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Tribalism aside, some people I’ve worked with went to unimaginable levels to protect their jobs and other favors. Working for the State House was lucrative. The allowances were fat, foreign travel so frequent, the influence so great that being transferred from that seat of power was devastating and humiliating.
To forestall such an eventuality, junior officers offered money to those who had the power to recruit and transfer. Some ladies, even the married ones, offered sexual favors in order to stay in the State House. Witchcraft and all manner of occult science were employed by those who believed in supernatural intervention.
Farts in the President’s Office: An elderly lady in the State House was seen with her pants down and busy farting in President Moi’s office. She directed her farts in all directions.
Luckily the farts weren’t productive; just a crackling sound, like that of gunshots. The lady’s loose morals were well known. She feared that President Moi might get the information and transfer her. So she took the advice of a witch doctor. She was lucky to be caught by a fellow tribesman performing this awkward ritual. They sorted things out in their own way.
Squirrel tail in locker: In another incident, President Moi arrived at the State House office in Nairobi earlier than expected. He received some guests who needed a photo with him. Unfortunately, the photographer on duty did not arrive.
Presidential Press electronics engineer Wilberforce Onamu and I were able to take photos. We broke into a photographer’s drawer to remove the camera. We were shocked to see that the camera was connected to a squirrel’s tail. Nevertheless, I used the camera and took nice photos. Onamu got scared and refused to touch this camera.
Juju from Zanzibar: A senior security officer, part of the President’s bodyguards, who also practices witchcraft. Every time we were in Mombasa, I saw him with a middle-aged, fair-skinned man. I didn’t know his real name because it was commonly known as “Vespa”.
This is because he used to ride a “Vespa” scooter. To me he seemed like a cross between an Arabian and a black. I couldn’t figure out what brought these two together. At first I thought it was because the security guard was half Caucasian and half black. The shore boy was semi-educated and uncouth.
The security guard was also semi-educated but good at his job. He avoided the company of educated people because he could not withstand an intellectual challenge. One day “Vespa” in Mombasa let the cat out of the bag. “Are you properly protected? I brought fresh supplies from Zanzibar,” he impressed me. “What supplies?” I asked him. “Utensils to ensure you stay on the job.
It will also protect you from insidiousness. All evil plans against you will be in vain,” he explained. “Have you managed to protect someone I know?” I inquired. Without keeping a secret, he revealed to me that the security guard was one of his biggest customers. He also told me that the security guard received reinforcements every month.
I told him in no uncertain terms that my mother would curse me if I engaged in such repulsive and repulsive practices. It seemed to me that the purveyor of these magical paraphernalia and potions did not believe in their effectiveness, but was capitalizing on the credulity of uncertain officers.
