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)