I Got Pulled Over - Again: Nairobi 12

I don’t mean to sound like I’m bragging, because I’m really not, but I’ve been pulled over so many times by the police that I’ve lost count.

That’s not as bad as it sounds. I mean, if you drive in Kenya long enough (that is, for more than the average length of a tourist trip), you will be pulled over. Guaranteed.

You’ll be pulled over at arbitrary checkpoints, roadblocks, airport entrances, roundabouts.

You’ll be stopped if you’ve done something wrong, if you haven’t done anything wrong, if the police decides you need to have done something wrong or if it’s been a long month and someone needs an early payday.

Your chances of getting pulled over jump dramatically at the end of the month (someone has to pay the bills) and exponentially during December. Interestingly, the same holds true of getting carjacked or your house broken into.

So the point is that, basically, me being pulled over countless times is pretty much what you should expect if you live in Kenya.

Was I guilty of any traffic offense? Not to sound elusive or anything, but that’s kind of hard to say. In some cases, clearly not. In others, possibly, although I would swear on any holy book in any court that there wasn’t a sign post telling me not to turn at that corner, and the lines that were supposed to be on the road hadn’t yet been painted. And – I admit it, although I’ll deny it if you ask - a few times, yup, I was guilty.

And I talked my way out of each situation.

Meaning: I never paid a bribe to get out. And that is no small accomplishment.


An extract from Nairobi 12, a humorous novel about life in Nairobi. Release date: Working on it!

Don't forget to visit Africa Creates & listen in to the radio show

Nairobi 12: Our First House, Sort Of

The first house we rented in Nairobi was actually a two-bedroom guest cottage situated along a long, narrow road with the rather lengthy name of Rosslyn Lone Tree Estate. We were thrilled with our find: a tad small but sufficient for us; good security; backup water source (we had to forgo the luxury of a backup generator though); decent location; all for a great price. 

It really was perfect, a lovely old colonial era building, one floor perched above a garage that was used to store I don’t know what, but not cars. Surrounded by large trees, the cottage was small, cosy and with a lot of character.

Now, you might already know what that means, that whenever someone describes a house as having “character”, there will be issues. Well, we didn’t know this. Not until after we moved in, which was a bit too late to change our minds.

It started with the electrical outlets. 

First one set would stop working. The electrician, or someone who claimed to be one, would fix them, and the next day another set would fail. This went on for a while and having landed in Kenya so recently, I still had the rather naïve expectation that everything should work as per design. If there’s an outlet in the wall, it should work. Right? I mean, is it so strange to expect that a tap should have water in it? Or that an outlet should have electricity flowing through it? And so on. 

I have long since abandoned that unrealistic expectation and am thrilled if there’s enough water for a quick shower and a cup of tea. Electricity is way overrated. It’s amazing how long you can manage without it. And if only half the outlets work, that’s still more outlets than any human being really needs anyways.

An extract from Nairobi 12, a humorous novel about life in Nairobi. Release date: October 2013.

Don't forget to visit Africa Creates & listen in to the radio show! 

Dragon's Mind: The Book Trailer

Jalal, my 12 year old son, has taken an interest in the movie making software on the computer. He was playing around with the book cover image for Dragon's Mind, and this is what he came up with. I'm pretty impressed! Leave him a comment and let him know what you think!

The Popobawa: Part 1.4, African Paranormal Series

Happy New Year! I've been offline for the past month, enjoying the holidays, but I'm back, and so are the African Spooks! 

The bat-like creature puckered up its thick, dark lips. 'Good gracious,' I thought. 'What is it doing now?'

Jonas collapsed onto the ground, covering his head with his arms. Now what was he doing, I wondered?

And that’s when I remembered the bit of rather critical information I had previously forgotten: the Popobawa’s third power. It can spit poison. And I was straight in its line of fire.

Rather than spit, the Popobawa bared its pointy teeth at me in quite a vulgar fashion. Bits of raw meat were stuck in between and the breath… Well, I won’t attempt to describe the debilitating stench but shall leave it to your vivid imagination.

“If I was you,” I informed it pertly, “I would file down my teeth to a polite length and chew on mint leaves.”

It leered closer.

“Really, your manners are atrocious,” I continued, the shotgun shaking in my hands. “Even the European Vampire has more sense of decorum.” I’d hoped by that last inflammatory statement to offend the creature’s sensibilities so that it would fly of in a huff. But luck and offended sensibilities had both abandoned me.

At my wits ends, I prodded Jonas with my foot. “What should I do?” I wailed, gesturing at the Popobawa with the antique weapon.

Now Jonas is many things, but a poker player he is not. He glanced up at me through his arms, not daring to stand. His expression quite clearly stated, ‘She’s kidding, right?’ But being the polite, silent type, he simply gestured with his eyeballs towards the gun.

“I can’t kill it,” I protested. “Apart from the obvious fact that I’ll be splattered with giant bat blood, it’s a valuable specimen. Every cryptozoologist will be begging for a chance to study it.”

Jonas’s expression shifted to ‘She’s really not kidding. God help us.’

With a long-suffering sigh, he rose up and began babbling in Swahili at the Popobawa. I couldn’t really follow the one sided conversation, but I did manage to understand a few words: ‘ugly bat wings’ and ‘chief’s cow in the next village’. After Jonas finished, he opened his precious jar of pig fat and blew over the top of it towards the demon. The smell drifted towards the tree.

With a screech of protest, the Popobawa flapped its wings twice and flew off. I couldn't blame it, although I was slightly disappointed at the loss of such a fine specimen.

With a satisfied smile, Jonas closed the lid on the jar, turned around and headed home for tea.

And on a completely unrelated note, Dragon's War has been published! Read the exciting sequel to Dragon's Mind: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00AXM22WO

What do you think of the cover? (If you don't see an image below on your email, hop on over to http://veredehsani.blogspot.com) 

The Popobawa: Part 1.3, African Paranormal Series

It turns out that hunting for a Popobawa is considerably more strenuous than one would imagine, what with swatting at sweat-loving flies and avoiding piles of elephant dung. Jonas and I trekked (or rather, he trekked while I stumbled) across endless kilometres of African plains, but all we saw was a herd of zebra and one giraffe  with a confused expression on its spotted face, as if it didn’t quite believe we’d survived this long.

freedigitalphotos.net

By midday, I called for a break and we rested beside a delightfully mosquito-infested creek in the shade of a thorn tree. I was just nodding off after eating a packed lunch when a most peculiar smell assaulted my highly sensitive nostrils.

For a moment, I assumed that Jonas’s pig fat had gone rancid (or rather, had putrefied even further), until I heard a scratching noise above me. I ever so slowly stood up and backed away from the tree. Glaring down at us with its one large eye, its wings just fluttering into visibility, was a bat-type beast that must’ve weighed at least three hundred kilograms and stood two metres tall. Except it wasn’t standing; it was crouching in the way that predators crouch right before they attack.

The creature emitted a vulgar noise and a horrendous smell, both of which were barely suitable for the inside of a water closet, never mind in public. Fortunately, we were neither in an outhouse nor in polite society, ourselves excluded, and the Savannah was quite empty of offendable ears, aside from Jonas’s and mine.

“Really the things I must put up with,” I muttered and pulled up my gloves a little higher.

Jonas wisely remained silent, handed me the antique rifle, and strummed the string of his bow with a thumb, most likely contemplating how best to sink an arrow into the beast’s bulbous head. And possibly into mine too, poor fellow, seeing as how I’d dragged him into this.

At that moment, the bat-like creature puckered up its thick, dark lips. Good gracious, I thought. What is it doing now?

Jonas collapsed onto the ground, covering his head with his arms. Now what was he doing, I wondered?

And that’s when I remembered the bit of rather critical information I had previously forgotten: the Popobawa’s third power. It can spit poison. And I was straight in its line of fire.

What should I do? Would I be blinded by poison and snatched up for dinner? And would Jonas ever wash off the smell of pig fat? Stay tuned.

On an exciting side note: Christmas Lites II is out! This lovely collection of short stories will raise funds for the charity ‘National Coalition Against Domestic Violence’ (www.ncadv.org). Buy and read! For more info and purchase links, go to: 

http://veredehsani.blogspot.com/p/christmas-lites-for-charity.html