The Unexpected Journey

Wafula stood outside the high-end hotel, leaning casually against the car as he checked his watch. He had arrived early to make a good impression, especially with a deal as sweet as a year of free rent on the table. He wasn't about to mess this up.

Soon enough, the five guests walked out. The first three caught Wafula's attention immediately, he concluded they were bodyguards. The way they scanned their surroundings, the way they moved with precision, and the lack of unnecessary conversation made it obvious. These were men trained to expect danger at every corner.

Then there were the other two, a couple, judging from how the woman held onto the man's arm. The man, probably in his late forties, had a confident but friendly demeanor. The woman was quiet, her eyes shielded behind expensive sunglasses, and she barely acknowledged Wafula's presence.

Wafula straightened up as they approached.

"You must be Wafula," the man said, extending his hand. His English had a European accent, though Wafula couldn't quite place it.

"Yes, sir," Wafula said, shaking his hand firmly.

"You may call me Mr. Heinrich. This is my wife, and these are my security personnel. We will be relying on you to guide us around Kenya."

"No problem at all," Wafula replied with his usual easy confidence. "I'll take you wherever you wish to go."

He expected them to ask for the usual tourist spots such as Masai Mara, Amboseli, Diani Beach, maybe a Nairobi city tour. But as the day went by, he realized that this was not your typical group of foreigners.

They weren't interested in beaches or wildlife. They wanted history.

---

Wafula drove them through the streets of Nairobi, occasionally throwing in bits of information about different landmarks as they passed. The couple didn't seem too interested, though Heinrich made small talk now and then.

They stopped for lunch at an upscale restaurant, and as they ate, Heinrich suddenly asked:

"Do you know Kinjikitile Ngwale?"

Wafula nearly choked on his drink. Of all the things he had expected to be asked, this was not on the list.

"Kinjikitile?" Wafula repeated, setting his glass down. "You mean the guy who started the Maji Maji Rebellion in Tanganyika?"

Heinrich nodded. "Yes. What do you know about him?"

Wafula grinned. "Well, sir, let me tell you… Kinjikitile was no ordinary man. He was like the first motivational speaker of East Africa. The guy convinced thousands of people that water mixed with special herbs could make them bulletproof!"

Heinrich chuckled, clearly amused. "And did it?"

Wafula shrugged dramatically. "Let's just say history doesn't remember him as a war hero. The Germans had guns, and, well… water doesn't exactly stop bullets."

Even one of the bodyguards smirked at that.

"But," Wafula continued, "the rebellion shook the Germans. It was one of the first real uprisings against colonial rule. If Kinjikitile had better weapons, maybe East Africa would have looked very different today."

Heinrich seemed impressed. "Interesting. Let's visit his place next."

Wafula blinked. "You mean… in Tanzania?"

"Yes."

Wafula hesitated. He hadn't planned for a cross-border trip, but money was money, and these people didn't seem to care about costs.

"Alright then," he said, flashing a smile. "Let's take a road trip."

---

Wafula had to admit, he hadn't expected this job to take him across borders. He was used to driving within Kenya, but Tanzania? That was new.

As they left Nairobi behind, Wafula kept them entertained with more stories.

"You know," he said as they cruised down the highway, "if Kinjikitile had been alive today, he'd probably be a social media influencer. Imagine him on TikTok 'Drink this magical water and never fear bullets again!' He'd go viral in an hour."

Heinrich laughed. "Perhaps. Though, I doubt many would believe such a thing now."

Wafula smirked. "You'd be surprised. People still fall for all sorts of things. But Kinjikitile, he really believed in what he was saying. That's what made him so dangerous to the Germans. He gave people hope. And hope, my friend, can be more powerful than a gun."

They continued south, stopping briefly in Arusha for refreshments before heading toward the historical site where Kinjikitile had lived and preached his rebellion.

By the time they neared the border, the sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows on the road.

One of the bodyguards leaned forward. "We'll need to check in at the border."

Wafula nodded, already slowing down as they approached the immigration checkpoint.

As they handed over their passports, Wafula glanced at Heinrich. "So, what made you interested in Kinjikitile? Most people come to Africa for safaris, not forgotten rebellions."

Heinrich smiled slightly, but there was something unreadable in his expression.

"I suppose you could say I have an interest in forgotten histories," he replied.

Wafula didn't push further. He wasn't being paid to ask questions. He was here to drive, to guide, and to make sure his new guests got where they wanted to go.

They made good time, reaching the Namanga border crossing as the sun began to dip towards the horizon.

Wafula parked the SUV and turned to his passengers. "We'll need to go through immigration," he said. "Shouldn't take too long."

Heinrich nodded, stepping out of the vehicle. His wife and the bodyguards followed.

As Wafula joined the line, he couldn't help but think about how strange his life had become. Six months ago, he was just a construction worker trying to survive. Now, he was escorting mysterious foreigners across borders for reasons he didn't understand.

It was almost funny.

Almost.

The Tanzanian border officer stamped his passport with a loud thud.

"Welcome," the officer said. It must have been tough for him to have been able to say that word. It is no hidden secret that English eludes the tongue of many in this country, he thought as he smiled at his own joke.

Wafula took back his passport, stepping across the border into a country he had never planned to visit.

This job just kept getting weirder.