I rarely have any business detouring into Naivasha town, more so on an early Monday morning as I travel from Kitale after a weekend break.
A quick cup of coffee at the Delamere shops usually gives me that temporary sense of wakefulness and alertness for the Kinungi-Nairobi stretch.
This was however not to be on Monday. Fuel has been scarce and getting it calls for patience and a nose to smell where the commodity is available.
I leave Kitale at 4am with my fuel gauge pointing just below the three-quarter mark after missing any to top up with at the start of my journey.
My hope is that along the way, I would chance on an outlet with stock and replenish my tank.
No luck until Nakuru, but the queue that's already formed at a Shell station near Midlands Hotel by 7am discourages me. The scenario is replicated all along my journey.
I have all along been maintaining a speed limit of 80km per hour to maximise my stock.
The fuel gauge at this point is just below the halfway mark and this I pray gets me to Nairobi so long as I continue being gentle on the gas peddle.
I am doing fine, but just before Delamere, the fuel warning indicator lights up. Under normal circumstances, I would proceed and fuel at the next available petrol station.
However with the shortage, I am not taking any chances lest I get stranded on the road.
I sip my ritual cup of coffee at Delamere as I weigh my options.
I inquire from one of the watchmen whether he had heard of the availability of the liquid gold around. All I get is a negative and distant response.
But when I ask if he knows anyone who can get me some, his face lights up and in a conspiratorial tone says he can get me a litre at Sh200. Mark you the official pump price is Sh134.
No! There is no way I am buying petrol at Sh200. I politely decline the offer and activate my phone contacts in Naivasha town.
I learn that Shell petrol station on Moi Road has some stock. I dash there and find a queue of motorists, boda bodas and pedestrians with jerrycans.
The place resembles a campaign rally. The only unique thing is that all mingle freely whether you are Azimio or Kenya Kwanza because under the circumstances it is wewe kwanza.
The queue for those purchasing fuel using jerrycans is moving faster than that of motorists and boda bodas. Hawkers selling jerrycans are doing brisk business.
An idea strikes me. While I queue in the car, let me strike a deal with someone to buy me some fuel using a jerrycan. Whichever comes first will serve the purpose.
I strike a rapport with a stranger and ask him to buy me some fuel using the jerrycan. I promise to buy tea once the task is accomplished.
I part with Sh1,000 but ask him to leave his ID as security. He doesn't have it at the moment and volunteers to leave his phone with me.
He soon melts into the crowd as I blankly gaze at the attendants and the traffic police officers sweating it out to control the increasing number of those searching for the liquid gold.
Tempers flare, words are exchanged, horns are honked and with the disorder, the attendants on numerous occasions stop dispensing and threaten to close the station.
The threat restores temporary sanity but the queues move slower than at a snail's pace.
You keep on hoping that the stock will last until you are served, but at around 12pm, the station manager makes that disappointing announcement you have been praying against all along.
"Mafuta imeisha sasa tuko na diesel pekee yake," he curtly announces with the tone of a military parade commander.
What next? The chaotic situation does not grant you room to leave immediately and I wait patiently for my friend to come back.
The place slowly clears and only those who want to buy diesel are left but my friend does not show up.
I pick up the phone he had left with me as security but it feels so light.
I have been played! All I have is a casing of an old Tecno phone with nothing inside. While leaving it with me, he told me he had switched it off to save his battery.
Instead of getting angry, I laugh and wonder at the lengths people can go to make money.
No time to mourn. Petrol is being offloaded at one of the Total stations in town and all roads lead there.
We are in the queue from 1pm to 5pm when the station manager says he cannot continue to dispense as the pumps have developed a fault.
This, I later learn, is a trick to make some people despair and leave a manageable crowd.
Business resumes at 8pm and we are in the queue until 1am when a group of rowdy boda bodas forces the station to shut for the night.
In the search for fuel and despite the huge crowds, masks were rare just as the commodity we were looking for.
A woman taps at the car window and when I roll it down says she has petrol that she is selling at Sh250 a litre. I bargain for Sh200, which I had declined earlier but she's emphatic that it's Sh250 and nothing less.
By this time I have struck a deal with another man to see if we can get some fuel using a jerrycan. However this time around I tell him to queue but I do not part with any money.
The deal is that once he is near the pump he calls me and I go and pay.
But with the closure, we are stuck. He advises that I go sleep and when they resume business he would call me.
I check into an hotel at 1.45am, hungry and tired, and try to catch some sleep.
Earlier I had taken a bottle of water and some dates in the false belief that just like in the wilderness, this will keep me going.
No sooner have I taken less than 40 winks, than my phone rings.
It's my point man on the other end and guess what? He is not waking me up to say he has found fuel but to tell me to sleep as he has been told the station will resume business at six in the morning.
I am up at six, jump into a cold shower and off I go in search of the elusive liquid gold for the second day.
My point man, who stayed awake the whole night thanks to his muguka (khat type of stimulant), tells me not to follow the snaking queue of cars but to park across the road and follow him.
"Kuna tanker inaleta peti kwa hiyo Total ingine [A tanker is on its way here to offload at the other Total station]," he whispers.
We are among the first in the queue even though the tanker is yet to arrive. It arrives shortly after 7.30am and takes two hours to offload its cargo.
I finally get the liquid gold, and with the help of my point man replenish my tank, and after buying him tea, hit the road to Nairobi.
That's the Kenya we live in, in 2022, with superhighways and expressways but no fuel to drive on them.
Edited by Josephine M. Mayuya
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