Hell of a Paradise

Sunday, July 12, 2015


Palms swayed from left to right. Waves created white clouds on the ocean. The weeping palm trees did not give up in the dance. Some coconuts got carried away as the breeze sang the sweetest Taarab on Earth. The coconuts fell voluntarily. To testify that indeed Diani was heaven. And was it not? Tourists from the parts of the world that we only see in atlases had availed themselves at the coast. Tourism was at its pinnacle and the country swam in monies during that season. Even locals devoured the sandy beaches and the salient hotels. It was yet another vacation. Things snowed heavily overseas so visitors came to behold the wonders of this land with less than four seasons.

In their bikinis and various underwear they walked in broad daylight. Unabashed. At home, seeing an old woman or man in such was disgrace. But to them it was no cow on ice. It was in their blood. Flaunting assets was not a strange diction. And Kenyans had become used to this. Some even adopted this tradition for it was cool and trendy. Weren't they the ones who brought clothes to Africa?

As the sun sank in the horizons of the sea, the enchanting nzumari was heard. Civilised night runners did their thing. They danced to the rhythm of Africa with an excitement that no human or alien has ever imagined. The nocturnal joy was eternal. It went on and on and on and on and on till bones could shake no more and blood could move no more. Stefano, an international tourist returned to his villa with Halima. A new found love. The seventy-year-old was a sandboy and and the seventeen-year-old was as happy. She had found someone at last. So the girl in scanty dressing disappeared in the darkness with her Stefano.


"Thank you Car-Raw-Key for your support," Stefano said over the phone. Halima on his bed. Waiting for whatever she was waiting for.

"Karibu sana, Stefano. Kenya hakuna matata," the glad Kariuki said from the other end.

Halima was one lucky girl. She felt so. In the safety of the room, she felt untold tranquility. She feared not the men armed with cameras in their company. They were not new to her. This was not her first time to do it. She had graced other blue films before. She had never disappointed her unseen audience and she had gone international. She was a prophetess rejected at home but accepted in strange lands. And she was not doing church work. She got a lot of bucks! Didn't every white man search for her?

"It's going to be raw!" Stefano said as he peeled his fruit. The fruit also peeled him.

The cameramen laughed.

"Yeah! Yeah! Yeah!" they chanted.

Lights... cameras... action!!!"


The sun rose warming the cold beaches and giving life to the lifeless terrain. Beach hotels and tearooms were filled to the brim. Cash flowed in without respect. Hoteliers found this a heavy day. And it was just but a starting point for more heavier days ahead. Waiters and waitresses were bees and the hotels and tearooms their beehives. None found time to wipe sweat that sweaty morning.

By a table in one of the tearooms sat Stefano and Kariuki.

"Car-Raw-Key, I had the time of my life," confessed Stefano.

"You should feel at home, brother," said Kariuki, the OCS. "I must ensure that you get whatever you want."

"Thank you, once again. The boys didn't disturb this time round."

"I told them not to bother. They understood for I promised them nice lunch..."

"Speaking of lunch, here is your lunch... and this one is for the boys."

The OCS took his lunch and that of his boys that morning and placed it in his left breast pocket such that he gave you a feeling that he had a rectangular breast. A huge one. He nodded, gave Stefano a brotherly grin and left.

"It is for the whole week, Car-Raw-Key."

"No biggie."

Before Kariuki had made more than two strides from the tearoom door, he was confronted. Cameramen from a feared media house barred him from making more strides. In their company was a smartly dressed lady of a chocolate complexion. She wore a big intriguing smile. Argh, the parrots!

"Good morning, Mister Kariuki!" she greeted as cameras rolled.

"Good morning," he replied feeling a little bit uneasy and made a move.

"Excuse us, but we would like to get your opinion on a subject that is of much concern," she went on to nag.

"Be quick for I have more serious businesses to attend to."

"Thank you for your kindness, sir...er... please tell us something to do with child prostitution at the coast. Especially here in Diani. How far have you gone with your investigations?"

Was that a trick question? He looked in her eyes as if to say, 'I'll crush you, young witch!'

"On that," he spoke professionally. "These people have brought us a lot of headaches! I have tried my best in capturing them but all my efforts go down in the sands. It is worrying that this blessed nation is losing many innocent girls to this trade. But we shall catch up with the hooligans who are behind this soon. They will not hide for long."

"Could there be some evidence towards bringing them close to arms of the law?"

"Surely we know this trade is going on but we have no concrete evidence. Nobody wants to tell the truth or associate with the truth. This makes it hectic for us but we shall put mechanisms in place and we shall lynch these bobcats!"

Cameras were still rolling.

"Thank you so much, Mister Kariuki, and we would like to tell you that we are so pleased to hear this from you."

"You are welcome." In his heart, "Can I go, you idiots?"


Adapted from
Man of the Cloth and Other Stories
An Anthology of Short Stories
by Brady Kenya
First Edition

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