Someone on Facebook said something similar to the story narrated below happened to him.
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Ken joined the queue for the bus at Ambassadeur bus stop. Nowadays, there were few incidents of grab-and-run phone theft, so he pulled his smartphone out of his pocket and went to Facebook.
Ken was being entertained by the various posts and comments by his friends when an old lady approached him and said “Excuse me. Sorry to disturb you, but I have just arrived from Nakuru and I cannot see my son who was to pick me. I do not have a phone. Can we use yours to call him?”
“Sure. You have his number?”
“Yes.” She handed him a piece of paper and Ken called the number that was written on it.
No answer.
“Let me try again” he said.
Still no answer.
Ken waited a few minutes and tried yet again, with the same result. By this time, the bus had come and Ken got in.
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Being careful to ensure that his phone could not be snatched from the bus window, Ken went on Facebooking. He hoped that the old lady’s son would show up and pick her.
Some men talking loudly a few rows ahead of him caught his attention.
“Someone has picked my phone from my pocket!” said one of them.
“You had it when you go in?” asked his partner.
“Yes.”
“Then maybe it’s still in the bus. Let’s call it.”
The guy took his own phone and dialled a number.
Ken’s phone rang. He did not immediately grasp the significance of the phone ringing, but as the eyes of the passengers turned on him, he realised that he was now accused.
“This is my phone!” he said, panic setting in.
“Thief!” said the man who had said that his phone had been stolen. “You are not even smart enough to switch off the stolen phone!” He charged towards Ken.
A slap across his face made Ken painfully realise that he was in real danger.
“This is my phone” he repeated as other passengers got up and started closing in to get a piece of the action as well.
This is how people die, Ken thought. He recalled seeing pictures of lynch-mob victims.
The man who had slapped him grabbed Ken’s phone.
“Get that thief out of my vehicle” said the bus conductor. “I don’t want blood in here”
Ken wanted to pee. He wanted to do Number Two as well. He could easily get killed out there.
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“Wait!” said an authoritative voice. The man who had spoken took Ken’s phone from Ken’s accuser.
“If this is your phone,” he said to the accuser, “let us switch it off and you switch it on and put in the PIN.”
Ken felt hope rising, as his accuser and his partner both began to shuffle backwards towards the bus door, uncertainty on their faces.
“Yes! Put the PIN we see!” echoed someone from somewhere in the bus.
The accuser’s partner reached the door and got out hastily. His friend followed closely, but someone landed a kick on his back that sent him face-first to the
pavement outside the bus.
“Those are scam artists,” said Ken’s rescuer. “They ask you to call someone for them, and they get your number that way. Then they follow you and claim their phone has been stolen. They say they want to call the stolen phone and then call your number and take your phone, with others actually helping them!”
“Yes” said Ken. “An old lady asked me to call her son for her just before I got onto this bus.”
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