When Theophilus—my sister Yunia’s eldest child, who has been staying with me despite my reluctance—was arrested, it had nothing to do with me. I hadn’t called the police, nor was I involved in the accusations of him stealing from me… although, as it turned out, he had also stolen from me.
Once I discovered that Fiolina and I were also victims of his itchy fingers, my heart changed. I did nothing to stop his arrest, nor did I intervene to secure his release, despite Yunia’s tantrums.
She called me later, ordering me to go and get her son out, and to find him a job immediately to keep him busy. When I told her my plan was to enrol him in a college starting this September or next year, she dismissed the idea completely.
“So you want him to waste a year, then go to college for two years, and then start looking for a job? How long do you want us to wait for him to start earning?” she asked.
A day after the boy was arrested, Yunia visited us—accusing me of organising her son’s arrest. We went together to the police station, where we met the complainant, who she happens to know.
“I have no problem releasing the boy,” he said after Yunia pleaded with him. “We got our phones, handbag and other items back. If you refund us the money, the boy can go home.”
“This is a young boy—you need to forgive him,” Yunia said, showing no remorse and offering no apology. The man, Juma, was having none of it.
“You don’t know what kind of stress we went through after your son took our money,” he said, insisting that the money must be returned.
When we were allowed to see Theophilus, he was unmoved. He denied stealing anything and accused the complainant of malice. But he couldn’t explain how the phone and purse were found in his bag.
We hadn’t been in his room before—but on the second day, when I checked, I found more troubling signs. There was another small bag containing cigarettes and condoms. The boy had also been eating in the room; there were dirty utensils hidden under the bed.
By the third day, we noticed a change in his tone. He was no longer insisting that he hadn’t taken the money. I don’t know what the police had done or said, but he now expressed some regret and pleaded with Juma to forgive him and secure his release.
The next day, as we took food to him—together with his mother—he had changed even more. I suspect the police may have treated him well overnight. He revealed what had happened. He admitted to keeping the phones and said that the money had been taken by a friend. He even explained where the friend was. That day, the police went and arrested his partner in crime.
Some of the money was recovered from the friend and given to Juma. But we would later hear that the boy had been found with more—apparently stolen from other people. But in true police fashion, only part of the money was handed back to Juma.
“You’re very lucky, mzee,” I overheard the OCPD tell Juma. “You got your things—and half your money. If I were you, I’d let the boys go. You will not get the rest of the money.”
Juma didn’t budge for two more days, but from what I gathered, the police decided to release the boys.
“Huyu Juma ni mtu mbaya sana,” Yunia said when she heard the boy would be released. “He could kill my son if he returns home.” What she was really saying was that Theophilus would be safer at my house—and that I would have to not only help secure his release, but also continue hosting him.
This created a major dilemma. Back home, Fiolina—the lucky laugh of my envious life—was not pleased with me, especially due to my frequent visits to the police.
“So someone stole from us, he’s in police custody, and you go visit him every day, even carrying him food? Are you normal?” she asked.
I told her I didn’t support what Theophilus had done, that I was only showing solidarity with my sister.
On Thursday, we got word that the two boys would be released, as the police saw no reason to keep holding them. That morning, my sister Yunia arrived with a bag full of Theophilus’ things, an indication that once released, he would be staying with us permanently.
“Why are you bringing his things here?” Fiolina asked. “You should actually be taking back the little he had here. I won’t stay in the same house with a thief.”
“This is my brother’s house,” Yunia said, and proceeded to remind Fiolina that blood is thicker than water. In short, she was telling Fiolina that, at the end of the day, I would choose Theophilus over her.
Unable to resolve the conflict between my wife and sister, I had to come up with another way of handling the situation. There was no way Theophilus could come back just like that. I visited the police station.
“You don’t need to beg me,” the OCPD said when I went to see him. “We’ve already told the complainant we are releasing the boys today.”
I told him I had another request. He was shocked when I said I wanted Theophilus to stay in the cells a bit longer.
“Then we must find another charge,” he said. “Because we’re already releasing both, the crime is the same,” he added, “Anyway, leave that to us.”
Later that day, Yunia and I went back to the police station to pick up the boy. Yunia had taken over the kitchen and prepared a feast to welcome her son back home.
Indeed, the boys were released, and we walked home. As soon as we arrived, the police also arrived at our home, saying they wanted to inspect something in Theophilus’ bedroom. The same hawk-eyed officer saw another bag—and when Theophilus opened it, they found in it some dried leaves.
“I’ve never seen that before. I don’t even know what it is,” Theophilus said.
“Kijana, unatuona wajinga? Unavuta bhangi? ” They handcuffed him and took him away again. The boy was upset—but I believe he was more upset by the fact that he hadn’t eaten the sumptuous meal prepared for him.
Yesterday, I heard Yunia say that my house is cursed—that’s why Theophilus was re-arrested. “Maybe I should send Theophilus to Pius’ house in Nairobi, it is far from Juma and getting a job in Nairobi is easier.”
I liked what I was hearing. My brother Pius, be ready to host Theophilus once he is released.
