The Route To Naangya

PART ONE

“That’s where you are?” she asked as she looked at the screen. At the Ngong Road – Ring Road Kilimani junction, buses and matatus encroached the oncoming lane, forcing the drivers to turn off at the prestige route in an attempt to avoid the frenzy. The shaky camera was annoying her, but it did show her the touts and joyriders of the buses going from one car to the other, knocking on the driver’s side and demanding payment.

“Imagine!” the voice on the other end of the phone, her friend and colleague Fiona, said. “They got onto our bus and demanded tuwalipe, or we wouldn’t be allowed to pass.”

“Torch bearer ameenda!” she heard one of the touts wail while facing the camera.

“Who’s that?” she asked herself, but Fiona answered.

“Apparently, the founder of Highway Sacco died yesterday. From what I hear, he was the guy who helped a lot of the matatu owners start up. So, this whole thing is in his name.”

“But why cause all this commotion?” she asked as she shook her head on seeing some rowdy hoodlums standing in front of someone’s car and banging on the bonnet. “Are our lives supposed to stop because of one guy?”

“You’re lucky you’re in the office,” Fiona scolded. “Had you said that here, I think they’d have lynched you. They say he’s the one who’s fed them when no one else would, and that his sacrifice gave them all work. He’s like a god to them.”

“And what has that done for you?” she asked Fiona while chuckling. “You missed the 2 p.m. meeting, and you’re still not here yet, even though you started coming here early. Now imagine how many other people have been inconvenienced because of their bad behaviour.”

“I know,” Fiona replied. “Hapo Kenyatta, there are already two accidents with private cars.”

“Oh no. I hope no one died…”

“There were ten casualties. At least that’s what our conductor said.”

“How?”

“Overlapping. But the way he said those numbers seemed – different.”

“How did he say them? Anyway, isn’t that their normal? I stopped using PSVs because of the way they drive.”

“Yes, there’s that. But it feels like they wanted to cause an accident.”

“Aiiii, that’s – concerning. Are you sure you should be on that bus then? Si you get off at Adams and get an Uber then?”

“We’re moving a bit. Cops have shown up, and they’re regulating it a bit. I should be there in maybe an hour.”

“When we close the office, you mean?” she asked mockingly.

“Si I’ve been told I have to come in anyway? You know how Linamor is. She’ll expect you to fill your timesheet anyway.”

“I know,” she said, peeking above her desk to see if their boss was still around. Her glass walled office revealed only her desk and wall filled with pictures and sketches.

“I think she’s left,” she told Fiona. “You’re sure you want to come in? I can cover for you.”

“No, that won’t be fair to you. I saw Linamor’s text like an hour ago. She wasn’t pissed as I thought she would be. Just told me to have the report ready by tomorrow.”

“I just showed her the news and pointed out where you were, nothing much,” she said while shrugging.

“Still, thanks for that. I may have to pull an all-nighter…”

“Just come first and we’ll see how to go about things, okay?” she told her. There was a bit of silence on the other line before Fiona answered.

“Okay. I‘ll see you very soon then.”

Nafula then put on her headphones and got back to the technical drawings on the screen, taking a huge gulp of Monster Energy. She wanted to get the design of the house before her out of the way in preparation for the presentation on Friday morning, and had wanted Fiona to wrap up her report on the Interior Design components and send it over. That way, she could compile it together with the architectural bit. She was also quite upset when she heard that Fiona wasn’t coming in anytime soon.

“It’s not her fault,” Nafula told herself twice to keep her impending frustration at bay. The project at hand was for a high-profile client, and she really wanted it to go to the site. Although, on looking at the layout again, she noticed that she had placed the Dining Room directly opposite the Living Room. She had wanted it on the same line as the living room so that it would enjoy the view of the lap pool and the valleys ahead, so it had to be reworked.

“Aaand – done,” she said, pressing Ctrl + S and leaning back in her chair. The house layout was now working a bit better, and all she had to do was prepare the presentation. They still had a full day tomorrow before the meeting, but she liked to do it earlier to get everything ready.

“Where is she?” she asked in frustration as she picked up her phone to call Fiona. Instead, the time on her lock screen made her gasp.

“10:30? Already?” Nafula asked herself. Sure enough, she was the only one in the office, and the only light she had was a pendant light a few meters away from her.

“Or did she come in and I wasn’t aware?” she asked herself again, standing up to walk to Fiona’s desk. There was nothing there except her computer, a few files on the right side and a picture of her and her son on the left.

“Damn it, Fiona,” she cursed as she unlocked her phone and called her again. The ringing tone made her uneasy, so she began pacing around the office, preparing what she had to say to her.

“Hello?” Fiona said in a soft voice. Nafula already had the words, but Fiona’s voice on the line made her cool down.

“Hey? I – I want to check in on you.”

“Oh. Um, I – I got into an accident,” Fiona said.

“WHAT?” Nafula shouted. “What happened?”

“I – I don’t remember. I think we were on the wrong side of the road, and we hit another bus. I’m not sure. It happened so fast.”

“Where are you right now?” Nafula asked as she ran back to her computer to shut it down.

“I don’t know where I am. We’re still on the way to him.”

“Him? Who – you’re still on the bus?”

“It will be okay. Everything will be okay, I think,” Fiona said in a flat voice. Nafula, on the other hand, was scratching her head and gritting her teeth.

“Where are you right now? Just tell me where you are, and I’ll come get you,” she said while packing her bag.

“You’ve already done so much for me. It’s not fair to you…”

“You said Ngong Road, right?” Nafula asked, shutting the office door and running down the steps to the parking lot.

“I think I’m near The Racecourse,” Fiona said.

“Okay. I’m on the way.”

Nafula hung up, cursing at herself. She was upset at not being able to complete the work on time, but even more for not knowing that her friend was in serious trouble.

“FUCK!” she shouted. This attracted the attention of the guard at the gate.

“Ah, Nafula. Uko sawa?” he asked her as he approached her. Seeing him made her cool down a bit.

“Eh!? Oh, I’m okay. Ni stress tu,” she told him as she walked past him.

“Haya. Good night then…ala! Hutachukua Uber?”

“Sina time!” she yelled as she ran out of the gate, turning left to get to the main road. On her left was a popular open air mall, whose parking was lit by bright white floodlights. She turned away from the lights and towards the Karen Roundabout.

“Why didn’t she say anything?” she asked herself in frustration, panting while trying to jog. She reached halfway and stopped, holding her knees while trying to catch her breath. Luckily, she saw a motorbike coming her way, so she raised her arm to hail it.

“Yes, madam,” the rider said as he rolled to a stop.

“Unabeba?” she asked desperately. He nodded.

“I need to go to Racecourse. My friend is there.”

“Ah, I can’t go there,” he replied.

“How much?” she sighed.

“Eight hundred.”

“EIGHT HUNDRED? Kufika hapa tu?” she asked him.

“You know, I have to go and come back. Then there’s fuel,” he said with a smile that made Nafula want to slap him. Instead, she breathed in and out and shook her head.

“No, thank you. I’ll find a way,” she said and kept walking. A few minutes later, the rider came down to her.

“Okay. Six hundred?” he asked her. She shook her head and dismissed him with one hand. The rider nodded and turned to head his way.

“Greedy motherfucker,” she snarled under her breath while crossing the road near the roundabout. She got to the Karen Stage, seeing only two people standing near the bus shelter. She peered across the road to the Java coffee shop, hoping that the taxis that were always there would be. But, to her surprise, today there was none.

“Fucking hell,” she swore, loudly enough for the couple to turn in her direction. She turned to her Uber app to get a ride, smiling when she got one.

“Hello. Nafula? Habari yako?”

“Niko sawa. I’m going to Racecourse, please.”

“Ah, I’m not going that way. Pole sana.”

“Come on!” she said, stomping her feet.

“Utaitisha mwingine, please?”

The driver hung up before Nafula could respond. She then tried getting another one, but the waiting time was 17 minutes long, as he was in Kiserian.

“It’s easier if you wait to get a matatu from here,” the lady told her.

“I – I really need to get to Racecourse. My friend is…”

She stopped herself, eyeing the two up and down. The man raised his hands in a sign of peace.

“It’s urgent, that’s all,” Nafula told them. They nodded at her and turned to talk to each other. Nafula then called Fiona again.

The tune of ‘All my Enemies are Suffering’ by Bien started playing nearby. Nafula’s ears pricked up to the tone, which she always knew as Fiona’s ringtone. The lady turned to look at her.

“Sorry, my earphones have disconnected,” she said, turning her back towards Nafula.

“Hello?” Fiona spoke up.

“Oh, thank God!” Nafula said, her hunched shoulders dropping to the sides.

“I’m okay. Are you still coming?”

“Yes. I’m just waiting for a bus to get there. Imagine I couldn’t get an Uber, and the boda guys are overcharging me!” Nafula spoke up, hoping to get more out of Fiona.

“I really want you with me. It’s lonely here, and I don’t know if I can stay like this forever,” Fiona said. Nafula stood still, her breathing slowing down and her heart rapping in her chest.

“Wh – what do you mean by that?”

“I was scared at first, but they explained it to me. We can be together again.”

“Again? We are colleagues – okay. Just, tell me what’s going on with you. Where are you exactly? What’s going on around you? oh, wait! I see a bus. I’ll be there soon.”

She hung up on seeing a pair of headlights peeking from the ascending road on her right. Its front bumper curved upwards in a trapezoidal shape around the number plate, while the windscreen merged from the top in a V-shape to the apex of the bumper to make the bus seem like an angry demon that raced towards them. It sped towards the roundabout, circling it while leaning dangerously on its side and slowing down next to them. On the side facing Nafula was the painting of two presidents, Uhuru Kenyatta and Mwai Kibaki, with a third person hugging them from either side. Nafula recognised him as the man whose death was throwing the city’s roads into a frenzy.

“BEBA OYA!” the conductor said as he jumped off the bus. He was about a head shorter than Nafula, adjusting his puffy luminous green jacket made him look smaller than he actually was.

“Tao madam?” he asked her.

“Racecourse ni ngapi?” she asked him.

“Ai, apana,” the lady standing next to them said, pointing to the windows. “It’s full. Where will you sit?”

“I’m just going nearby. It’s not a big deal…”

“Eeh, kuna wenye watashuka Bypass,” the conductor interrupted Nafula. “Ni mmoja tu tunahitaji.”

Just then, one of the passengers fell in the middle of the aisle, just in front of the door.

“Pole sana. Watu wasonge huko nyuma!” the conductor shouted to the passengers at the back, who dutifully shuffled backwards to allow the man who fell to have a place to stand. That was more than enough for Nafula to shake her head.

“I’ll wait for the next one,” she told him and took a step back, much to the relief of the couple, particularly the lady. The conductor, however, didn’t seem pleased by this.

“Ai, surely. Si ni hapa tu?” he asked, walking towards her.

“Imejaa,” Nafula told him. The conductor tried holding her arm gently, but the man next to her stepped in, gripping the conductor’s arm. Nafula stood back, watching the man and the conductor stare each other down.

“She’s not going with you,” the man said, his low voice oddly soothing to Nafula. The conductor’s face furrowed in slight annoyance, something she noticed.

“Ala! Hamjafikisha quota ya Naangya?” the conductor said, pushing the man back as he headed back to the bus.

“Ati a quota for Naangya? Huyo ni nani? Who hasn’t reached it?” Nafula asked the conductor, who laughed at her.

She briefly recalled Fiona talking about accidents and tallies. The man shook his head as the conductor walked to the bus, hitting the side three times as he leaped on the door, laughing at them.

“What does he mean by a quota?” Nafula asked the couple. The two shook their heads while staring at the conductor hanging from the door, still laughing at them.

“Hampendi maisha zenu, sindio?” he shouted as the bus drove off. “Madam, tuonane kwake!”

“Sorry about him,” the man said with a smile.

“Thanks, but I would have handled it,” Nafula said, pulling out pepper spray from her bag.

“No problem. Don’t worry, you’ll handle the next one,” the man said. The three shared a laugh.

Nafula turned back to see if another bus was on the way. None came. She looked ahead to the Java ahead of her, hoping maybe a taxi guy might have decided to stop over. But the place was still empty.

“It should be here soon,” the lady told her.

“Hmmph. You sound certain,” Nafula scoffed.

“They’ll come,” the man said, his voice making Nafula smile.

“I really need to get to Racecourse,” she told the couple, turning back in hopes of seeing one. None yet.

“I’m Chebet,” the lady said, extending her hand towards her. Nafula winced at how cold her palm felt in her hand.

“I’m Njoroge,” the man said, simply lifting his open palm up to her.

“Nafula,” she told them. “I’m sorry if I seem stressed, but my friend just got into an accident at Racecourse, and I want to go help her.”

“Oh no,” Chebet said, placing her hand on her chest. Nafula put up a fake smile to match the fake empathy she felt emanating from Chebet.

“What happened?” Njoroge asked her.

“I don’t know the details. Except that they might have been on the wrong side of the road,” Nafula said as she paced about. “She’s not okay. And I don’t just mean physically. Maybe she‘s not okay…, um, up here.”

She pointed to her head, and the couple both went ‘aah’ in unison.

“Yeah, especially the way she hit her head,” Chebet remarked in a low voice, but loud enough for Nafula to hear. All of a sudden, she felt a strange knot in her stomach. Similar to those she felt when she was from exercising without stretching, and when she felt that something was not right.

“Well, let’s hope that she’s okay. Sindio?” Njoroge told her while nodding. Nafula nodded in agreement. There were few instances in her life that taught her to be careful: after she was robbed on campus and forced to always walk around with pepper spray, when she confided in someone who then told a skewed version of the story to her parents, leading to their estrangement, until lately. And now, when she could hear a still voice telling her not to say anything else.

She turned back to her right, hoping to see a bus, but none came. She then took out her phone to check the time. She stared at the couple from the corner of her eyes, and sure enough, they were looking right at her.

“You, um, needed anything?” she asked them.

“No,” Njoroge said. Chebet’s back was turned to Nafula, on her phone.

“Okay,” Nafula told them. It was only then that she noticed a message from Fiona, albeit incomplete.

“I WAS RIGHT! THEY ARE…”

“Come on Fiona. Details,” Nafula said with a sigh, shaking her head at the message. She closed her eyes slightly, and a grisly image of Fiona mangled in the seat of a matatu came to mind. She shook herself back to reality, scaring the couple next to her.

“Are you okay?” Chebet asked her. Nafula looked at her and smiled while nodding.

“It’s on the way,” she told her and turned back to her phone. She was speaking in hushed tones to Njoroge, but she didn’t want to dwell on the two anymore. She exhaled and dialed Fiona again, all while the same knot in her stomach came about, this time more painful. She darted her eyes at the two on her left, then made the decision to call Fiona without placing the phone to her ear.

‘ALL MY ENEMIES ARE SUFFERING. ALL MY ENEMIES ARE SUFFERING!’

The tone rang louder and louder from Chebet’s phone. She silenced it quickly and turned to Nafula, who remained perfectly still. She gulped as she put her phone back in her pocket and looked to her right, hoping a bus would come. She walked towards the roundabout slowly, hoping to reach it and dart back to the office. When she turned back, she saw the two glaring at her.

“What the fuck?” she asked herself. She swallowed a painful lump of saliva and took out the other weapon in her bag, a switchblade, and held it with her right hand, her left gripping her bag.

Before she could react, the sound of a horn got her attention. Rolling down the hill and wafting towards them was a grey and orange bus. Nafula didn’t wait to see whether it was full or not. She walked right to the door, speeding up when she saw Njoroge running towards her. Fortunately, as soon as she got in, the conductor stood at the door.

“Phew,” she said as she stood in the middle aisle, looking back at the couple as the bus rolled away, not seeing Njoroge smiling at her…

 

PART TWO

“Come on, please pick up,” Nafula said as she held the phone to her right ear, not wanting to make idle chit-chat with the man next to her. She tapped her left foot repeatedly on the checkered plate floor of the bus while blinking repeatedly, hoping that Fiona would pick up.

‘The mobile subscriber cannot be reached.’

“Shit!” she cursed loudly, immediately covering her mouth and looking around, ready to apologise. No one seemed to care about her. In fact, the more she looked around her, the more she saw that everyone was enshrouded in complete darkness, each in their own little bubble of reality.

“Tumefika wapi?” she asked the conductor. He turned back to her and shook his head. She sighed and leaned to look out the window to her right. They had just passed the Shell Petrol Station.

“Almost there,” she told herself. “Sorry, sir.”

The man next to her shrugged and leaned on the glass. She sat back down and scrolled on the internet, trying to keep busy for the next few minutes. A notification from a popular news blog caught her eye, and the pit of her stomach bubbled with dread as she opened it. The headline screamed at her:

ROAD ACCIDENT CLAIMS THE LIVES OF TWELVE PEOPLE!

The article alleged that the bus drove on the wrong side, trying to beat traffic, and collided with a trailer. Her eyes scanned one particular sentence over and over, comparing it with the photo of two of the people who died:

Among those dead were a newlywed couple, Dinah Chebet and Patrick Njoroge.

Their wedding photo stared at Nafula. There was no mistaking it: the couple at the stage was the one whose photo confirmed their untimely demise.

“What the hell?” she asked, scrolling up to see the date of the article. Just as she got to it, her phone rang.

“Fiona? I’ve just passed the Shell huko Kabwagi, I’m on the way,” Nafula told her, unable to contain the happiness she had on seeing the phone call. It was very short-lived.

“You’re coming with us, Nafula,” she said. This time, her voice took on a deeper tone, almost menacing in its quality.

“What do you mean? Of course I’m coming to you. You asked me to…ow!”

Nafula felt another knot in her stomach. This time, it felt like a knife was carving an opening in her sides by moving up and down. She held her stomach with one hand, hanging up the phone with the other. Only then did she notice another message from Fiona. A voice note, sent about two hours ago.

She took out her earphones and pressed play.

‘Nafula! They’re driving recklessly ON PURPOSE! IT’S A COMPETITION! They’re saying that whoever gets the most souls to him will raise their owner to be the next TorchBearer! I – Sidhani nitamake it! They’ve trapped us in the seats, and they’re taking our phones – wait, wait!

‘Don’t fight it – uko committed tayari. Usijali madam, tutampata huyo Nafula pia. The emissaries will make sure of it!’

A sliver of sweat and dread ran down her back, making her choke on her words. Her hands trembled as she held up her phone. Chebet and Njoroge’s picture was still on the screen. The longer she stared at it, the more she could swear that Chebet’s smile grew broader while her cheeks were streaking tears of blood.

“Nishukishe hapo Bypass please,” Nafula said, stuffing her phone in the back, tapping the conductor’s arm. “Please, please nishukishe tu.”

The conductor looked at her and shook his head.

“I tried to tell him the same thing,” the man next to her said. She slowly turned to him, his face coming into view. From one of the streetlights they passed, she could see that half of it was burnt to black, and the other was bleeding profusely. She moved away from the door, almost falling to the floor.

“What…” she spoke, but he continued as if she hadn’t said a thing.

“It happened today, on my way home from work. They said that they needed me to get their owner to be the Torch Bearer. They said my sacrifice would be worth it.”

“Same to me,” a lady’s voice on her left startled her. From the orange streetlights, Nafula could see that the lady’s neck had a thick red line running all around it, and her eyes were bloodshot. She gasped on realizing who the lady was.

“Chebet? How?”

Chebet looked up at her with bloody eyes, something that made Nafula pity her more than fear her any further.

“It was yesterday, before all this. We were going to see our friends for a bit, weren’t we, babe?” The man next to her refused to look away, and Nafula surmised that it was Njoroge.

“Jesus…”

“I had to make a deal. I could either be an emissary, or worse…”

“GET ME OFF! NISHUKISHE SAA HII!” Nafula screamed, standing and shaking the conductor repeatedly. He stared blankly at her and simply shook his head. Nafula then pulled out her pepper spray and sprayed him. This was enough to get him to fall to the floor of the bus while covering his eyes. She thought she would get an opportunity to jump, until she saw it finally.

As they got to the bypass, all the roads merged into one large highway that turned left. The forest around the place withered away in black flakes to reveal burning skeletons that were arranged like a road curb that grew taller as it went further ahead.

“GET OFF ME!” Nafula screamed as she felt Chebet’s cold hands wrap around her neck and pull her back to her seat.

“It’s the only way for us now,” she told her. Much as Nafula put up a fight, the sight before her made her stand still, her eyes soaking up the scene before her in equal amounts of awe and dread.

Many more roads joined the main one, ferrying several matatus and buses that screamed in fury. On either side of the highway, she saw several towering, human-like figures that each held up a burning torch in their hands. They each stood in a pool of a thick black and red liquid, from which what looked like disfigured people clawed their way up them as they screamed. Some only had a torso, while others had the one hand alone to free them from the liquid hell they seemed to be getting away from. One of the figures lurched slowly on their right to stand with the others. It turned around and held up its own burning torch as it stood taller and brighter than the rest.

“The torchbearers,” Nafula squeaked, the reality of her situation now fully landing at home.

“I’m sorry, Nafula. I had to do this for my husband and me. We can’t be one of those things out there.”

“What are those?”

“The victims of each TorchBearer, trying to pull him down to suffer with them…”

Having heard enough, Nafula tried to fight her way to the door, not caring whether she would break a limb or not. She already decided to jump for her life. However, Chebet was much stronger than her, as was her neighbouring passenger. They pulled her back to her seat and strapped her in.

The only thing Nafula could do was scream as she tried to break the seat belt restrained around her. She looked frantically around her for some, any form of help, but got none. Instead, she saw weeping passengers, all with a gory injury on their bodies, depicting how they died. Some had their heads tilted from their shoulders, others held onto their spilling intestines, and one in particular, a boy, had one half of his body crumpled against the other.

“Let me go! LET ME GO!” Nafula shouted while crying, giving up on trying to break the restraints. Chebet wept as she stood next to her and held her hands.

“That’s for him to decide.”

Ahead of them, the large highway ascended into a yawning pit of darkness. From it, he emerged. Like the first manyanga that approached them earlier, its wedge-shaped head poked through the fog and swept across the sky. The top of its head was flat, and the triangular sides angled inwards to its ‘nose’, below which was an inversely shaped trapezoidal mouth lined with sharp, bloody teeth.

“Wh – what? Oh my God – what is that thing? WHAT IS THAT THING?!” Nafula screamed. Chebet spoke the name to her, and she remembered the puffy jacket conductor from before:

“Naangya.”

The being raised its head, casting a shadow on the wide road. What looked like oversized tyres came together on either side of its head and melted into tentacles from which clawed arms protruded; with them, it hauled itself over to the bus Nafula was on and tore the roof off, looking down at them. Its eyes were a bright red circle with a black iris, one of which stared at Nafula directly.

Naangya shook his head at Nafula and roared in a sound that mimicked a cacophony of horns whose pitch rose with every passing second. Chebet nodded as Nafula gawked at the creature, as did all the people in the bus and others who had stopped before Naangya.

“I understand. I brought her for someone else to make her worthy,” Chebet said, pointing to Nafula’s right. On the ground with the others, clawing up the Torchbearer’s feet, one of them looked at the Super Metro bus. Nafula wept on seeing Fiona freeing herself from the cacophony of bodies and making a beeline for her. Before she could address her friend, Fiona gripped her throat while screaming demonically.

“Please, please!” Nafula begged, her windpipe slowly closing and her eyes bulging out at her friend, whose head had cracked open and her brain matter sloshed freely onto her body.

“Serve with me, and we don’t have to be out there,” Fiona said. She lifted her and ran out of the bus with her, pinning her to the road. Much as Nafula tried to scratch and punch her friend, she felt her strength fading and her vision failing.

“I’m so sorry,” Fiona said. “But I couldn’t survive that office without you. And I cannot survive this world without you.”

As she tried to remove Fiona’s hand from her neck, Nafula could see many of the conductors from other buses cheering Fiona on while the beings around the torchbearers screamed in agony. She looked up to see Naangya glaring down at her.

“Close your eyes,” Fiona told her.

Nafula tried to kick her friend, but Fiona got on top of her, pinned her legs beneath her body weight and kept squeezing.

“Just close your eyes, it will be over soon,” Fiona told her gently.

“Please, please…” Nafula tried to speak, but a shrill scream of pain replaced her words. Fiona gripped her jaw with the other hand. The cheering ghouls under the hellish glow of the highway blurred before her; Naangya’s shrill cry was filtered through a ringing in her ears as Nafula felt her strength fade.

“I – I…” Nafula tried speaking in between gargling on her own blood. Her eyes widened once more at the smile on Fiona’s face. Slowly, the hazy world around her darkened, and the last thing Nafula saw was Fiona baring her teeth at her in a shrill cry as her head was severed off in a bone-crunching snap.

END.