He just stood there staring. The huge buses blasted past him in reverse on the one way street with bursts of diesel smog. His white hat was rested firmly on his head unaffected by the gusts as vehicles passed by him and rouge pedestrians thumping him on the shoulder. Barison’s face was pensive, it was hard to tell what he could be thinking about amidst this chaos. Horns were blaring, engines roared. Fists against solid aluminum, sounded like drunken street drummers. The drumming was backed by fists in the air and palms indicating a price, wooden paddles were being flapped violently as if it would magnetize passengers to the vehicles.

“Waaraka! Waaraka! Githu! Githu 45!” Then a roar, smog from the exhaust and inching of the bus followed by a huge repetitive thump against aluminium. Barison just stood there, frozen in the middle of the road unaware of what to do. He raised his hand with a nightstick and gestured then lowered his hand as if he was unsure of what he was doing. He shook his head, looked down and sighed. A handcart driver shoved him to the side, he almost rammed into a bus reversing illegally. Barison stood there dazed. He trudged to the pavement then stared at the mayhem. Everyone went about their rouge law defying ways completely disregarding his white and navy blue uniform. Barison was a traffic cop, who cared. The world saw him as the scum of the earth.

He left the academy hopeful and out to make a difference; to serve and protect the people who did not respect or even acknowledge his presence. Someone whizzed past him with a woman not too far behind him yelling “Mwizi! Mwizi!”  Barison lifted his face and a jolt got him springing to his heels past the crowd of people straight for the perp who has just passed him.  He whizzed and shoved people as he drew closer to the perp who was now constantly looking backward to see how far behind the cop was. Barison threw his nightstick at the perp it got him on the neck and the perp stumbled and fell. Barison pushed himself faster and lifted himself off his feet and landed on the perps back and yanked him up by his hair. The perp was moaning in pain.

A crowd had now begun to gather around where they lay. A lady shoved through the crowd drenched in sweat and with her hair electrified, one shoe in hand and peering over them on the ground and yelled again. “Mwizi!” The mob lifted Barison who had cuffed the perp and they lugged the perp along the ground to a pile of tyres that seemed to have appeared from nowhere.


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