FORGIVE ME PAST: Into the Devil’s Arms

The moment I entered into the crowded houses, I started to somehow regret since the paths were unbelievably too narrower than those of Bwaise I was used to. To make matters worse, they were alien to me. This forced me to cut my pace a bit, in order to avoid end-zones. Fortunately—or unfortunately—, even the policeman was following my guidance. If he had known all the paths, he would have hunted me down in no time. On the contrary, since he was using my steps as his guide, he never gave up pursuing me, and stopping to hide was too costly for me to afford.

Wherever we passed, a standing ovation was left. Good enough none of the bystanders engaged in the police work. Why would they, when most of them were lawbreakers still under the blanket of luck? We ran for about two minutes until my energy tanks ran dry. I couldn’t go any further, so I had to think of something immediately. Unable to think of a better idea, I dived into a decaying swamp channeling between a dilapidated shack and a gigantic hostel wall.

I heard the policeman’s steps drawing closer, until they died above the concrete pipe which hid me from sight. As I evolved, breathing in every other gas except oxygen, the officer finally left, almost a minute later, after his presence preventing my salvation from the spell of suffocation in the dead swamp. I gave a deep sigh seeing the him disappear at a distance. It was so unbelievable a truth that I had narrowly escaped him. Or, had I?

Crawling out of the fireless hell, I was dumbstruck seeing him reappear from behind a shack where he’d been hiding, perhaps kissing the beads of his rosary, praying for another chance of seeing me again. Well, he must have been a worthy believer because his prayers were answered instantly. When I saw him charge towards the helpless me, my mind froze. There was no time for another brilliant idea. The only thing I could do was climb the hostel wall and face whatever fate waiting for me on the other side.

Hardly had I reached the broken-bottle crown of the wall, than the officer grabbed my balls, as firmly as he could, and barked, “Try something stupid and you’ll leave all your children crushed in my hand!” Now this was a different story. I knew the man would do anything to win the contest that had reached its maximum, having spent much of both time and energy pursuing me. Actually he didn’t have to add on verbal warnings: the devastating pain inbetween my legs was enough to tame my whole being.

As this inglorious scene happened, a moderate number of spectators was watching the contest, witnessing the fall of one Loki. Gripping my balls harder, the officer nonverbally commanded me to get down, which I obeyed helplessly with a free fall onto the ground. My voice had also been compromised by the unbearable pain, that I couldn’t make an audible cry. I surrendered all to my new lord having the keys to the freedom of my genitals.

He first gave me three sharp slaps, along with curses and abuses, perhaps as the wage for wasting his valuable time in sprints he hadn’t planned for. I couldn’t even drop a young tear—the situation was too big to be baptised with just tears. As he took me hastily, with a firm grip on my belt and my feet hardly touching the ground, my mind was crowded with a million possibilities of what could be done to me. It was game-over! I obeyed, in silence, whatever order he gave on our way to the police station.

In my heart, I was praying that the journey would take ages, but alas, we were already at the station within two minutes or so, and the fat policewoman was still out of the shelter, as though expecting her colleague’s success. A smirk of gladness was painted on her stern face the moment she saw us nearing to the station. She stood akimbo, as though she was the Officer in Charge of the station. My hunter started to give a report even before we reached.

“Mr Usain Bolt thought he could run faster than me,” he shouted sarcastically, and both agreed with a sinister laughter. I don’t know why he made such a statement because, if we were to exclusively consider the chasing battle, he wouldn’t have caught me. Truth is that he was the better planner, and congratulations to him, it had finally paid off.

As if she was too impatient to wait, yet we were a few steps to her, the policewoman matched towards us and grabbed me by the color, before forcing me—yet I wasn’t resisting—into the tiny station. “He is the one in the wanted posters,” she opened the eyes of her colleague with the cross statement. The policeman had a closer look at me, then to the poster on their noticeboard, then back to me, as he brought handcuffs.

“What is your name?” the policeman demanded with a grave tone as he clipped the handcuffs on my wrists.

“I… I am…” I stammered, and before I could construct a name different from mine—the one on top the picture of the wanted man—, a hot slap shaved my cheek.

“Are you the one in that picture or not?” he barked louder. I trembled.

“Yes, yes, that’s me,” I admitted, saving myself from the bitter fruits I was about to reap from his raised hand.

“Eh, so you’re the wanted criminal!” he exclaimed. As for the policewoman, she was making a phone call on the outside. The policeman kicked the hell out of me, as though i was a stubborn nut that had refused to crack. I shielded the rest of my body with my limbs. Physical protection of my body wasn’t even necessary: Rachael was flooding in my head, that there was no more room for less important feelings like pain from kicks and grave tones.

At that time, I was wandering, lost, in a forest of questions: First of all, Rachael never wanted to be touched so intimately. Secondly, if she had lost control, and that means only if, she would at least use protection. My Rachael wasn’t in any way careless! Thirdly, I didn’t understand why she would do something like that to me. She must be feeling so guilty for that matter. I admit that I was the devil, and she, the angel, but angels do not betray. At least not after Lucifer’s saga.

My heart was aching, broken. That wasn’t the way she was supposed to trash me, I thought. At least she would have told me straight-up, because she would only be proving what I’d thought from the beginning—that we’ll always be in different worlds until hell freezes up. None of it was making sense at that time. I would have died in the ocean of questions I was drowning in if it wasn’t for the policewoman’s announcement. “We have been told to transfer him to Wandegeya police post,” she announced, amid glances that cut me in peaces.

The distance to the main Wandegeya police post was a walkable one. I nimbled with the two officers side by side, tossing me to quicken up my steps as the policeman right hand was glued on my belt. I thought about escaping but there was no chance this time round. Within three minutes, we had reached the post. It’s compound was decorated with many bodabodas and accident-damaged cars. We walked right into the entrance and stopped at the reception where they handed me over.

What I distinctly remember about the officers at the reception is that they were a thousand times harsher and ruder than those at the mini station. They commanded me to remove my shoes, belt, shirt, and everything in my pockets before registering me in their books. Whatever order was given, a hot slap or jab stamped it. I was taken into a half-full cell—where I was the sixth prisoner—after accepting most of the accusations to protect myself against any form of torture that would have been used if I had tried to deny.

Moving my eyes about, hoping to see Gerald, I was disappointed when none of the faces was familiar. My world had become smaller and colder. It was then that I started regretting following the path Gerald gifted me, and wishing I could rewind time, and perhaps try to make right all wrongs. I dragged my worn-out body to one inhabited corner of the rectangular cell, and joined the rest of the hopeless, broken, men in the silent grieving.