted and flew away, along with the noise of Nairobi’s streets, without fanfare or tears.

I catch the attention of the passengers beside me. I mouth, “What’s going on?” They smile. I roll down the window. “Why we waiting?”

A teenage boy in the back seat says, “Lions.” I turn the radio back up. It says two male lions are roughhousing on Langata. Traffic is jammed over a mile and counting.

“Can’t someone ship them off?” I say. The woman in the front shades her eyes. With few words, I’m wearing my North Americanism all over me. “Seriously. How many people are they holding up? Where I come from, a guy tranquilizes the animal and carts it back where it belongs.

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