I’m sitting in my favorite barbershop, waiting for a haircut. It’s a small shop owned by my friend, small but cozy. Today, we’re joined by two other men. The conversation turns to a recent incident where people looted salt from a truck involved in an accident.
We all burst out laughing at the absurdity of it. Stealing salt? In bulk? It seems pointless. Salt is so cheap, and it’s not exactly the kind of thing you sell off quickly to turn a profit. I use about a kilogram every two months, so the idea of taking such a risk—looting a crashed truck for bags of it—feels ridiculous. Maybe we just don’t understand the economy of salt… or are we all just clueless?
The storyteller, or the “mover of the motion,” as we would refer to him in my circle of boys, is a middle-aged man employed by my friend. We refer to him as mzee. His humor keeps turning what should have been a five-minute story into an engaging tale.
“It’s a story of salt and sorts,” I say in my mind, already crafting the title for this journal entry I’ll write later in the evening.
So, we ponder upon it. Maybe there’s a deeper reason behind it. People in rural areas sometimes see looting as an opportunity, a rare chance to grab something they wouldn’t otherwise afford in large quantities. Even something as ordinary as salt might feel like a small windfall if you’re struggling to make ends meet. Maybe for them, it’s less about profit and more about the allure of getting something for free, even if it means carrying home sacks of a nearly valueless commodity.
“Salt is so valuable and almost valueless at the same time. Our body needs it, but the fact that it’s found everywhere makes it pointless to risk your life on looting it,” my friend, whose name is Bryan, says.
“But you can sell the loot gradually and earn a fortune; you never know. Maybe the price of salt is going to shoot up the next day,” says Wafula, who has just joined us for a haircut.
It also makes me wonder about how our perception of value changes based on circumstances. For someone who’s well-off, salt may not be worth a second thought. But in a struggling household, a large stash of it could mean saving a few coins that would otherwise be spent on groceries. Perhaps in a tight-knit community like the ones found in this area, where people share resources, looted salt could even become a form of trade or bartering, far beyond the conventional marketplace.
“But stealing salt is not worth anything. Even sharing salt in huge amounts is in itself a nuisance,” says Mzee. I swear you would laugh at his facial expressions alone.
Still, there’s a strange irony in risking your life or freedom to loot something so commonplace. It’s as if the desperation of the situation clouds judgment.
You see a truck overturned, an open opportunity, and suddenly it doesn’t matter if it’s gold or salt—you just want to take advantage of it. Maybe it’s not even about the salt itself, but the thrill of taking something in the chaos—a small rebellion against the daily grind of life.
