In Summary
  • A week later, the bike was not back, and walking from block to block did not yield results.
  • My conclusion was that one of the boys who accompanies the garbage truck must have carried it to sell as scrap because for a bike bought on his second birthday, it honestly was aging.

I still remember vividly that Wednesday evening when my son walked to me and said he had seen his bike in the next block.

To contextualise this; we live in an estate where things like bikes, skateboards and toys are left on the front patios sometimes for days on end and no one bothers.

So it did not raise alarm when my son’s red tricycle went missing, because I knew it would be found lying somewhere around the estate or brought back by whoever had borrowed it.

A week later, the bike was not back, and walking from block to block did not yield results. My conclusion was that one of the boys who accompanies the garbage truck must have carried it to sell as scrap because for a bike bought on his second birthday, it honestly was aging.

The mention of the bike spurred interest, like a tourist who just heard the guide whisper “can you see the pride of lions resting under that tree?”

I trailed him, like those Proboxes that chase cash vans, all the way to the backyard of Block 8. Through the rails, I could see the tricycle I personally went to the supermarket and bought with my money.

Anyone could argue that bikes are produced en masse so it was a look-alike, but like I mentioned it was an old thing so I had done a bit of repairs here and there to push him another year, or two.

The first was the front wheel which broke off in a manner I’ve never understood, so I had replaced it with a different one.

The plastic saddle too had come loose over time, prompting me to tie it back with heavy rubber band lest he soon rode it while sitting on a protruding pipe.

It was either that was my son’s tricycle or another dad in this estate thought, acted and repaired things exactly like I did.

I rung the bell, and the door was answered by a middle aged woman in a grey dera with black and white flowers.

After introductions, I informed her that my son’s bike had been missing for months and we had spotted its replica safely parked in her backyard, so we were there to check why they looked so similar.

“Ooh, hiyo alikuja nayo kutoka huko nje huwa anaendeshea hapa kwa nyumba.”

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