In our neighbourhood, crime had become part of everyday life. Break-ins happened regularly. Fights broke out at night. Motorbikes vanished from yards. People tampered with electricity meters. No one really rested well. You always waited for the next shout or siren.
We tried to fight back. Neighbours formed small watch groups. Many put up strong metal gates. Some added barbed wire. But thieves still got through somehow. Then there was Mr Maina’s house. It stood out. Never touched. Not once. While the rest of us dealt with losses, his place stayed quiet and safe.
His gate wasn’t anything special. Not taller or tougher than ours. His walls looked ordinary, even simpler than some nearby homes. Yet burglars always passed it by. At first, everyone thought it was just luck. Coincidence. But the pattern kept showing up. One night, three houses got hit hard. Mine included. They took the TV, fridge stuff, and even the little cash box I kept hidden. The next day, people stood around talking about it. And again, Mr Maina’s compound had no sign of trouble. No marks on the lock. No footprints near the fence.
Whispers started. Some said he must pay the gangs quietly. Others guessed he knew someone in the local crew. A couple of people wondered about secret cameras or alarms we couldn’t spot. None of it added up perfectly. I asked around more. Talked to a few who live close. Turns out Mr Maina keeps to himself mostly. He has a small dog that barks at strangers. Lights stay on sometimes. But nothing flashy. He once told a neighbour he prays every evening and trusts things will be okay. Read more https://drbokko.com/?p=37408
