60 seconds

How long is 60 seconds?

The simple answer would be one minute. Philosophically speaking, time is the experience of durations thus in reality 60 seconds can pass in the blink of an eye but at times it can feel like a lifetime.

 

I had always thought I would die a natural death; sleep, never to wake up again. Old and grey, surrounded by family. I never figured it would end like this, two gunshots and a pool of blood. Her cries and tears, strangers trying to pull her away from my bleeding body. Her eyes and her being willing me to live as they try to bring breath to my lifeless body. To live 30 years and die in a minute from two bullets meant to scare, one from the law and the other from the wrong side of the law. 

 

I'm getting ahead of myself, let's go back to the beginning:

It was a normal day for the three of us; we all did our morning routines, one innocent man, a bank robber and a cop. No stranger threesome has ever been concocted.

 

5:20, we all woke up and looked to the side of our beds. The cop could see on one side of the bed his wife in peaceful sleep, and across the curtain of the iron dome hut he could hear his fellow officer already arguing with his girlfriend. Deplorable is a generous description of police housing.

 

5 km away, a young man wakes in Kibera and looks around; he can see his wife next to him, and beyond the curtain separating his bed from the rest of the wooden house, he can hear his son snore as his daughter tosses and turns as if disturbed by the noise.

 

 5 km away from him, I wake. I look around, my hands feeling for her, I kiss her on the forehead and pull the blanket over her. She turns and whispers a mild good morning. I walk out of my bedroom door into the kitchen, grab a glass of juice.

 

 6:20. The cop grabs a bucket and, with a kimbo tin, draws two full cans of boiling water. He has to leave enough for his wife to make his tea as she stumbles out of bed. He walks out of the dome and into a small polythene-covered room that acts as the bath.

 

5 km away, the young man walks to the stove, grabs a basin, pulls a cup from the inner lining of his house, pours 4 cups of hot water into the basin and walks to the corner of the room, and pulls a makeshift curtain, turning the small space into a bath.

 

5 km away, I put away my jogging shoes and switch on the instant shower. She hands me a towel, and I steal a kiss. She pulls me to her, and we make out, the kitchen kettle whistles, and we part: she into the kitchen and I into the shower.

 

7:20 the cop gulps down his tea and a mandazi, then pulls out his boots and shines them to reflect the now dawning sun.

 

5 km away, the young man grabs a slice of leftover ugali and gulps it down with a cup of sugarless tea, the 4 teaspoons of sugar he saves for his two children. His wife pulls out a set of rubber shoes and wipes away at yesterday’s dust.

 

5 km away, I flip the last pancake as she slices some fruit and hands me the syrup. I gulp at the fresh coffee as she pulls a chair next to me. As she clears the table, I grab my brown shoes, and she nods disapprovingly. I grab the black pair; she winks and is off to the kitchen.

 

8:20 the cop is at the armory; an officer hands him his AK-47. He counts the bullets. It’s a routine; he hopes never to use them. He has never had to fire his gun. He knows all the serial numbers of his 20-round magazine almost by heart and he should, he has counted them two times a day for the last 5 years. Today is his last day as a patrol cop, his promotion letter just came in. From tomorrow, he can move out of the dome. He is intelligent and the bosses have noticed. He is moving to headquarters, a desk job. He is to be a detective. It did not come easy, he had to sacrifice his free time to go back to school and move back into police housing units to pay for the classes.

 

Downtown, the young man walks into a building and heads downstairs to the basement. His gang is already here. He has worked his way from scout to ringleader, the brains of the operation. His former leader fled the country with all their money from the last bank job. For him too, the move did not come easy. He had to beat up half of his gang and kill one stubborn thug to lead. They handed him his Smith and Wesson pistol, an American handgun, his favorite. He pulls back the barrel to ensure there is one in the chamber, then pulls out the magazine to check the other 10 bullets. This will be his last job. He has learnt from his boss’s betrayal.

 

In the CBD, I pull up outside her office, kiss her goodbye, and wish her a lovely day. I watch her walk away and drive off. My cameraman is not happy I have kept him waiting for 10 minutes. I grab the mic and a tripod and rush off for my assignment. It's my last story, my one-month notice lapses today. From tomorrow, I'm a businessman; my consultancy firm, all 10 staff, is already running, or at least it has been for the last year. She gave me an ultimatum when she said yes to my wedding proposal. It was simple really, no long work hours. The wedding is next week, a one-month honeymoon and I come back to run my little firm. Not much work, ten brilliant people who need no supervision, I suspect I might have to spend more time at the farm to keep busy. Imagine me in a greenhouse picking tomatoes or milking cows.

 

12:20 the cop hears some commotion and runs across the road towards a bank. In the bank, the young man and his gang are done cleaning out the safe.

100 million shillings, he keeps telling himself. There is the 25 million for the bank manager, 25 million to the man he has never met and will never meet. They just call him the man. He arranges all jobs, few have seen him and lived to remember, so it’s all the same a good thing that he will never meet him. That leaves his gang with 50 million. As leader, he gets 20 million, and the other 6 split the 30 million. He has to pay off a few people from his share, but no more than 5 million, he estimates.

 

12:30 I'm running late for our lunch. She will kill me; we have to get so much done over lunch. Meet the wedding planner, cake tasting, sample some dishes, and approve some colors… My head is in the clouds…

 

12:35 I walk towards the bank; I see the cop signaling something. I don’t understand I look behind me. Nothing… the cop raises his AK-47. I run away from him… the young man and his gang walk out of the bank wielding guns. I stop…

 

12:36:00 I freeze

12:36:01 I turn towards the cop

12:36:02 I start running

12:36:03 The young man sees the cop

12:36:04 I see her behind the cop

12:36:05 The cop shoots in the air, 

12:36:06 Across the road, my cameraman rolls his tape

12:36:07 She looks worried 

12:36:08 I am confused

12:36:09 The cop takes aim

12:36:10 I turn away from the cop

12:36:11 The young man raises his gun

12:36:12 The young man squeezes the trigger

12:36:13 Gunpowder ignites

12:36:14 I see a light from the 9mm smith and wesson

12:36:15 Bang, bang, bang

12:36:16 Impact

12:36:17 My body shakes

12:36:18 something flowing through my clothes 

12:36:19 I see another light out of the 9mm

12:36:20 Did it hit me?

12:36:21 I turn to the cop

12:36:22 he is saying something, gesturing wildly, moving his gun up and down

12:36:23 Spark boom… boom…

12:36:24 Did the cop shoot at me

12:36:25 am spinning, something hit my left shoulder

12:36:26 There is blood everywhere

12:36:27 am falling

12:36:28 The world is spinning 

12:36:29 I hit the ground

12:36: 30 the young man is hit too 

12:36:31 he and his gang are still shooting

12:36:32 She is running toward me, 

12:36:33 They are still firing

12:36:34 I am shouting noooo, stay down, 

12:36:35 She is still running to me

12:36:36 am shouting, 

12:36:37 There is no sound

12:36:38 She falls down beside me

12:36:39 God, no, please tell me she is not hit

12:36:40 I can see blood all over her clothes, whose blood is it

12:36:42 It's my blood. Thank you, God; she is ok

12:36:43 she is holding me, 

12:36:44 She is kissing me, 

12:36:45 Why am I not kissing her back

12:36:46 I can still feel her lips on mine, her tears flowing down my cheek

 12:36:47 She is still kissing me, my lips are not moving… I'm still here

12:36:48 She is still crying, ‘babe say you are alright, don’t leave me, stay with me’

12:36:49 sirens… ambulances… red, blue lights, screeching brakes, smell of burning rubber

12:36:50 she is still holding on to me

12:36:51 The cop has pulled her away from me

12:36:52 CPR

12:36:53 Checking my pulse, fading 

12:36:54 Defibrillator

12:36:55 Clear, charge 

12:36:56 Flat line, no Pulse 

12:36:57 I'm sorry, Miss, he is gone

12:36:58 Trying to see her face one last time 

12:36:59 Where am I? Cannot hear her

12:37:00 She is punching the cop ‘You killed him’

12:37:00 The cop is on his knees

12:37:01 she is kissing my lifeless body

 

I am dead. The young man shot me, then the cop shot me, my dreams are gone, her dreams are gone. The young man is dead; no future for his family. The cop shot me, no promotion for him. It’s all on camera. His dreams died with me. Had we met under different circumstances, we could have been friends...

 

It's our wedding day, I'm all dressed, nice clothes:

Why can’t I stand?

Why am I asleep?

What box is this?

I am in the church, she is here too. Why is she in a wedding dress?

What’s that dress? 

Where is her wedding gown?

Why is her father not walking her down the aisle? 

Why is she crying? 

Why can’t I get up? 

Today was her day, our day. That bouquet of flowers we chose: red roses and white orchids, not Daisies, lilies, and Gladioli. It was our wedding day, a new dawn, but now it's dark: a funeral wreath in place of a bouquet, “Amazing Grace” in place of “Here Comes the Bride,” no wedding bells. Three men, three lifestyles, three promising lives cast away in 60 seconds. 

 

How long is 60 seconds?