On the trail of village petty thieves

Writer Nanjinia Wamuswa posted an update on his Facebook page that had me rolling with laughter.

Sample this. "Petty thieving at grassroots level is both funny and perplexing. A man slaughters a chicken and leaves it at the back of his hut to grab hot water for removing the feathers. But when he returns seconds later, the dead bird is gone!"

I laughed because in normal circumstances, the louts break into your chicken coop and make off with a few hefty jogoos. Those with a sense of humour even fix dinner although how they manage these acrobatics without the chickens squealing and your good-for-nothing mongrel being in the know is mind-boggling.

Curiously, while a fat chicken goes for as much Sh500 in the village, petty thieves don’t sell them. When you trail their footprints the next morning, they lead to a hideout where a cursory scene of crime investigation reveals they slaughtered, roasted and ate them.

Unfortunately, you can never arrest them because in nearly all circumstances, they are always related to you. Now farmers have wizened up and these days, chicken coops and granaries are more fortified than your average bank. So desperate is the situation that, as Nanjinia points out, the only recourse for petty thieves is to wait till your back is turned after slaughtering your bird.

Stealing food

I was still chuckling about this when my sister-in-law informed me that she had fallen victim to the louts again. Barely 8pm in the night, as she took a bath, they sneaked into her kitchen and made away with the dinner she had prepared for her family. Being people with foresight, they grabbed all her utensils and her bucket of maize flour as well. Whether Simba, the family dog, saw them is still a mystery because so far, he has steadfastly refused to assist with investigations. But the petty thieves who did me in were not quite petty. It started when I espied my little cousin, Vivian, buying fish at the market and conveniently offered her a lift to her house. So there I was watching TV and cracking silly jokes while the aforementioned tilapia stewed.

Deathly silence

The meal was delicious and certainly worth the 23km drive back home. After I had made short work of the menu, I burped contentedly and rose to leave, taking note of the fact that when I said "thanks for dinner", she said I was most welcome.

Now imagine getting my full belly behind the steering wheel on a dark, rainy night and cranking the starter only to be met by deathly silence. My battery was gone. Gone with the wind! As we speak, the proceeds of its sale have most likely paid school fees for Mama Pima’s daughter.

So while COTU boss Francis Atwoli is screaming blue murder about the high cost of living, petty thieves are laughing all the way to the village chicken coop.