The Car Robbery

[Published in the Malawi News of 19 May 2012]

I was home after rotting in jail for two years but people refused to re-accommodate me, and oddly enough my pastor Naomi led the way. By the look of things it seemed they heatedly rebuffed me because they felt irritated with my unrepentant attitude, claimed to be truly convinced that my confession for being sent to prison was nothing but a blue lie, cooked by a self-righteous robber. And my pastor was more agitated for she believed I had refused to heed her divine advice to see goodness in all when my plans for survival started to appear to have conspired to nosedive every time I tried one.

It all started when redundancy glared its ugly face at me. But with my retirement package I ventured into sorts of small scale businesses for months, but somehow things never worked until nothing remained. People, especially my pastor, had rushed in not with financial cushions by with psychological cushions of encouragement, telling me my predicaments were just trials for a better future testimony for things would normalize in due season. Who would rush with physical cushions of monetary terms anyway with these hardships pounding homes nowadays?

But I did not wait or as I waited for that due season I sold cattle I had inherited from my late parents being the only child. With the money I purchased a second hand Toyota Cresta and plied it as a taxi. Nevertheless, I realized barely few months later that the taxi business was also a non-starter. The economic adversity forced many probable customers to prefer walking or taking a minibus to boarding a taxi. Meager take-home packages resulted. And if that was not enough fuel was scarce and the price on the black market did not help either. It was erratic and on the higher side, and mostly the fuel writhed would be mixed with paraffin or water, a thing that knocked off my car frequently, which meant digging dipper into already ‘malnourished’ pockets for servicing. And to add salt to injury the traffic police on the roads were just harsh. They really made a deliberate effort to squeeze the already depleted pockets through copious insensitive fines. If the fine was not for questionable worn out tyres or debatable faulty parking lights then it was for arguable faulty breaks or dubious speeding or for unexplained unfit vehicle or controversial wrong parking. I ended up being ‘smoked out’ of the roads and I put my car for sell.

However, months passed without finding a buyer, even a not serious one. I started to give up until I met Lino. He was a handsome innocent looking man in spectacles that made him look priestly. And that day I made sure we talked serious business and big business we talked, here and there interrupted by phone calls he made. Our discussion ended up needing us to travel to town to get money from his uncle. We left immediately, in my head rapacious plans chasing each other, that it drawn on me too late when Lino was telling me to stop at a certain bank, that I had failed to even suspect that the phone calls Lino made might have been communications to accomplices planning to rob me, and that our purported travel to meet his uncle was actually a drive into a trap. ‘The important thing is nothing has happened; I would be more careful next time.’ I told myself

We waited for 10 minutes, which seemed eternity for me, when a red high-tech BMW pulled up some 20 meters away. An elegant gentleman got out and entered the bank. Abruptly Lino told me the gentleman was the uncle. He left me and followed him in the bank to collect the money, but within minutes Lino was out, car keys visibly in hand. He convincingly told me that his uncle had told him to find us at his house in Nyambadwe. I felt some disappointment. ‘Please hang on.’ I encouraged myself. He took a few steps towards the BMW, telling me his uncle had instructed him to take the BMW as he would ride home with a friend he had met in the bank, before retreating and completely surprised me when he offered me to drive the automated BMW. I was speechless; me driving a stylish BMW?

“That’s if you don’t mind. I just want to have a feel of the car I’ll buy,” Lino confidently told me after suspecting my quietness for suspicion.

“Eh, no– no problem,” I stammered.

He handed me the keys that talked everything of being of a BMW. I got out and self-importantly strode to the classy auto looking at people, especially women, wanting their attention as Lino drove off in my car. Out of excitement I went straight to the BMW and again unthinkingly inserted the key on the door lock. Suddenly an alarm blared off. I was startled but felt more panicky when shouts of ‘robber’ started to pierce my ears. Now the realization that I was facing double disaster caused more pangs of terror in me. In utter panic I started to run after my car. It only complicated matters as people understood it otherwise; I was trying to flee. A resounding brawl crushed my face and uncompromisingly sent me tumbling full length to the ground before some policemen came to my rescue…And as they say, the rest is history; and here I was, back in my society that was wrongly rejected me.