Mikko in Nairobi

May 31, 2005

On my birthday, approximately 7pm

Hands grabbing round the neck. When realizing what was happening I yelled for help. Instinctively I pulled my hands toward my body, protecting the insides of my front pockets. My eyes were either shut or covered, for I couldn't see anything; my glasses were flung somewhere.

I was on the ground, either sitting down or lying on my back, or was I in the air?

My backpack was pulled off my back until the straps came loose, my wallet along with the pocket was wrest from beneath my right hand, and the Nokian was already missing when I tried out my pocket with my left hand.

"...In the name of Jesus Christ, stop...."

Supporting myself with my elbow, I laid there on my side, gathering my thoughts. My lip was a little sore and the armpits tender from the straps of the backpack. Someone handed me a pair of scratched and muddy glasses, and after that a green wash basin, a brush, a couple of ballpoint pens. Those were the items I had been carrying in my hand, after stopping by to the store on the way home from school.

The traffic was quite heavy at this hour on the street that goes through an area of detached houses. A group of pedestrians were gathered around me in a circle. It was dark.

"...Are you okay?"
"...Bad people..." said an elderly lady, surely someone's grandmother.
"...What happened?"

I got up and feel back down on my knees again, my soul sighing. I walked up and down the dark street looking for my belongings, but all in vain. A concerned couple walked to the front gate of my destination, a 50-meter walk.

At home I wondered about the gentleness of the hands that took hold of me. After some time people began to come back home, there were guests. First, I didn't have an appetite, but the party food had to be tasted. The cake appeared from somewhere, and the song was sung. I cut the cake, it was first offered to me, and then I walked around with the plate, offering slices to everyone.

Read the introduction: Why is Mikko in Mombasa?