It was supposed to be a routine day. I had gone to the bank in Nairobi CBD to withdraw Sh5 million to pay for a building construction in Mwihoko.
My heart was racing—not from fear, but from the relief of finally accessing the hard-earned money I had painstakingly saved. Little did I know that within mere minutes, all my efforts would vanish like smoke.
I had just stepped out of the bank, clutching the cash tightly in my wallet, when chaos struck. From nowhere, a group of pickpockets descended upon me.
In a flurry of hands and swift movements, my wallet disappeared, followed immediately by my expensive Samsung phone. My legs wobbled as the reality sank in—I was penniless, my Sh5 million gone in seconds.
Shock and confusion overtook me. I stood frozen on the pavement, my mind racing but my body immobile. I tried to scream, to run after them, but the crowd swallowed the scene, leaving me alone in despair. People walked past, indifferent, as I sank to the ground, speechless.
My hard-earned money—gone. Everything I had worked for—the countless sleepless nights and sacrifices—evaporated in a heartbeat.
Desperate, I flagged down a boda boda rider. I begged him to take me home to Kasarani. The ride was a blur. My hands shook uncontrollably, my eyes dry despite the tears threatening to fall.
Every street we passed seemed longer, every bump on the road a reminder of my sudden misfortune. By the time I reached home, I felt hollow, drained, and utterly defeated.
Left with no hope, I turned to the police, praying for justice. But my hopes quickly crumbled.
For five grueling days, they ran me in circles—sending me from one office to another, asking for statements, photocopies, and endless explanations, yet doing nothing.
Then came the demand that broke me: a Sh200,000 bribe just to start investigations. I didn’t have that kind of money.
I became sickly and depressed, unable to accept that my hard-earned Sh5 million might be gone forever.
In that haze of despair, I heard of a traditional healer through a chance encounter—someone I had never known existed, someone whose help I had thought impossible. Out of sheer desperation, I reached out.
The healer listened carefully, then assured me that the thieves would return everything and come begging at my doorstep the next day precisely at 2 PM.
He instructed me to remain calm and wait, promising that my losses could be recovered if I trusted him completely.
To my disbelief, at exactly 2 PM the following day, four young men appeared at my doorstep.
They were trembling, begging for their lives. In their hands were my wallet, my Sh5 million, and my phone.
The healer had been right. Everything I thought I had lost forever had returned.
They confessed, tears streaming down their faces, unable to explain why they had targeted me but powerless to resist the healer’s intervention.
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I stood in my living room, shaking, unable to speak. Relief, disbelief, and gratitude collided in my chest. What had begun as a nightmare had ended in an almost cinematic twist.
My hard-earned Sh5 million was safe, but the memory of those seconds in Nairobi CBD, when everything I had worked for disappeared, will haunt me forever.
This was a lesson in vulnerability, human greed, and unexpected salvation.
Nairobi CBD had tested me, but in the end, I reclaimed not just my money, but my faith that even in the darkest moments, help can come from unexpected places.