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The Grief Of Freedom That Never Came

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THE GRIEF OF FREEDOM THAT NEVER CAME

Human beings have a certain amount of emotional energy; you know, that psychic fuel that keeps your body, mind and spirit animated and engaged. Right up to August 8, 2017 my bank of energy was overflowing. Against all good judgement, my heart was full of hope.

See, at first I had been sceptical because the opposition alliance started off as a sack of dismembered limbs. A headless and tailless ensemble that seemed miserably directionless. But then, the limbs started to come together and a body of ideas began to form. At that point, it only vaguely resembled an actual ideology, but I saw potential.

As the winds of change began to gather pace, and the National Super Alliance began to look like a vessel strong enough to carry the weight of half the nation’s dreams, I began to invest emotionally in the outcome of the General Election. Naively, I allowed my mind to conceive of what change would look like.

I became more and more invested in the power of the people. The potency of the ballot. Freedom? Freedom was coming tomorrow. I could taste it. If I squeezed my eyes tight enough, I could see it. I really began to dip into my energy reservoirs. I kept up with every new development on the political front, and filed every outcome and every setback into progressive versus retrogressive boxes. I continuously justified why ‘we’ were right, and they were ‘wrong’.

I was convinced that the tide had turned and the last vestiges of a vile colonial system were going to be swept away by the whirlwind of revolution. I could see the top of the mountain and I knew ‘we’ would get there. And then August 8 happened. My spirits plummeted to the bottom of the pit. Where I had been at the half-tank mark, I was now running on zero emotional energy.

My erstwhile billowing sails flagged. The dream was dead. And the silliest thing about this grief was that I knew it would happen. Somewhere deep in my gut, I knew that the forces that have held Kenya in their grip since the emergence of Vasco da Gama were not ready to pass on the mantle. But then Chief Justice David Maraga renewed my faith in the power of good. Adrenaline pushed my emotional energies through the roof. Alas, by the time we were done with the shambolic second election, I was a shell. A soulless automation, trying to move on with life, but lacking the psychic energy to soldier on with the heavy weight of the deepest sadness sitting on my head like a rock.

See, I was born a rebel. Conformity has never been my strong point. Injustice has always gotten my hackles up. So it’s truly ironic that I was born one year before Daniel arap Moi became president. I grew up in a politically choked environment knowing that Moi was a man to be feared. My parents spoke in whispers. We rarely said the president’s name aloud.

We were on the road when the 1982 coup happened, going to, or coming from somewhere, I don’t quite remember. I was just five years old. That’s the first time I heard the name Raila Odinga. At the time, it meant nothing to me. But much later in life, it became a representation of this force that had somehow added a fresh current to a sea of predictable waves. With little knowledge of who he was, or what he stood for, I began to see him as a Brave. A rebel.

After 1982 Raila dove head first into what has become a legacy of railing against the machine. His ability to re-invent himself, to hide countless cards up his sleeve, endeared him to those who wanted to see Moi toppled by whatever means necessary. His anti-establishment stance and uncanny ability to portray himself as a man of the people cemented his position as this country’s most enduring opposition figurehead.

Raila’s rebellious energy is appealing. His readiness to put a cause before his own life – just because such a thing is possible and right – is admirable.

It’s no wonder that he has become the poster child for possibility. A symbol of hope. Which is not to say that the man is an angel. Not at all. In fact, his misdeeds are the stuff of urban legend. His flaws and failings are well-documented and are frequently the subject of national debate. Raila is unashamedly human, with all that that implies, and perhaps that’s where the bulk of his appeal lies.

He has become the repository of the dreams and aspirations of a constituency that has been driven hard by the State machinery for decades. A constituency that longs to be soothed by the heart of government, after years of being poked and prodded by its long, cold arm. A constituency that has been forced to find comfort in subservience. To submerge in inequality and learn how to breathe underwater.

This constituency can be described in superficial tribal terms because it is easy to pinpoint its broad ethnic demographic. But it is truly defined as a group of people who refuse to be burdened by a mediocre, self-fulfilling and exclusionary system of government that cannibalises the weak to profit a ruling elite.

This constituency is in mourning for the fourth time in four elections, the first being the experiment that went horribly wrong post-2002. It has become a constituency of sorrows, well-acquainted with electoral grief. This time around, however, a threshold has been crossed. It might have been the fact that yet another election cycle ended in disrepute, with a president being sworn in abjectly joyless circumstances. Or that the beast of our divisive ethnicity was awakened in all its dark glory and allowed to stride across the land, untethered and untamed. Whatever it was, the constituency that responds ideologically to Raila and his brand of progressive politics, drew a line in the sand.

It might have been the continuous ridicule from the other side of the electorate, the death of innocent children, or a head of state who commended rather than reprimanded a murderous police force. Whatever it was, one half of this country has awakened to the undeniable fact that real power rests with the people. With or without Raila, traditional opposition supporters have awakened to their own agency. It could have been the collective withholding of their vote on October 27, 2017, or the successful product boycott. Whatever it was, even as we are walking wounded, trying to come to terms with grief we have not been allowed to process, the journey to the mountaintop continues. And this time we’ve got our eyes firmly on the prize. Aluta Continua.

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Reflections

The ship has sailed but I am not moving on

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The ship has sailed but I am not moving on
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In January 2018, The Star newspaper splashed the headline The Ship has Sailed, It is time to Move on. The report quotes the US ambassador to Kenya Robert Godec urging Kenyans to stop discussions on the 2017 election and rally behind President Uhuru Kenyatta’s four pillar development agenda. That was the first time I was hearing of these pillars, from a foreigner. It got me thinking, yes the October 26threpeat presidential election were concluded and Uhuru was declared the winner and sworn in, hence the legal president. I still have problems with its legitimacy even when I can do nothing about it. That is why I declare that Godec can move on because I am not moving on.

I have always believed in the Kenyan dream, even when things were not going so well. Kenya is way ahead of countries in the region despite our institutionalized tribalism and corruption. As a robust market based economy in Africa, with the right leadership we can do wonders. As of August 2017, the belief was shuttered, resuscitated by the Supreme Court then killed again by end of October. For the first time, after despising people who leave Kenya for odd jobs abroad, I was ready to go and wash dishes in the West just to get away. The direction the country has taken makes me doubt if my children’s pursuit of happiness in this country is guaranteed.

A few years ago, I met Mutiso in Kisumu. Mutiso left his home in the former Eastern Province in the early eighties as a teenager and has never gone back since but I did not ask him why. He is now a small-scale businessman in Kisumu, married to a Luo and settled in Muhoroni area of Kisumu County. He told me how he proudly took up the name Onyango and it is only the advent of mobile phone money transfer that blew his cover to many of his friends in Kisumu. His experience cemented my belief that the Kenyan nation-state dream is valid despite all this madness. I had even contemplated coming up with a TV show to showcase such stories until 2017 happened.

Nowadays, my heart is no longer neutral. I may not be a great admirer of Raila Odinga’s brand of leadership but I have immense respect for the man. I respect him for his consistent belief in good governance, which is rare in African politics. Raila was at the forefront in agitating for introduction of multiparty politics in Kenya in the late 80s. He served two stints totaling 10 years in detention for the same before joining parliament in 1992. He was part of a team that pushed for the enactment of a new constitution that culminated in the promulgation of our new constitution in 2010.

On the other hand, I could not place a finger on one thing either Uhuru Kenyatta or William Ruto believes in or stand for. There is nothing to attribute to the two Jubilee Party leaders except a penchant for amassing wealth for wealth’s sake. Uhuru Kenyatta was running his family’s vast business interests before coming to politics. The first thing that comes to mind when one hears the name William Ruto -is land, which ironically the Kenyatta family owns in excess. A court ordered Ruto to return land he illegally acquired from one Adrian Muteshi an internally displaced person in 2013. One of Ruto’s business interests was adversely mentioned in attempts to grab the Langata Road primary school playground in Nairobi in 2015. If someone has not done basic stuff to uplift his community as a private citizen or junior civil servant, they will not learn to do it when they have power. This informed my decision to back the NASA coalition in the 2017 general elections.

So towards 2017 general elections I felt a deep apprehension. Deep down I believed that the Kenyan dream was viable and that lack of astute political leadership had denied us a chance to live up to our collective potential. Against this hope, I somehow knew that Raila was going to win but Jubilee Coalition was not going to hand over power. With a heavy heart, I tried to play out several scenarios and I feared for my country.

I supported Raila Odinga’s decision to pull out of the repeat election in October called by the Supreme Court. Nothing was going to change under an IEBC (Independent Electoral and Boundaries Commission) that had disobeyed a Supreme Court order to open its servers for scrutiny. International media outlets reported turnouts of between 27% and 30%. IEBC first reported a 48% turnout then posted a 42% final turnout. Kandara MP, Alice Wahome was caught on camera trying to force a returning officer to change figures which reinforced my suspicions that IEBC headquarters did not get actual figures.

Two deaths within two weeks either side of the August 8th election date blew up my long held belief in the Kenyan dream. On 31stJuly the body of IEBC Acting ICT Manager Mr. Chris Musando was found in Kiambu County. His autopsy report later confirmed his death was caused by strangulation after torture. On 15th August, six-month-old Baby Pendo who slipped into a coma after suffering head injuries from a police raid to her home in Kisumu’s Nyalenda slums breathed her last. If there was a thin layer of hope, the blood of these two washed it away.

Chris Musando was in the media assuring Kenyans that the upcoming election backed by an electronic transmission system was secure and tamper proof. Whatever happened after the votes had been cast and counted a week later and the subsequent annulment by the Supreme Court leaves no doubt where fingers of suspicion should point. There were several ways of ‘dealing with’ Musando for standing in the way of those who wished to bungle the polls. The choice of elimination shows the kind of people operating behind the veil of the Kenyan system. I believe the government knows who killed Musando because it is the job of the government to know. But I am old enough not to hold my breath waiting for someone to be charged in court for the murder.

Baby Pendo’s death cut deep. Here is a couple who struggled to get a baby after several miscarriages and waited for a few years. I am a Sunday school teacher and my belief in children as the future of society inspires me to teach children every Sunday despite my stutter. The police initially ignored people’s outcry then later launched an investigation into her death but as I said earlier I won’t be holding my breath. Two days before Pendo died, police shot dead nine-year-old Moraa Nyarangi in Mathare in Nairobi. In November, a stray bullet in Embakasi area of Nairobi killed seven-year-old Godfrey Mutinda. In Kisumu several children were hospitalized after tear gas was lobbed into a nursery school compound. In total Kenya National Commission on Human Rights reported that the police at the height of 2017 elections drama killed seven children. Nelson Mandela said there is no keener revelation of a nation’s soul than the way in which it treats her children. We have lost our soul as a nation.

The police brutality during the 2017 election season was a stark reminder that the state identified my kind as Luo by extraction and not Kenyan. Since late last year, I have been writing a series on the Luo relationship with the government for Nairobi Law Monthly. When I was writing the second part, I found myself using the third person plural pronoun “they” when referring to Luos. I edited it to ‘we’. In my published piece, I realized I had referred to Luos in third person. I was born in Nakuru but schooled in the former Western province of Kenya. This gave me a nationalist outlook and the feeling of the insider standing out-looking within the Luo-national context.

After 8th of August, I realized that the government measures Luos on a different scale. The levels of police brutality meted out against demonstrators in Luo Nyanza failed to assuage my doubts. Dead bodies discovered in bags floating on Lake Victoria after police were reported requesting for body bags in Kisumu was proof of a calculated move to kill and not contain demonstrators. The invasion of homes, the reports from Nairobi slums of militia gangs pulling people out of their houses at night and killing were hallmarks of a sinister plot against opponents of the Jubilee Party government.

What police fail to take cognizance of is that they rarely catch the actual demonstrators. It is innocent people going about their business who get cornered when police close in on fleeing demonstrators. I can bet most of the victims of police brutality during the post-election violence were not actively taking part in the demonstrations. The evidence is in the number of children who died in that period.

NASA supporters then called for the creation of The Peoples’ Republic of Kenya from NASA supporting counties leaving the rest as Central Republic of Kenya. They even designed a flag for the new republic. The calls tagged my heartstrings and I soon became a secessionist. This is not the first time such ideas are coming up. There was the push by ethnic Somalis to secede to Greater Somalia after independence. The secessionist movement was crushed during the Shifta war of 1963-1967. Kikuyu leaders also toyed with the idea at the height of tribal clashes in Rift Valley between 1991 and 1992. Mombasa Republican Council recently called for secession of coast province. This time round, the secession calls are emanating from western Kenya.

The systematic marginalization of some parts of Kenya is one reason for the calls for secession. Unresolved political assassinations since independence cannot go unmentioned. The methodical design to keep political power in the hands of two communities is pushing some of us to be separationists. In various social media forums I find Kenyans giving in to the reality that their votes never count during elections. You cannot separate political power from state patronage even with the advent of devolution. Marginalization in Kenya walks hand in hand with political exclusion. Three Kikuyus and one Kalenjin have led the Kenyan government in our fifty-four years of independence. Moi who is a Kalenjin Kalenjin ruled for 24 years while Kenyatta I, Mwai Kibaki and Kenyatta II – who are Kikuyu’s – share thirty years between them. In Kenya, political power skews economic growth. This is why the adage out here is Kikuyus and Kalenjins are hard working while the rest of the other Kenyan tribes are lazy and poor. Exclusion from the centre of power has given us more millionaires in the political class than in business.

The Jubilee Party and government made 2017 look like a Raila problem. The use of brutal forces on his supporters especially Luos who make only 30% of his base is tyrannical. This selective treatment engrains the feeling of resentment in his support base thus leaving secession as a dignified option. When people feel that they do not belong, despondency creeps in leading to likelihood of instability. The constitution gives a road map for a section of Kenya to secede if they want to.

Suppressing the will of the people, which I believe happened in 2013 and 2017, has negative effects on the social and economic development of a country. The most rapid growth in Kenya was witnessed between 2003 and 2013 despite the effects of 2008 post-election violence. This is because Kenyans felt they had won or lost the 2002 elections fairly. The joy and optimism trickled down to business and social spheres with positive effects. The converse is true; electoral manipulation leaves people with negative energy or just enough energy to barely survive. Traction will be very minimal regardless of what the government of the day does. This is why the calls to forget the 2017 elections and talk development will not bear any fruit.

In the midst of this political standoff, some people are proposing further reforms to our electoral laws. The law is innocent, let us keep the law out of it and look each other squarely in the eye. The law is only as good as the people executing it and it has no power to change the hearts of men. There was the IPPG (Inter Parties Parliamentary Group) push that changed election laws in 1997; we had further changes in 2008 then the promulgation of a very progressive constitution in 2010.

Then in 2016 NASA led a push to send home IEBC commissioners and repealed our election laws again. In mid-2017 Senior Counsel and Siaya County Senator James Orengo wagged his index finger, blinked in his characteristic style then proclaimed that Jubilee Coalition would lose the August election. He was basing his point on a court ruling that votes counted at the polling station and announced at the constituency would be final. He was deluded, what happened between August and November in spite of the changed electoral laws in place must have left NASA bewildered. Our problem is not lack of good laws, so reforms will still be futile.

In pursuit of their selfish interests, foreign envoys are pushing for moving on or a power sharing deal. The unseen hand of foreign masters can be felt in the cherry picking of issues they choose to speak against. Gone are the days when the west stood by democratic, human rights and good governance values as they pushed for their interests. Today China has taught them that their economic interests supersede everything. The push by the envoys for a political settlement without auditing 2017 elections will not solve the problem. We cannot insist on swimming in the baby pool because some people fear to swim in the ocean. We have to move from taking care of politicians’ interests and demand what is good for Kenya.

The biggest problem is once a mistake has been committed in the course of a nation’s development; it takes a generation (about 25 years) to turn things around. The expelled Tutsis who went to Uganda as children in the late fifties and those born in exile in the sixties invaded Rwanda as RPF (Rwandan Patriotic Front) in 1990. The children born in Burkina Faso after Blaise Campaore murdered Thomas Sankara in 1987 came of age and drove Campaore out of power in 2014. Righting our wrongs will take us a long time.

The ship may have sailed but this time round I am neither accepting nor moving on.

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STOP PRESS: When ‘orders from above’ could kill the news

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STOP PRESS: When ‘orders from above’ could kill the news
Photo: Shutterstock

Recent events in Kenya, including the shutting down of TV stations to prevent them from broadcasting the swearing-in of Raila Odinga as “the people’s president”, remind me of the first time I came up against a bullying authoritarian state and how useless such threats proved in the end because buried truths have a way of emerging zombie-like from their freshly-dug graves.

I began working as a reporter in September 1989. In April that year, The Financial Review, an upcoming news magazine that had been started by former Weekly Review journalist Peter Kareithi, had been banned by the government of President Daniel arap Moi for what Attorney General Matthew Guy Muli characterised as “mischievous stories.” The Financial Review later successfully fought the ban and continued publishing for a few more years before it folded.

In 1989 there were three national daily newspapers in Kenya: the Daily Nation, the East African Standard and the ruling party Kanu’s newspaper, the Kenya Times. There was also the state-owned Kenya News Agency. Broadcast news was provided by the state broadcaster KBC and KTN.

This state of affairs meant that the government controlled most of the news media either outright or through proxy. While the Aga Khan may have controlled the Nation group of newspapers, some of the firm’s other shareholders and directors owed their allegiance to the Kanu government. Meanwhile, the Standard was owed by Tiny Rowland’s LonRho, which maintained a cosy relationship with the powers that be in every country it operated.

Amongst journalists, this era was a period of self-censorship in a bid to avoid state censorship. Every now and then the newspapers would push the envelope of government criticism a little further, but they were always aware that the government could push back at any time.

It might sound far-fetched today, but in those days there were always rumours doing the rounds that one or more of the reporters, proofreaders, typesetters or printers was on the payroll of the state security services. Their role was to give their masters a heads-up when anything remotely controversial was set to make an appearance in the newspaper. Once they had passed on the information, the next step would be a phone call – sometimes from a State House functionary but often from the president himself – to an editor demanding that the story be killed.

Sometimes editors would try and fight for a story to remain, using reason to appeal to the president or his functionaries, but often they were forced to give in and so the controversial story would never see the light of day. Editors had to tread carefully because sometimes the newspaper’s owners would be involved and one could easily find themselves out of a job for not realising that the media owner and the state were on the same side in a particular matter.

So to begin work as a journalist at that time was exciting, if a little daunting. And to work for the Kenya Times, the ruling party’s newspaper, was seen as somewhat controversial, but I chose to thrill in the notoriety. Also I told myself that I was working with a group of consummate professional journalists and not petty party propagandists.

I was employed by Philip Ochieng, the editor-in-Chief, and spent my first few months on the news desk under the guidance of a team that included news editor Chris Musyoka, deputy news editor Jeremiah Aura, chief reporter Eric Shimoli, parliamentary reporter George Munji, business reporter Eric Sagwe and managing editor of the Sunday Times Amboka Andere.

By July 1990, Kenya’s politics were heating up. For many the breaking point had come after the murder of the country’s Foreign Affairs Minister Dr. Robert Ouko in February 1990. Ironically, Ouko had been one of the staunchest supporters of President Daniel arap Moi’s government and had lent his not inconsiderable intellect to defending the government on the international stage.

Two of the more vocal politicians fighting the system that they had until recently been at the heart of were former ministers Kenneth Matiba and Charles Rubia, who had also fallen out with Moi and Kanu. The two had joined forces with veteran opposition figures, such as former vice president Jaramogi Oginga Odinga, Masinde Muliro, Martin Shikuku, Raila Odinga, James Orengo, lawyers Gitobu Imanyara, Paul Muite and others in calling for Kenya’s “second-liberation”.

With the support of some foreign envoys, particularly from the United States and a newly united Germany, these opposition leaders had begun to shake the foundations of Moi’s single-party system.

Lashing out at this unprecedented opposition, Moi had ordered the arrest and detention without trial of a number of those opposing him. On July 4 after they had held a press conference calling for a pro-democracy rally at Nairobi’s historic Kamukunji grounds on the July 7th (popularly known as Saba Saba), Matiba, Rubia and Raila Odinga were arrested and subsequently detained without trial.

Undeterred, their comrades in the struggle decided to go ahead with the rally, which had been declared illegal and an estimated 6,000 people showed up to hear what they had to say. Moi and Kanu were not going to sit back and just let this happen on their watch so riot police were sent in to disperse the crowds and arrest the political leaders using force, teargas and batons.

The crowd refused to go quietly and began throwing rocks at the police and stoning cars. The opposition leaders hopped onto the back of an open pick-up truck rousing their supporters all through Nairobi’s Eastlands estates of Kariokor, Kariobangi, Ngara and elsewhere. That moment provided one of the iconic photographs of the 1990s.

Like reporters from all the other newspapers, we were sent out to cover the dramatic and historic events of the day and “ate teargas” and felt the blows of the police rungus (batons).

At one point, Shimoli, Munji, the photographer John Muchene, our office driver Muli and myself had driven through the main street in Ngara in the direction of Kariokor when we came up against a series of human walls with riot police in the centre, their backs to us and sandwiched by angry crowds who had lit bonfires in the middle of the street.

For our sins, our car happened to look like those that members of the CID and Moi’s not so secret police, the Special Branch, drove around in. As we approached the crowd, they stopped us believing we were the hated police and would have begun stoning us had we not revealed that we were reporters. Nevertheless we didn’t dare disclose what paper we were from, for fear that they would turn on us again.

Having gathered our news and pictures we drove back to the newsroom. As we were working to beat the deadline, Philip Ochieng received one of the dreaded State House calls telling him to drop the Saba Saba stories because President Moi did not want to see them. We were made to understand that the Nation and the Standard had received the same call and were also going to kill the stories. The government feared it would look as if it had lost control of the situation and there is nothing an authoritarian state fears more.

“Orders from above.” “A call from State House.” These were phrases that preceded the killing of a story in that era. Sometimes the editors obeyed and sometimes, even at the Kenya Times, they took their chances.

On this day, Ochieng gave in to the bullying and threats, while his counterparts decided to publish and be damned, if it came to that.

It was shameful and disheartening. The Times had completely ignored the biggest news of the day and the second biggest story that year, after the murder of Ouko. I was so disappointed that I seriously considered resigning from my job and giving journalism up altogether.

The fact that we were forced to play catch-up in the following day’s edition and nothing had happened to the other newspapers just made our sacrifice appear pointless. Worse still, whatever reputation we had as journalists, at least with the public, was thrown out of the window.

The moral of the story is that publishing the truth will always piss off the state, but in a democracy, that should not be a consideration. Eventually, the second liberation could not be stopped. It was televised and published, even by the Kanu-owned media.

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Central Kenya’s Biting Poverty

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Central Kenya's Biting Poverty

Felistas Waguthi’s mirth is unmistakable: She laughs easily and has lot of hilarious stories galore. When she was young, she must have been stunningly beautiful: chocolate-dark skinned, she is tall and has an athlete’s body. At 75 years and living in Kirimukuyu location in Tumu Tumu sub-location in Mathira constituency, Nyeri County, 140km north of Nairobi city, she has seen it all – but one thing that has been constant – her life has been riven with staggering poverty.

I found her peeling some pint-sized potatoes that looked like marble balls. “The harvest was poor, there wasn’t enough rains,” Felistas told me, in her mud-house that had dangerously hanging soot in the “sitting room”. She cooks, entertains and sleeps in the oblong shaped mud house. I have experienced and lived poverty, but Felistas’s searing poverty was mind numbing in a county celebrated as agriculturally fertile and rich. “We are looking to being given relief maize by the (national) government,” said Felistas. “Many people in my locale do not have enough food.”

On my way to visit her, I had passed through Murang’a County using Kenol-Saba Saba-Murang’a road. I noticed the stunted maize crop that had obviously failed because of the inadequate rains. Stopping in Murang’a town to refill, I engaged some local residents, who told me Murang’a County was already receiving relief maize. I arrived in Kirimukuyu in time to find Felistas with a 2kg packet of unga (maize flour) and a kilo of Basmati rice. “There is a young man here in my village, I knew his father in the 1960s, he is been sending me some foodstuff, especially rice and maize flour – like he has done today,” said the granny.

“All our leaders are capricious and greedy,” ventured the old lady. “They do not care for anything or anyone. They are just interested in self-aggrandizement. They have contributed to this poverty that abounds in this area.” To illustrate her point, she digressed and told me the story of her elder brother. “My elder brother – now deceased had been born disabled, so as the last born, I spent many years looking after him. In his last five years of his life, he suffered greatly, and couldn’t leave the house. ‘Isn’t there something like a national fund for the disabled?’ she posed aloud. There is not an office in Nyeri I didn’t enter. I wanted some help from our elected leaders and government for my brother. When I tell you all these leaders – from the top to the lowest – are only interested in grabbing everything for themselves, believe me. “It is the same young man who frequently sends me flour and rice my way that helped me in those five years that my brother was sick.”

See also: UHURU’S PYRRHIC VICTORY: Uthamaki’s suffocating hold on the Kikuyu people

Felistas told me she used to work for an English master in Nairobi in 1965, two years after the country gained independence. “My white boss treated me better than any of our leaders have ever treated us,” said a nostalgic Felistas. “I gave up on our leaders a long time ago: They are masters of deceit and subterfuge. My life belongs to the Lord, who sustains me and who has kept me going all through these hard times. If I had relied on the leaders, do you think I would be alive today?” She was not asking me, she wanted me to  know the contempt with which she held the politicians, who every cycle of five years, came to lie to her, on how they were going to improve her life.

Barefooted, Felistas’s feet told the story of a resilient woman who had faced the vagaries of life stoically. The feet had trekked many kilometres in search of food for her children in yester years and, they were still doing the same for her grandchildren, who were playing outside her mud structure.

“Mathira ya githomo”. The educated Mathira. That was how Mathira, her constituency was once referred to. In the days gone by, Mathira produced some of the best and most educated Nyerians. But today, it has sunk to the bottom of the ladder. “Illiteracy, poverty and unemployment are the order of the day,” said James Karani, my boda boda ride when I was in Karatina. “Do not forget that Mathira is where competing politicians brag on how they can boil a pot of githeri with KSh1000 notes, until it’s cooked.”

Karani took me to Wariruta trading centre, an outpost on the Karatina-Nyeri Road. We met young men who were chewing muguka – a bitter-sweet stimulant of the miraa species, whose leaves chewed long enough makes you feel high. Others were playing pool, still others idled around. “It is at Wariruta that you will find all manner of drugs,” Karani reported to me. “Cocaine, heroine, marijuana, you name it. I grew up in Wariruta and went to school with many of these guys, so we interact, but I am puzzled by how the drugs find their way here.”

Karani told me the young men and women had refused to take up farming. “Look at the farms, there isn’t anything growing or any animal movement. Farming takes too long, the young people do not have the patience for the crops to grow up, when there is betting and hustling. In idiomatic English, a hustler is a prostitute. So, drunkenness among the youth of the Wariruta, has become the norm. “The youth have become fatalistic and hopelessness and restlessness has become their way of life,” said Karani. “They no longer believe in the country’s politics or politicians. When Uhuru came to Karatina town to campaign for the August 8, 2017 general elections, the youth yelled and shouted at him when he asked the Mathira people to vote for the Jubilee six-piece-suit. ‘We are farmers, we don’t wear suits’ replied the youth. It was their way of telling him, they were tired of five-year-cycle of politics that had failed to improve their lot.”

On my way back to Nairobi, I wanted to sample the Sagana town nightlife. So, I used the Nyeri-Sagana highway. Sagana is at the “Makutano” junction of Kagio-Kutus-Kerugoya road that took you into the heartland of Kirinyaga County and the Nyeri-Sagana highway. I saw, in the one street town, twilight girls, peddling their wares to the truckers who stop at Sagana, on their way to Meru, Isiolo, Marsabit, Moyale and Mandera. I remembered what Karani in Karatina had told me: many of the youth in Central Kenya have chosen the “hustler life”, which though is replete with avoidable risks, they opted for it nonetheless, because the returns are immediate and rewarding, as opposed to waiting for the rain-fed crops to sprout and be sold in the markets for peanuts.

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