Mombasa Raha, My Foot: Mombasa Raha, My Foot, #1

Preface

Human trafficking IS real.

Sex tourism is real too, and is happening in Kenya, and this is my contribution to joining the fight against it.

Sexual slavery and trafficking are real immoralities, among uneven matters like caste discrimination, which happens to be active in India.

Now, to those who haven’t lived in East Africa, or don’t understand Swahili and East African culture, here is the answer to an exceedingly important question I’m sure you’ve had from the moment you saw this book.

WHAT IS MOMBASA RAHA?

Mombasa Raha is a Swahili term popular in Kenya and East Africa, describing the joy and excitement most people feel when they visit the Kenyan Coast; or in our urban and informal terms, it’s when you loosely describe somebody living a wealthy life.

Upon getting to the Kenyan Coast, you get to see sandy beaches, award-winning resorts and tourist destinations; you also get to experience festivities and cultural diversity.

However, there’s a tremendously disturbing trade which puts an ugly stain on Mombasa Raha.

The Kenyan coast is a major source and transit point for sex tourists and human trafficking.

In early 2016, I learned about Jedidah Karimi, a former schoolmate, who awoke to discover her younger sister Christine dead outside their home.

Christine was reportedly in a relationship with a man much older than her, who was notorious for his manipulative and aggressive tendencies. I attended the memorial ceremony at St. Joseph Catholic Church, whose youth group was usually full of energy prior to the funeral. We helped Jedidah and her family feel at peace, but the police case is still ongoing, and it is apparent that two crimes were committed: murder and statutory rape.

What happened to Christine is one example of what happens to many teenagers and youth in Kenya and globally, who go through this harrowing vice. Most get forced into it by their own parents due to abject poverty or misguided family traditions, while others get into it looking for a short cut to fame and fortune, particularly when unemployment hits hard. 

With others, it results from the strong pull of peer pressure, craving to also have fun and enjoy whatever lifestyle those friends appear to participate in.

A good number of Kenyans from the coastal area also look at the appealing lifestyle and see it as a means to get out of poverty and get rich. There are Kenyans today who willingly get themselves into this world so as to find a get-rich-quick scheme which doesn’t involve hard work.

This novel series is not solely in honour of girls like Christine but many others who perished under the hands of people like rapists, pimps, paedophiles, sex pests and traffickers capitalizing on people’s economic problems to make quick shillings, tearing apart generations in the process.

By reading this book and the novel series as well, by sharing it, you spread the awareness about the vices. You give others hope they can overcome such societal, economic and downright shocking challenges, and be better people in society.

Most importantly, you restore faith in a future generation healthy, wise and strong enough to not just have enough self-control and guts to say no to peer pressure, but to also stand strong despite feeling left out; you encourage them to say no to their own parents, who ask them to do such things for the money. And yes, they do, based on misguided beliefs like this urban proverb from the Coast, Nothing gets a family out of poverty faster than a daughter with a white boyfriend.

If you are a parent reading this, you have a duty to protect your children. They are not a business plan or partnership but your responsibility. When you grow old, you will be your child's responsibility, which is the tremendous essence of respect.

To you, the reader, thank you for reading this book. You pay homage to the survivors of this vice, and to those who departed too soon, under the hands of greedy sex pests. You give them a voice, you share in their poetic experiences, and you experience their joy, their hopes, their crushed dreams and their victories.

This is in memory of girls and boys like Christine Karimi, and every single young soul who died due to sex tourism, paedophilia & child trafficking.

Asanteni Sana, na Karibuni Kenya.

Haroun Risa.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

Special Thanks to folks who not only promoted this book, but also gave me editorial suggestions for my writings, including Maureen Koech, Abdullahi Bulle from the Nuria Store, folks like Keith Allan, the KBM (KENYAN BY MARRIAGE) reviewer from This Is Africa, Joanna Cockerline, Beatrice Kimaiyo, Lizbeth Wang’ati, my brothers Dean Gichukie, Letema Kasaine, and Franklin ‘Kayser’ Marigi, who have seen me overcome the most challenging of times to fulfil a life purpose, brilliant and supportive creatives like Karangae Chege, Mr.  & Mrs Dinda, Nini Wacera, Mr. Paul Mwaponda Shani, Tima Ryanga, Joe Muburi, Kanyaa Kitili and  everyone from Afrikan Film Centre for their assistance, advice and their inputs towards the editing of the book, and also the  front cover, also Nduati Githae for his original cover illustrations, my father Nicholas Turere Ole Shani and Winnie Mutevu, Ramadhan Rajab, Beverly from Amnesty KE’s Book Club & Everyone from Amnesty International Kenya who got amazed by this novel, alongside HAART Kenya for supporting me with insightful facts about human trafficking/sex tourism in Kenya;

Dennis Mucheru at Alliance Française Nairobi, for his valuable contribution to the Launch of the Novel Series through the Mbogi Ya MaWriters session and being a helpful brother to me, Sanchez Ombasa for being my co-writer in the film adaptation, Maggy The Film Guru for being my brilliant director in the film adaptation, too, everyone who contributed to the successful adaptation of the book into a feature film, and just about everyone who has been thrilled by the journey of all the characters in the MOMBASA RAHA, MY FOOT saga, which despite writing from a phone, made them always encourage me to keep going, and keep creating no matter what took place in my surprising and eventful life.

I hope I have taught you important lessons through my stories, I became a source of inspiration and encouragement to you all, and my life work will be remembered, appreciated and admired for generations to come.

ASANTENI,

KILA MTU.

Table of Contents

Preface

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

INTRODUCTION: The Aftermath of Mombasa Raha

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 27

CHAPTER 28

CHAPTER 29

CHAPTER 30

CHAPTER 31

CHAPTER 32

CHAPTER 33

CHAPTER 34

CHAPTER 35

CHAPTER 36

CHAPTER 37

CHAPTER 38

CHAPTER 39

CHAPTER 40

CHAPTER 41

EPILOGUE

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Facts about Human Trafficking and Sex Tourism in Kenya

A SNEAK PEEK INTO THE NEXT NOVEL

"Basically, any city of any size that has like a stratified society where there are people who are struggling, you’re going to find these communities who have gathered in hidden places.

And they say something about the society on the surface. They’re a reflection of our darkness, the injustices of our society on the surface."

INTRODUCTION: The Aftermath of Mombasa Raha

Downtown Malindi.

20 September, 2022

04:43

Neighbours had already crowded outside Ruth’s house.

As numerous cops separated the neighbours and early-bird observers from swarming around the motionless body, a police Land Cruiser parked on the site.

Inspector Raju went to Ruth's front door and rang the bell twice. Ruth sat up, contemplating whether she was dreaming.

Who in the hell wants to see me this early? She grumbled as she forced herself out of bed, rubbing her eyes as she navigated her way down the hall.

Shit! Ruth grabbed her big toe and hobbled to the door.

As a journalist, she was always prepared for the usual Kenyan with a report which wouldn’t be accepted as an S2 story despite the saturation level. As she peeped through the window, however, the commotion outside told her something more serious than the occasional burglaries in the neighbourhood had taken place.

Ruth's drowsy demeanour evaporated as soon as she opened the door. As the Kenyan-Indian police inspector gazed directly at her, her eyes widened and her distinctive worry wrinkle appeared over them.

Miss Ruth Adhiambo-Khan? asked the Inspector, without wasting a moment.

Yes…?

My name is Inspector Raju Omar Singh, said the Inspector, showing her his ID. I assist the DCI in investigating homicides, murders, and cases relating to such. Are you the sister of Miss Catherine Adhiambo-Khan?

Ruth discreetly pinched the back of her left thigh, realizing with concern she was not dreaming.

Yes, Ruth replied, peering at the commotion behind the Inspector. What happened to her? What’s all this?

I’m afraid I have dreadful news, Ruth, continued Inspector Raju. Your sister, Catherine Adhiambo-Khan, was found murdered a few metres outside your doorstep by the neighbours.

No…This can’t be…Where is she?

The police are currently loading the body onto the Land Cruiser, said Inspector Raju. I’m sorry, but I need you to confirm she is your sister.

With every limp she took beside Inspector Raju, Ruth felt as unprepared as when nightmares strike, for what the two police officers revealed when they opened the body bag was something Ruth wished was an ugly dream.

No… Ruth gasped.

Her first reaction was all Inspector Raju needed to confirm the identity of the deceased.

Ruth’s knees crumbled beneath her as she looked at the lifeless body, letting tears flowing freely down her cheeks as she began sobbing.

She looked at the body for one last time and felt bile rising from within as she stumbled back to her porch.

I have to know who did this, thought Ruth as she sat, the memories of Catherine coming back to her in echoes which initiated tears more bitter than acceptance of guilt.

Inspector Raju walked to the porch, and sat next to her in silence after giving her a brief moment.

I can’t believe this, Inspector, Ruth blurted. Why would anyone…?

Inspector Raju contemplated her question before he answered, I’m sorry about your sister’s murder, Ruth. However, there have been rising cases of young girls being murdered like this. Several victims are boys, too.

What?

This is a pattern, Ruth, said Inspector Raju. What the victims have in common is participation in activities with human traffickers along the Coast.

Are you telling me…?

Yes, Ruth, continued Inspector Raju. There have been rising cases of human trafficking, murder, organ trafficking, and sex tourism from Mombasa, Malindi, Ukunda, Lamu, and Nairobi. A few places are less popular, like the Bangladesh slum in Changamwe, but are still involved.

I want to be a part of this investigation, Inspector, said Ruth, looking squarely at him. I want to know who killed my sister, and why.

Inspector Raju heard the resolve in Ruth’s voice and understood the power behind the tone of purpose.

It is my understanding you work as an investigative journalist, Ruth?

Yes, said Ruth.

Would you happen to know of any activities Catherine loved participating in?

No…she ran away from home a couple of years ago, replied Ruth. She has never been found, ever since.

She did remain missing for quite a long time. What was she running away from?

There were disputes between her and some family members, about her going abroad, replied Ruth.

Would you know what activities made her want to go abroad?

Runway modelling, said Ruth, as the memories came back to her. Since childhood she had dreams involving a career in art and culture, fame and talent.

Ruth, Inspector Raju touched Ruth’s arm, Catherine is now a victim in this, and other families are seeking justice, too. If we find out what led to your sister’s death, we get to find out the whole ring behind all this human trafficking, said Inspector Raju.

He stood up, and dusted his trouser, before he reached into his pocket, and gave Ruth his business card, saying, These are my official contacts. Do what you can to get your team ready. Call me when you do.

CHAPTER 1

Superdesk A (Ruth’s office)… Present Day.

Five weeks after Catherine’s burial…

Concentration wasn’t a problem for Ruth, but several things in Catherine’s diary did not sink in.

Grief had overpowered her for the four weeks after September 20, the day Inspector Raju knocked on her door.

Ruth did her best to withhold many things, but the moment curiosity got the best of her, she was one who couldn't ignore its strong pull. In this case, the strong pull came from a black A4 book she had discovered as a result of the most tragic of events…

Her sister’s death.

As the funeral continued, she was reminded, through her silent, journalistic observation, how in African funerals, allegiances between family members were made afresh amid hypocritical proclamations of love and appreciation.

Funerals were among the African events where family members from distant livelihoods arrived in their wagons, and in their desires within for acceptance, would show everyone how successful they became, despite different ideologies which forged and tore apart as well; in the process, deals weren't just discussed, they got forged, as the loved ones of the deceased braved the podium to say a few.

The greed she had encountered in the ‘tenderpreneurship’ trait within Kenyans mirrored the majority of her family members…particularly after they had lost the battle to grab Ruth’s father’s house after his death.

Ruth always knew she was her own nurturing parent around her family…but she hadn’t realized Catherine felt glimpses of the same issue in her endeavours.

As Catherine was being laid to rest six feet under, some family members cried bitterly, which made Ruth realize how strong regret can be. She was among the last family members to look at the grave for one last time, and in Ruth’s case, she felt determination rising from within. Determination to find out why such a bad omen had to strike right at her doorstep. I will find everyone who did this to you, said Ruth out loud. I don’t care if it means I join you down there.

***

Ruth stared at the black A4 notebook again. She couldn’t hold herself back any longer, and for the first time, she opened it.

She flipped through the pages and traced her fingers along the lines etched with Catherine’s meticulous penmanship. It was obvious several pages were ripped from the book, but this was no doubt her sister’s handwriting.

A home truly is a feeling, not a building …

The recurring quote echoed in Ruth’s mind since she opened the diary. It was a quote that Catherine strongly believed in her whole life, reflecting her unique beliefs and the fact that she was different from her siblings in many ways, both physically and otherwise. The sentence gave Ruth a disquieting feeling that she couldn't quite explain. It wasn't until the memory of kicking Catherine out of her father’s house came back that she felt chills run down her spine. Her tears, which she couldn't seem to stop shedding for some time, were an inevitable guilty response from within herself. It was then that she started to realize how shockingly prolific she had been.

Anyone who was in a Superdesk was always called to deal with the unexpected.

Catherine possessed an extraordinary gift for languages that never failed to astonish Ruth. Yet, Ruth couldn't help but feel that Catherine didn't harness her remarkable linguistic talents to their full potential. It was Catherine's unique way with words that had a profound impact on Ruth's life, completely altering her sense of purpose. While Catherine was one of those young women who not only discovered her passion for modelling but also made a name for herself on the runways, it seemed that she occasionally navigated through life with a veil of deception. The true depth of Catherine's feelings about her home life remained a mystery to Ruth, but she always sensed an underlying feeling of not quite fitting in, a sentiment that seemed to linger longer for Ruth than it did for Catherine.

Ruth flipped the page, and found a strange diary entry with no date, after a ripped page, which read:

ISIOLO,

NORTH EASTERN PROVINCE, KENYA.

WEEKS AFTER MEETING SUSAN IN NAIROBI…

…I looked around, and realized I was in exceedingly deep problems…

What on earth was this girl doing in North Eastern?! blurted out Ruth.

"…I had been placed on the truck floor, among many