Nakuru’s Kenyatta Avenue has to be the busiest street, especially during the day. But amidst all that bee hive of activity, con artists have found their perfect hunting ground.

One such operation involves an elaborate display of household goods under a blue and orange tent designed to catch the eye of anyone dreaming of furnishing their home.

A while back, along the same route, another group once stationed themselves opposite a popular supermarket, drawing crowds with promises of free T-shirts, SIM cards, and airtime in what seemed like a car-boot sale.

Alseba Akinyi fell victim to the con in 2019 when she was out and about heading to the market in town when, out of curiosity, she approached a multi-colored tent set up with various household goods.

“Once inside, I was handed an orange card and told to keep it confidential,” Akinyi recalls. “The operators would then call out specific numbers, declaring winners in front of the growing crowd. "Number so-and-so, come forward! You're our winner!" they would announce, creating an illusion of legitimate prize-giving.”

But as Akinyi would later learn, it was all an elaborate scam designed to con people off their hard-earned money.

The operators called each participant forward individually for a card shuffling game, where they were asked to carefully track specific cards among several papers being moved around.

When it was Akinyi’s turn, she managed to pick the correct card and was declared a winner.

Almost immediately, she found herself surrounded by four different operators who began questioning her about having half the price money for the TV she had "won."

“The TV set at the tent was priced at Sh. 8,000, but they convinced me I could take it home for half the price. I managed to bargain them down to Sh. 3,000. When they agreed to this price, I paid the money,” Akinyi recalls.

Right after she paid, she says a different person from their group suddenly appeared and claimed she hadn't won the TV.

“When I tried to protest that I had won fair and square and had already paid, an argument broke out. I was forced into playing another round of the game,” Akinyi narrates.

“This time, they made it more complicated by adding extra shuffling cards, making it impossible to follow. I ended up only 'winning' a basin instead of the TV.”

Frustrated and realizing she had been conned, Alseba left the tent.

Just like Akinyi, Mtaa Wangu’s curiosity got the better part of us, and we decided to indulge in the con.

Upon arriving at a tent filled with a small group of people, we were welcomed and also given orange laminated tags with coupon numbers on one side and a stamp on the other, which we needed to keep discreet.

On display, just as narrated by Akinyi, is a 55-inch flat-screen TV, a woofer, and a 13 kg gas cylinder, among other things, with coupon numbers placed on them.

Ideally, the coupon numbers need to match to continue with the game. Notice that, in the beginning, the coupons are handed over for free with a disclaimer that if you are not interested in paying anything, you can willingly opt-out.

On the periphery of this group seems to be a man uninterested in whatever is happening in the tent, but he’s on watch mode, manning whatever and whomever, what for, we don’t know.

At the time of arrival, one person is speaking. Barely five minutes in, a catchphrase is chanted in chorus, which, during our observations on the sidelines, could barely be heard.

Our attention has caught on to the people in the crowd, and a lady hints to us to move a bit closer, which we decline.

We are instructed to confirm if our coupons match any items, and at this time, we hear an invitation to again silently choose which items to which we can start bidding at Sh. 300.

Something worth noting is the unspoken coordination within the group, from gazing eyes to darting eyes to strangers starting to make a conversation with you instead of participating like you are.

Immediately, bidding entries are welcome, and another lady in front of us swiftly fishes out a sh. 1000 note. We deduce that she’s part of the group, and her role is to induce other players into participating.

When asked if we’re ready for bidding, we say no, and my partner’s coupon gets snatched from their hands by a man who is supposedly supposed to be part of the audience and is seen to send them away, murmuring something dismissive, odd right.

Mine gets taken back by the man who initially handed it over.

Out of nowhere, a lady standing beside us arrogantly tells us “nyinyi endeni sasa mpeane joto”.

We leave.

Akinyi is just one of the victims of such a scam.

We caught wind of a Facebook post that expressed the displeasure of residents of the existence of these ‘booths’ that seek to con people.

Na kwa sababu tulifukuzwa, let us figure out where exactly hio jiko iko tuote hiyo moto mbali na hiyo tent coz hatuwezi bebwa ujinga hivo.

Msiseme hatukuwaambia.

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