A slum dwellers confession on the Sinai Fire tragedy.

My friend Peter Kiogora Odhiambo(not his actual name) called me yesterday with a confession to make, he requested me to meet him at the local changaa  den and with a little "encouragement" he was willing to spill the beans on what actually happened at Sinai on the day of the fire tragedy.

The following is a blow by blow account of what happened on the tragic day according to my friend Peter who works as a car washer at the Kenya Pipeline depot and doubles up as a petroleum "broker" at the same depot.

As a broker, he’s duties are to drain petrol from the numerous tankers he washes, and to sell them to the various dealers who have warehouses nearby. I won’t get to the details of the work he does there. We will have to save that for another day.

Peter: On Monday morning I woke up late with a crazy hangover and I was broke as well. I passed by madhes place and took some breakfast. Usually we have ugali and meat for breakfast but on this day, madhe was late as well and we therefore had to be content with madondo and chapati. Ugali was ready at other places but since I had no cash on me, and this was the only place I got credit facilities, well, I had to make do of what was available.

Soon after finishing my breakfast, it was around 7:00 am; I took my tools and went to the car park to wait for the first customer. In total, we are a crew of around 30 boys at the “base” and so we spend most of the time making jokes with each other as we await the first trailer. This day was not different from any of the other days, at least not until when Tony came running with a crazy look on his face.

What is happening, asked Ochieng. There’s a spillage at the main tank, he replied. Like lightening, all the boys were up on their feet complete with the pails and jerry cans and we found ourselves at the gates of the pipeline terminal. If it were not for the G.S.U personnel who were deployed there, that facility would have been without a gate as we speak.  Mwas  is the oldest and most experienced in our team and I will remain forever indebted to him. This is because he saved my life on that particular day. I can remember him saying that the foul smell that had already filled the atmosphere was super petrol and whoever had a memory of Sachangwan was well advised not to go anywhere near that petrol.

Fortunately, my activities of the previous night had slowed down my reaction time and so, as I turned around, all I could see were shirt tail of the young boys who had joined us recently rushing towards Sinai slums at speeds that could shame Usain Bolt. A broke pocket is a broke pocket; let’s just say that the devil won and 5 minutes later I was at a manhole at the Sinai slums complete with a 20 liter jerry can. The petrol was gushing down the river at speeds never before witnessed and getting the stuff was actually a very tedious task. I bulldozed my way past the boys and into the manhole.

A minute later, my jerry can was full and as I resurfaced to ground, my hangover was gone and I felt like one who had taken 10 bottles of changaa. I walked a distance of approximately 50 meters and then I had a loud explosion. As I turned around, I saw a large ball of fire atop the slums and the confusion was so great that I am assuming it took me 3 minutes to make it to Lunga Lunga.

(to be continued)