Saved by the Cavalry

All of a sudden the street burst into yelling and screaming, a mob had gathered and formed a circle and people were staring in droves. Within minutes the crowd has swollen so big traffic had come to a stand still. People whipped out cellphones; taking pictures of what was in the centre of the circle.

A police officer walked to the crowd yelling and spinning his night stick out of control barking “Toka! Toka! Toka hapa!” to disburse the crowd, some people clicked at the officer and walked away, others adamantly stood there. The police officer finally made it to the centre of the circle on the tarmac. He quickly stepped back, he accidentally crushed something.

He looked down and saw a grown man in a featal position on the ground, now broken wrist courtesy of him. Skull bust open and he was bleeding from his mouth and ears. The murder weapon of choice, lying right next to his body, boulders and bricks. How in the world did those get there? He thought to himself. He brushed it aside and quickly whipped out his walkie talkie calling for assistance to secure the site.

A man had been killed by what looked like a mob, for reasons unknown to him, out of nowhere the police officer saw the crowd shifting, as if making way for someone. Then with a crash and thud, another man emerged with a huge truck tyre yelling “Tumchome!” No one chanted, the cop was there, and mob justice was an offense. The crowd seemed to want the ‘job’ finished, by lynching him with the tyre. But they weren’t going to admit it in front of the authority.

The man’s eyes locked with the police officers, and his arms quickly dropped, letting the tyre roll and knock the officer down. The officer did nothing, he knew he had no jurisdiction of the situation; he was just the first responder.

“Step back!” The police officer yelled gesturing that he was ready to take anyone down with his night stick. He was a traffic officer; he wasn’t armed with a glock. He only had his night stick, and high self confidence that no one would try anything stupid around the police. The crowd did not disperse. Fifteen minutes passed and there was no sign of ‘back up’. He knew if he left, this man would be burnt to death, and he had no way to over power the estimated 200 strong crowd.

The police officer, one again, whipped out his night stick and walked round the circle yelling, ‘Step back! Step back! Step Back!” He got people to step back a few feet, though they moved reluctantly. He got a chipped piece of rock and drew a white line.

“Anyone who sets foot past this line will get it.” Some people began to walk away, they had seen enough drama for the day, but there was one man, the one who had found and delivered the tyre who was looking at the police officer menacingly. When the police officer turned his back to him, still waving his night stick, as a warning, at another man who looked like he wanted to cross the line, the other man pounced on the officer.

The officer swiftly managed to break free from this gargantuan man and began to bludgeon him. The man screamed the crowd began to inch in. The officer lifted his bare head, cap on the floor, warning them against moving close. He rolled the man over and cuffed his hands behind his back, the assailant’s eyes facing the eyes of the now deceased man on the ground.

The ground began to thunder, the crowds began to disperse rapidly. The cavalry had arrived with night sticks and tear gas on horse back. Hell was about to break loose.


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