Wresteling with Chokoras in Nairobi Jail

Only idiot can’t see the darkest point in my story

Chapter 11

Wrestling with ‘Chokora’ in Nairobi Jail

By Gwado J. Ador

It was late November 2004, when two vehicles with private number plates pulled over at the gate of SDT, then six men with plainclothes jump out and rushed into the compound. They were looking furious; it was obvious that they were some sort of security personnel.

Most of my colleagues by that time were standing outside with some folding their arms looking sad and an unhappy; especially the Kenyan members were very disappointed when they saw the security agents entering the compound. They believed that it was the work of Martha.

Nobody was sitting in the office that day, even the Director Mr Dan Iffe was nowhere to be seen as if all had prior knowledge that something will happen that morning. Thus, they were cautious to stay away to avoid being implicated.

I was completely ignorant about what was going on and what would that mean for my immediate future in Kenya. To me, everything looks pretty normal, and I was just going about my routines preparing radio materials for the next broadcast the following morning.

I had noticed that Moses Lobosong and Wol Manchok were also behind the news; they were sitting at their desks. All of us were the only staff who didn’t have scant knowledge about what was going on surrounding the compound.

Three among the security personnel entered the building and the rest stood outside. One by one they walked in and one of them came straight to me, others turned to Mosses and Wol Manchok.

‘Are you Gwado?’ The man asked as if he was already been tipped-off.

‘Yes sir’, I answered.

Then he said, ‘I am from the immigration department of Kenya, do you have a work permit?’ I hesitated then, became a little bit nervous. I couldn’t answer yes or no straight away, because I didn’t know whether I would be in the position to answer such a question when nobody talked to me about that before.

At least, the director Dan Iffe or the project leader at Pax Christi Netherlands should have had told me or warned me about the necessity of having a work permit. I thought everything was in the package of SDT when they sealed the agreement.

While I was still wondering in my mind, the man repeated asking, do you have a work permit, sir?

‘No, I don’t have it’ I answered.

Then, he asked, ‘do you have your passport here with you?’
I looked him in the eye and saw that he was so serious, no smiles and was meaning business. I wanted to plead with him and say sorry, and that if he could let me off this time so that I go and rectify the problem, or at least allow for some time until the Director comes to fix the matter.

But, he wouldn’t listen to me; he was in a hurry and urged me saying, ‘your passport please?’

I was shaken to the core and with trembling fingers, I pulled my desk’s drawer and picked my passport, gave it to him.

He opened it, flipped through its pages, and then turned saying, ‘Mr Gwado your entry visa has expired. Since you entered Nairobi in August 2003, you didn’t bother to renew it. Do you know this is an offence punishable by law here in Kenya?’ He said,

‘I am sorry sir’, I told him.

‘I can’t do anything about it’, he said.

Immediately, he asked me to collect my personal belongings and follow him.’ To where, sir?’ I asked,

‘Just follow me’ he said.

I switched off my computer and got up of my desk, and then followed him quietly. There, I saw Moses and Wol had some issues and were being let outside too.

While the three of us were being escorted by the security agents, we saw the rest of our colleagues looking at us with feelings of sympathies and worries. First, I didn’t take that very seriously, but, soon fear overwhelmed me as we were walking towards the gate because I wasn’t sure what will happen next.

However, I was wondering why Dan Iffe hasn’t shown up yet. He might have done something to save us from being arrested.

It was still possible if Dan Iffe were to come, he would have bailed us using the language of ‘kidiKidogo’ some sort of a tip or a bribe, which most of the Kenyan acknowledge and understand very well. It was prevailing like a while fire within the Kenyan law enforcement agents during those days. We could have used it to avoid the risk of being thrown into jail.

Anyway, one of the colleagues just rushed out in curiosity and saw us being blindfolded and bundled into one of the vehicles and then the two cars sped away one after another.

In a telephone conversation, while we were on our way, I could hear one of them speaking in Kiswahili and I could guess as if they were saying, the mission is accomplished, but with nothing to mention and that they are on their way to the station.

I felt as if my head was spinning, I was so disappointed with Martha who went to tip-off the immigration about us and the SDT. Though she might have succeeded in hitting SDT, she got the wrong guys; none among her victims had any problems with her, instead, we were nice to her and treat her always with respect and a sense of camaraderie.

However, the vehicle was moving around and around, it took us almost more time than unnecessary to reach our destination. Though there were no traffic jams at that time, it was part of their tactics known only to them. Perhaps they were expecting some calls to abort the mission, but it seems there was no hope. We resigned to our fate.

At last, we pulled over near one of the tallest buildings in the middle of the town with writings on the entrance saying, ‘Nyayo House’. We got out of the vehicle and entered into the building, then walked into one of the lifts, which took us up straight to the seventh or eighth floor; I wasn’t sure which one of them, because I was tensed and confused.

There, I saw a tiny jail, which fits only two to four people and behind the counter was a security officer sitting filling some forms. The man who seemed senior in the rank looked up and said, just a moment.

It seems everything was ready waiting for us just to give our statements. They want us to relate the story as to what happened by the time of the arrest. One by one we told our stories and then he wrote down and filled in our names on each form, made some copies and handed the policeman the extra copies in an envelope.

Shortly, the constable asked us to hand over our valued items at the counter and ordered us to untie our belts, pull out our shoes, and then he said you are under arrest. ‘…Bump’, thus in behind the bars, we were locked.

Later after three hours, Patrick Mage came carrying some food and beverages. He saw us in a very pathetic condition behind the bars. He asked the officer if he could give us our packed sandwiches. The constable nodded saying ok.

Patrick gave us our food and encouraged us to keep strong and that Dan, the Director was talking to the Netherlands. Soon something will be done about this problem and we will be released and go home. We thanked him for his consoling words and he smiled and left.

At 17:30 PM, some policemen in uniform came. The security officer opened the jail and we were told to get out. It was obvious that the detention at Nyayo House was temporarily only for that time as the place wasn’t suitable for long hours detention. Now, it was obvious that the real jail was going to be somewhere and possibly at the Nairobi Central Police Station.

Out of the cell we were escorted by the two policemen, we walked to the lift, then down and eventually into am enclosed dark blue vehicle with the emblem of Kenyan police logo. The vehicle was waiting for us, and when we got into it, and then it sped away. It took us less than fifteen minutes’ drive to reach Nairobi Central Police Station.

At the Station, there were more than three policemen at the counter during that time, the corporal who seemed to be senior among them was tall and huge, and he looks very cruel with groans and very harsh tone. He immediately yelled at us when he saw that we were under arrest. He forced us to sit down on the floor just behind the counter, and we sat quietly.

The other constable went on writing something, obviously, he was busy filling certain forms, before we could be led in. Then after completion of his task, he said, ‘if you have anything, such as watches, telephone cells, wedding rings…or money in your pockets, please hand them over here or leave them behind on counter we will take care of them until you are bailed.

I pulled out my wallet, removed my ring, removed my watch and my glasses, then he said, untie your belt and pull out your chose’s too. Then they listed them in separate sheets of papers with our names on top.

Afterwards, he collected some keys and told us, let us go and we were led into a cell which was just within walking minutes at the corner of the building. As we approached the cell, we heard voices of people; some were crying others were yelling at each other.

Then he opened the lock and told us to walk in, and then we had to enter. He said good luck and slapped the door ‘bamp’ behind us.

After the police locked the door, then we saw that we were on our own in wild unchartered waters. It was very intimidating!

The cell was very small in space with tiny windows up just below the ceiling; it was overcrowded with unwashed young men with a bad odour of sweat. The floor was dirty and filthy and awash with dirty water. I could see heaps of pieces of torn clothes and mates piled over at the corners. I could feel the stench of the horrible human waste blended with urine wafting from these corners where the heaps of their belongings were. It was disgusting and made me feel nauseous.

I believed none of us had ever experienced such a horrendous condition before. I felt it was life-threatening inside that cell. The atmosphere was tense as some were looking at us evilly and cruelly. They were hardened criminals.

Now we are face to face with ‘Chokoraa’, the renowned ‘petty pickpocket criminals’. We were amidst a mop of young men aged between 13 -35 years old, some of them look very athletics in appearance and others were so weak as if they hadn’t eaten for ages. They depended most of the time on sniffing glue to keep them high and endure the harsh living condition. It was so horrible, and at that moment it was a survival of the fitters’ showdown.

Then immediately, they ganged up against us and they started encircling us, leaving the three of us isolated in the middle. Moses, Wol and I, stood back to back to watch their movements cautiously. Some were trying to provoke us by hurling insults and aggressive taunts, while the strongest among them was walking stoutly showing fist and sarcastically swearing that he would teach us lessons we would never ever forget.

It was so intimidating and terrifying, sooner, they started attacking us… a punch and another punch I was hit, and then we wrestled with them amidst shouting and screaming. I felt I was being pushed against the corner and my right hand was twisted behind by a mob of about five to six individuals. Most of them were physically weak. But, I managed to lift my hand and ease myself putting fight back bitterly.

Moses and Wol on the other side had their portion from the mob of chokora who were trying to wrestle them down. I saw hands strangling Wol while he was furiously fighting back and Moses was pressed to the wall with his mouth open. It was a struggle of the fitters. Guards were nowhere to be seen, they didn’t even bother about what was going on in the cell, despite the screaming and wailing of the weak ones who were caught in the middle of the fighting.

I had to pull my strength promising myself that either I succumb or fight to the last strength in my body. I capitalized on the little ones with a poor health condition. I got hold of two which were just next to me and in action like, pulling them and smashed their heads, and then with force, I pushed them back resulting in the falling of many others who were behind them on the floor.

There was a meltdown in that tiny space, it was empty with everybody recoiling and standing against the wall looking scared, even those who were wrestling Moses and Wol left them alone, and all were glaring at me with eyes full of admiration.

There was a moment of surprise and relieve on my side. While I was enraged, I saw fear had already instilled in most of them, especially those who were looking at me at that moment. I was even afraid that they might resume again.

But, luckily enough, I was surprised because I was acclaimed as a hero with some clapping their hands and shouting: ‘oh… Sudanese…woo, woo …Sudanese…woo… woo…Sudanese woo…woo Sudanese’. I looked physically well built, tall and giant to many among them of which I didn’t recognize.

I restored confidence in myself and just signalled to Moses and Wol to come to where I was standing and I pushed them behind me so that I could now shield them-off from any possible repetition of attack.

Meanwhile, I was scanning them across the room. I asked: Have you heard that a man eats a man?

While shaking their heads in disbelief, some among them said ‘uuh…uuh…uuh…uuh…uuh’.

‘I am going to eat somebody alive here tonight if anybody dares to attack us again, do you understand?’ I warned them,
‘You must be joking’, one among them said while laughing clumsily,

‘Try me, if you dare’, I said this to scare them off.
If you don’t want troubles, just leave us alone, is that clear?
Some of them said yes. There was moment quietness, then we heard a screech on the iron bar, the door was open, then one of the guards came in with a whip in his hand to protect himself against any aggression because they were never safe of such taunts.

The guard was bringing our meal, which was sent from the office. We took the sandwiches and started to enjoy it without anybody bothering us anymore. Some approached us and politely they begged for food and we gave them. It was so peaceful and we own our space and felt with ease and could now breathe.

Before the nightfall, we saw two men in isolation, they were in a tiny cell inside the cell in which we were in; they look like men with the appearance from the Middle East. One of them waved at us and called for us. We went there, and they opened the gate. We went in and they asked us whether we were Sudanese because they could hear us speaking some sort of Arabic.

‘Yes’, I said. Then, one of them in Arabic with a Syrian accent said, ‘we are from Syria. My name is Ashraf, and my friend here is Samir, we had a problem with the immigration officials regarding our visas and that is why we are here’.’ Marahaba’, means welcome in the Arabic Language.

Then, one of them said, ‘we saw you while wrestling with Chokora out there. It’s notorious here. We wouldn’t have survived such a condition without hiring a cell from one of these thugs’.

Then, they welcomed us to spend the night in their cell which fits only two to three people who would just sit up throughout as space wouldn’t fit if we lie down.

At night, it was so horrible, we couldn’t sleep because there was continues screaming of young boys and girls. The big ones among them abuse them, especially the vulnerable among them. Young women and their babies were standing up with some yelling and others crying. There was a constant roar and whipping throughout the night.

We couldn’t sleep because; it was chaotic just next to our cell with people running up and down, I could hear beating and whipping and screaming. I could hear a young woman moaning and wailing, perhaps from the pain of abuse.

It was the worst night I have ever had in my life. I wished morning could have just come so that we go for a trial in the court of law, I was yawning, but who knows...

To be continued next week

Upcoming

‘When two men quarrel, do not allow them to share the same seat on a canoe’

Dedicated to the honest and fearless in South Sudan

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