At the station, the booking officer looked at me like I was something his cat had dragged in.
"Remove your belt, shoes, and socks," he ordered, trying not to breathe through his nose.
The cell? Imagine walking into a room where hope goes to die and mosquitoes throw welcome parties.
There were five other guys inside, and let me tell you, my dramatic entrance—smell and all—didn't exactly earn me a red carpet-welcome.
"Eh! This guy comes with his mosquito repellent!" One prisoner shouted, holding his nose like he'd sniffed pepper.
"! Let's ask the County government of Shimalavandu to send him to every cell! Mosquitos will run away for free!" Another one added, fanning the air with his shirt.
The whole cell laughed like it was the Churchill Show live from Shivalandu Police Station.
One skinny guy in the corner laughed so hard he almost fell into our 'State House toilet' bucket.
"Today, God has remembered us," Mzee Obongita said straightly. "No mosquito, no cockroach, no rat will disturb us. Our brother here is better than Doom Spray!"
Even the askari outside came to see what the comedy show was about.
There I was, still wet and smelling like a burst sewage pipe, but somehow, I'd become the night's entertainment.
In Shivalandu Police Cell, I was now more famous than those TikTok dancers.
The night was longer than a pastor's sermon on tithing.
The bucket in the corner—our VIP toilet—made my "urinated trousers" smell like Mama's rose flower perfume from Gikomba.
The bucket smelled so bad that even the cockroaches ran away, holding their noses!
I used my shirt as a pillow but spent most of the night sitting up, swapping life stories with my cellmates.
I wasn't the only one who'd learned the hard way that luck sometimes wears a disguise.
Morning came with salvation from my uncle Macho – a local councilor who'd heard about my "adventure" through the village eyewitnesses.
He paid my fine, gave me the longest lecture of my life, and made me promise never to pick up anything from the street again.
As I left that cell, Mzee Obongita said, "Next time you find money on the road, young man, just pass it like it's your ex!"
Now, whenever I see money on the ground, I cross to the other side of the road like it's a snake.
Some lessons cost you your dignity, a night with mosquitoes, and the longest shower of your life to learn.
And that, my friend, is how one thousand shillings taught me that the only lucky money is the one you earn.
Everything else? It's just the devil wearing a blessing's costume.
