In case you haven’t heard the shouts and commotion rocking our small village, the hullabaloo is all about a child rapist apprehended this evening.

Luckily for the perp — and I have to say I hate using that word in reference to him — we, the police, got to him before the mob did. As it so happens in every cop’s dream, we’re hopeful that the law will take its rightful course and the bad man will spend a long time in jail.

But like I said, that’s a cop’s dream. Jiji Ndogo denizens have a completely different theory. They’ve gathered outside our rickety Police Post, demanding we let the man loose and allow them to have their way with him.

“Once all the evidence is collected,” I try to assure them through the locked door, “he will be tried, and if found guilty—”

“What do you mean if?” shouts a man. “You mean there’s a chance he could walk free, right?”

“That’s up to the judge. I’m sure if evidence goes against him, he’ll be incarcerated.”

It’s one of my big words and I usually employ it as much as I can.

“You got the word wrong,” says another irate voice. “What you meant to say is that he needs to be castrated.”

This back and forth continues right before the angry mob begins working on tearing first the outer door, then the heavier one to the cells. They make a quick job of the first and soon the inner door is shaking. As it tumbles down, I look towards the cells to warn my partner Sgt Sophia, only to realise that she and the two suspects (the accuse rapist and the friend who had harboured him) are gone.

“Wako wapi?” a man armed with a forked jembe demands.

“On the way to Kericho,” I say. “Please, be a little patient. I’m sure the outcome will be in your favour.”

I am not sure exactly what happens next. There’s lots of shouting and banging and jostling… Then it all seems to come from very far as the lights in the police post dim and I collapse into a black void.

When I come to, just about every part of my body is aching, and I can’t move any of it. I look around and see why.

“Untie me right this moment,” I shout. But it’s more like a whimper because my lips are swollen and I can’t see well out of my left eye. “It is a crime to assault an officer of the law.”

I can see faces crammed at the bars of the cell they have me captive in, but I can’t make out which is whose. Not with one working eye and next to no light.

“You will stay in there until your partner brings back that man,” a voice says. “It’s either him, or you. One way or another, justice will be administered today.”

“And hopefully we can avoid the El Niño,” shouts a woman’s voice.

“What?” someone demands.

“You think the coming floods are for nothing?” the woman explains. “Do you think Noah’s flood happened because God was bored? He flooded the earth to punish the evil in it. Why do you think they’re saying this El Niño will be the worst?”

“Because of global warming?” cracks a wise guy.

“You wish. It’s because sins have multiplied and gotten worse. We need to repent and show God that we can change. And the first thing we need to do is take care of our backyard.”

That’s how I know I’m in trouble.

*(If you have experienced or know anyone who has experienced Gender-Based Violence, dial 1195, or 1190 for the Counselling hotline).