From the first light of dawn, a heavy, electric rain fell on Nairobi.
The clouds seemed to be seeking out the tallest buildings, and the streets, dips, and roundabouts were already beginning to flood.

Moko woke up with a splitting headache and his mood as low as his $2,800 Bata shoes.

“Ugh... where are we going in this weather?”

“To buy umbrellas... I saw one with Liverpool on it!” said Kali, who felt a pain in his knee as he got out of bed and limped to the bathroom.

“You stay here,” ordered the boss, ”I'll go down and pay for the hotel and then to the bar opposite to get breakfast. We'll eat in the room and wait for the rain to stop.”

The money he had in his pocket would be enough, but he decided to take the money out of the tube and take it with him anyway. Who knows, maybe Moko had sobered up and decided to disappear so he wouldn't have to go back to Wajir.

As promised, after about twenty minutes, Hussein returned with three paper bags and a kind of thermos.

“Two mandazis each, pancakes, fried eggs, and...chips!”

“You're the man, boss!”

Kali produced a culinary creation that would have challenged anyone at 9 a.m.: he made a hole in the mandazi with his teeth and filled it completely with chips, previously drizzled with peptang sauce. As he took a bite, he looked like someone who would never forget that scene and that taste for a long time to come.

Moko felt the benefits of the pancake as if it were a sponge cleaning up the latent malt, Hussein drank slowly and thought about how to end the vacation in the best possible way.

Suddenly, they heard a commotion on the lower floors: doors slamming, blows against the wall, screams of girls and customers. Instinctively, Hussein got up and locked the door. After a few seconds, he heard knocking: “Open up, police!”

Moko went to the window to see if it was possible to jump out, or at least walk along the ledge. But there was no ledge, only tiles made even more slippery by the rain.

“But we haven't done anything,” whimpered Kali.

“Stay calm, kids. The boss will take care of it.”

Hussein tried to stifle the drumming in his chest and went to open the door.

“Good morning, police. We're just kids, our dad's not here.”

The officer, a lanky guy used to gritting his teeth at hookers, drug dealers, and petty criminals, was taken aback for a moment. Although they were the reason for the raid on Riverside, finding himself face to face with three brats at ease amid the smell of sweets and fried food, toys and clothes his son had never had, had disoriented him so much that he didn't even draw his weapon.

“Kids,” he began, ”take your things and follow me.”

“Hey, soldier!” Hussein stopped him with an arm at his waist. ”I'll give you 5,000 shillings and you won't see us, okay?”

The tall man couldn't believe his ears. That little rascal was trying to bribe him!

“Francis, Mwangi, I found them, they're here on the third floor. Come on!”

They immobilized them as if they were dangerous terrorists and dragged them down the stairs.

On the first floor, they ran into Lola and the mayonnaise tube.

“Good work, officers, take them back to their relatives... these little spiders need to be educated... just think, they wanted to sleep with us.”

“Not even if I'm dead, ugly bitch!“ shouted Hussein, while Kali, clinging to one of the policemen like a koala, thanked heaven that he had already been to the bathroom, and Moko thought that rather than die at the hands of the police, he would rather have a roll in bed with Lola.

“You have to report to the station too,” said the tall man to the owner of the Riverside as he left.

“I already told you, they came with their father, I have his ID here. I never accept minors... of any kind.”

“Let the customers out, close the hotel, and report to the police,” was the laconic reply.

On Eleventh Street, there was a crowd like at the funeral of Somali boxing champion Liban Jamal.

“I told you those kids had too much money...“ yelled the waitress with buck teeth.

“I've never seen anyone eat so many chips...”

“Younger and younger, more and more criminals...”

“What did they do? Did they kill someone?” the imam asked Nasser.

“They hurt a woman, they were drunk.”

“Drunk at that age?” And a prayer began in such a high tone that almost the entire neighborhood fell silent, as if enchanted by a magic flute, while the police truck made its way through the crowd, mud, carts, and other vehicles that were competing to get stuck in every fragment of road left free.

In front of the District Police Officer, Hussein began to tell a lot of lies.

A separate interrogation was enough, and while Kali was being comforted with caresses and Moko told the story as close to the truth as possible, Hussein tasted the first slaps of the law in his career as a street kid, after trying to offer all 30,000 shillings, which were obviously confiscated, along with his cell phone and light-up sword.

“Do you believe the story about the drunk in Wajir?”

“I think they're protecting someone.”

“As soon as we find this Elias Kibunguchy, we'll understand more.”

“In the meantime, where do we put them?”

“Leave them in the cell. Bring them a jug of water.”

The cell phone SIM card traced them back to a well-known petty criminal from Soweto who was in and out of jail, which didn't bode well for them, but the photos on the card surprised the investigators.

“Look at the life they've had... it's a restaurant that costs 2,000 shillings per person... and the clothing store... even shoes... but they're in Kasarani... incredible.”

Local journalist Juma was salivating.

“Look at them, look at them... you can't publish them anyway!”

“Come on, James, it's a great story... three brats find 200,000 shillings in Wajir and come to Nairobi to live like millionaires for three days and go around undisturbed.”

“If it's all true... the leader seems to be from Pangani, I want to get to the bottom of this story. Maybe someone is using them for even bigger deals...”

“The only way is to release them and ask them where they want to go.”

“Let's hear what they have to say about Pangani...”

“The fact remains that detaining children in custody is against the law.”

“Then find me someone who will claim them, smart guy. As things stand, these ghosts don't exist.”

It didn't take long to realize that the three were not a baby gang nor were they part of any criminal organization.

After two days, Juma found Hussein's aunt in Pangani and took her to the police station.

The woman confirmed that the three lived in Wajir, and the summary of the story became a news article published in a national newspaper.

For journalist, blogger, and activist Yassin Juma, as he wrote on his Facebook profile, they will remain “The Three Little Musketeers of Wajir.”

NAIROBI – If it hadn't been for a police raid at the Riverside, a popular hotel on 11th Street in Eastleigh, three boys, two aged 10 and one aged 11, could now be victims of the streets after spending all their loot.

When officers, acting on a tip from Nyumba Kumi, raided their room, they found designer clothes, new shoes, valuable items, a cell phone, and an indescribable amount of candy, cookies, and drinks, as well as toys and 30,000 shillings in cash.

Mohamed Ismail, a community leader in Eastleigh, who together with journalist Yassin Juma facilitated their release from police custody, said the youths even tried to bribe the officers who arrested them.

“I have never seen children as bold and devious as those three boys,” Ismail said.

The boys told police that a few days before their arrest, they had collected about 200,000 shillings that had fallen out of the pockets of a drunk man at the famous Ngamia Pub in Wajir.

How the three boys managed to get to Nairobi remains a mystery. Apparently, one of them has an aunt who lives in Pangani and had already been to Nairobi, so he had an idea of what they would find in the big city.

“I spoke to one of their parents,” Ismail said. “He told me to let his son stay in the police cells or be taken to a reformatory because he would not take him back home.”

The hotel management told the newspaper that the boys were brought there by an adult.

“It is not our policy to give rooms to children, even if they have ID,” said the manager. “They were brought by someone we know, whose details we have given to the police.” Armed with at least $150,000 and in a big city, the three boys embarked on a spree of visits and spending, buying mainly clothes and sweets. During the day, they hired a taxi driver who took them around the capital, with a long stop at Uhuru Park to take photos, as Juma recounts in his article. They also bought two bicycles that they would ride in Eastleigh in the evening. Their adventure came to an abrupt end after one of them, during their evening bike ride, hit a woman who alerted the local authorities, triggering their arrest. Several prostitutes were arrested with them at the Riverside Hotel, where they were lying with clients. One of the boys also said that he had been approached by one of them with the intention of molesting him and his friends.

Finally, thanks to the efforts and unity of the Eastleigh community leaders, the boys were sent back to Wajir and handed over to their parents.

The 30,000 shillings and two bicycles are still at the Pangani police station, waiting for the alleged owner to claim them.

The Garissa Express passes by at high speed, with its usual slightly lopsided gait, entering a straight stretch of road surrounded by tall green trees. In the distance, the sun rests on Kenya's highest mountain.

The reflection in the window illuminates three faces: one is that of a child who is asleep and knows what to dream about, the other has the sad grimace of someone who is expecting a beating and knows that he will run away again when he has stronger arms to work hard and a head to make his own decisions.

The third, leaning against the window, winks.

Perhaps at the sun, perhaps at the god of the mountain, perhaps at life.