Robin Hood Rides in Kenya

This weekend I met up with an old friend from university - over twenty years hence - in a busy cafe. We don't meet up that often, he lives in Switzerland, and I was also taking delivery from him of a season's supply of mince pies. Great excitement. Big bear hugs, focused filling in of updates in our lives since last we met.

Two hours later the bill arrived.
'I'll get this,'
magnanamously, feet kicking the pile of mincepies under the table. But where's my bag?  Gone.

Nairobi cafes all warn about bagsnatchers, have little hooks under the table for you to secure your bag. But this time I'd had my foot on my bag the whole time. Except maybe for the bearhug, and thereafter, when it was resting on the other treasure, the mincepies (boxed).

Our waitress told of the three smartly dressed men sitting next to us, who'd waved her away while they decided, then disappeared. No sign of them now. No sign of the bag.  With my ID, driving licence, health insurance, family's cards for the Flying Doctor Service, business cards, a cheque, pair of glasses and sunglasses, house keys, carkeys - and little ticket to get the car out of the carpark - and 8000 KSh - some £70 - in cash, ready to do the weekend shop.

Fortunately the car was still there, and after an hour's negotiations about the lost parking ticket (for 20 KSh) off I drove.  Cancelled the cards, fretted about the locks, moaned about needing to rearrange ID.

Went to the local police station today to fill out the formal report. And just as I'd finished, got a phonecall from a bank in the mall.
'We've found your bag in our branch. Come and get it.'
Opened it to discover my things were still there. Of the 8000 KSh there had been in the purse, most of it - 5000 KSh was still there! Carkeys, check. Housekeys, check. Even of the things you could easily sell or use - the phone top up vouchers - still in situ. Driving licence - a hot ticket on the black market here - untouched.  It hadn't just wandered off on its own, things had been moved, - it couldn't have got to the bank, on another floor, unaided, - but still, not half as bad as it could have been.

On the day of the theft I talked with the security guards in the carpark as we waited for an hour for the barrier to be opened so that I and the car might leave, though we hadn't paid the 20 KSh fee.  Resigned to my loss by then, annoyed, but thankful that the car hadn't gone too.
'Oh well, I just hope they use the money for something good, school fees maybe.'
'No,' the guards were of one mind, 'Nothing good can come from stolen money.'

Well I don't know.  To take 3000 KSh and to leave the rest restores my faith in human nature.  Maybe, on looking through the signs of affluence in my bag, the thieves felt they'd bitten off more than they could chew, fear of retribution. But stealing 3000 KSh in Kenya is enough that summary 'justice', lynchings, can take place - though not in our sedate mall, and not at my urging.  People are sentenced to two years hard labour for stealing less than this.  The head of the carpark noted officiously to me when I complained at the wait to be let out without a ticket:
'People will be sacked if they let out one customer owing 20 KSh.' 
Really?  Well they shouldn't be. Not for 20 KSh.
But I'm hoping, choosing to believe, that these thieves needed the money for something important. School fees? An operation? That they levied a Kenya tax for enough to meet their need. And left what they didn't need.  And that, I think, is impressive.

A KenyaOldTimer briefed me on carjackings soon after we arrived.

'Oh its not like it used to be even five years ago. Up in Tigoni - the rural flowerfarming area close to Nairobi - where we live, when the mungiki gang carjacked you, they'd take your money and your car, and then hand you back your matatu fare so you could get home.  No one does that any more.'

No indeed.
'Robin Hood, Robin Hood, riding through the glen...'


Also on this topic:

http://onthethresholdafrica.blogspot.com/2011/01/possession.html