By the Idler-in-Chief
You already know that Nyagenke is not a village that wastes a crisis. Here, we recycle everything — plastic bottles, political promises, and even national embarrassment.
Last week, the entire village erupted when a wealthy Nyagenkean, while being arrested asked how “people living in tins” could arrest him.
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The statement spread across Nyagenke faster than free t-shirts and calendars at a political rally.
Soon, my kinsmen were manufacturing memes with the energy usually reserved for tax avoidance.
You see, we are experts in everything and no one under the sun understands tins better than us.
In Nyagenke, a tin is an economic class, a personality trait, and sometimes a family inheritance.
But what truly touched the heart of villagers was the realization that the very people on payroll to arrest others were themselves sleeping in structures that looked one strong sneeze away from becoming wheelbarrows.
Our local police post has never inspired confidence and even thieves entering the station to record statements often leave with sympathy.
You see, during rainy seasons, officers spend more time relocating buckets than fighting crime, the very reason why one constable recently described his house as “open-plan housing,” although the very issue of housing has an entry in his pay slip, which does nothing than make the little coins meant for his pockets slip away.
If you know me well, then you know that I also earn a coin from photographing people and this often gives me a chance to attend events like it did when I attended the unveiling of a brand new tin house that was built for the Nyagenke Metropolitan police by Manengo, who claims that the Nyagenkeans have been begging him to represent them in Parliament.
There, Chief Inspector Michondo stepped forward and proudly announced:
“Fellow citizens, today we unveil modern housing for the people on payroll to arrest others and from now, this place will be called Manengo Security Technopolis (MST).”
The canvas was removed and silence swallowed the village.
Before us stood what appeared to be a giant metallic kettle complete with windows, a door, and a handle.
Beside it sat another structure resembling an industrial cooking-oil tin.
“NYAGENKE POLICE” was painted boldly on the side, perhaps to prevent villagers from accidentally using the houses to store maize.
One old woman screamed, another crossed herself while a child asked whether the officers would be sleeping inside or being cooked slowly.
Chief Inspector Michondo proudly knocked on the metallic wall and said, “This is affordable innovation.”
Indeed, innovation was everywhere.
The houses became unbearably hot by midday and an officer confessed that suspects were now volunteering information before interrogation simply because the cells and houses had become indistinguishable from roasting pans.
One drunk villager staggered home from a funeral and attempted to light firewood beneath an officer’s house believing it was a communal cooking stove.
Another resident accidentally placed wet maize against the OCS’s wall hoping to dry it by morning.
Within hours, local artisans began advertising luxury housing solutions for the people on payroll to arrest others.
One unveiled a three-bedroom police unit shaped like a thermos flask while another proposed stackable bachelor quarters modeled after milk cans.
The Nyagenke Polytechnic quickly introduced a new certificate course titled Metallic Residential Studies and Advanced Arrest Infrastructure.
I don’t want to eat words like a parrot but just know that still, Nyagenke remains optimistic.
The officers continue performing their duties bravely from inside their metallic headquarters and my kinsmen continue producing memes with dedication. Politicians continue promising reforms using microphones more expensive than entire police houses.
And somewhere in the village tonight, a welder is probably finishing architectural plans for a luxurious police bungalow shaped exactly like a pressure cooker.
In Nyagenke, progress may be slow but it is progress anyway.
-babahezel@gmail.com
