Let The Dead Bury The Dead!

*I have lacked the ability to write this article for most of the past month. However, I now find myself overtaken by the state of events in the country - just recently we lost Governor Joyce Laboso to cancer; she was preceded by MP Ken Okoth just a few days prior. I wish their families and those affected by their deaths my full condolences and God's comfort in their lives.

To start with, I'd have to clarify my title: this is Matthew 8:22, Jesus at probably one of his more provocative moments. The Lord was certainly blunt and went straight to the point, but the context of the conversation is sometimes difficult to understand; a remnant of some cultural practices that we may not experience in this day and age. A priest once clarified it for me: when the young man slated to be a disciple (Matthew 8:21) asked to be allowed to go and bury his father, it is never implied that his father is actually dead; rather, he wants to return home to live out however long his father has left on this earth, and then after his (father's) eventual death turn towards serving the Lord. Jesus was very categorical that God's kingdom and all things entailed within it would not play second fiddle to the temporal fleeting activities of this world.

This verse has resonated with me lately because our politicians (Members of Parliament to be exact) are at it again! I have really tried to avoid watching the evening news since the latter part of 2017 when everything really all focused on the elections. Even after the disastrous election, and its re-run, election euphoria never really went way; and, sadly, even now politicians have already revamped themselves in campaigning for the distant 2022 election as if nothing else matter in between. The news cycle is just a rehash of campaigning, scandals and intrigues that are mind-numbingly tiring to listen to or tolerate at this point.

Lately, however, as if on cue, our parliamentarians have started clamouring for an increase of their allowances.The stunner was a sh. 250,000 house allowance (backdated to late last year), but there was more: there are plans in place to increase their car grants, sitting allowances, and perhaps a potential "night allowance" for when their seating extends into the night time past the normal hours of business. I personally have never understood why people who are some of the best-salaried in the world are paid "sitting allowances" to show up at their places of work: Sh. 5,000 and at times double if you sit on certain committees. That is a level of ridiculousness that needs a different time and place to answer.

As usual, the MPs have come out in force to address the usual uproar that arises with such blatant greed; and of course the usual arguments will be made, but one specific argument has consistently been touted: the need to cater for funerals for their constituents. On the rare occasion that I recently watched the evening news, I saw 2 MPs talk about how they are invited to so many funerals, and the mourners expect them to donate money towards funding funeral logistics like transport, food, etc. I was boiling inside, but the kicker came when one randomly separately interviewed constituent remarked that the MPs  deserved to have their emoluments increased simply because they provide money at funerals.

Kenya certainly has a strange relationship with death and funerals, which certainly makes us worthy of the descriptor "Peculiar". People may be reviled or neglected during the time that they are alive, but suddenly upon their deaths they become saints whose influence on our life cannot be overstated, and suddenly we realize that they will leave big gaps that cannot be filled.

1. I remember one patient who (during the course of my internship) sat in our female ward neglected for many weeks. Till today I don't understand why she was in a Gynaecology Ward because her symptoms seemed to suggest that she had a Liver/Bile Duct malignancy. In any case, I don't remember seeing any relatives visit, and there was no way to progress with her testing because that needed a lot of external tests, and expensive in-house tests that required cash upfront. Eventually, she succumbed to her illness; strangely, the very next day the family arrived wailing, cleared her hospital bill in one fell swoop, and took her "home".
   
2. I recall some events concerning the planning of my paternal grandfather's funeral. My mother had gone out into the town (Katito) to hire some chairs for the occasion. Some random young gentleman with political ambitions decided that he'd pay for the chairs so that he could have the chance to address the mourners; this didn't sit well with my mother who firmly turned him down and paid for the chairs out-of-pocket (as she had always intended).
   
   I remember that he still had the gall to show up at the funeral, and took to the podium to address the mourners. Since I do not understand my mother-tongue, everything he said basically went over my head; but disrespect is a cultural universal that anyone can understand, and to this day I still get angry thinking about that foolish man.
3.  Early this past July, there was furor raised by a bunch of politicians at the funeral of Pastor Shem Ngoko of the SDA Church; this was merely because they were not allowed to address the mourners during the ceremony. Even despite the express orders of the church, the politicians sought to insinuate themselves into the church proceedings where they would undoubtedly have uttered useless political rubbish.

Our politicians display a plethora of similar experiences to these mentioned above. Their main goal, however, is their need to get a cheap and readily available audience for them to practice their "snake-oil salesman" act. Some of the most ludicrous statements in the recent past have mostly been uttered at funerals. I don't know when we embraced the idea that it is acceptable to turn funerals into political rallies. The day is chiefly meant for family and those close to the deceased person to give them a dignified "send-off". The immediate family of the departed individual is accepted to be the party that requires the condoling and whose needs are prime.

Additionally, neither do I know when we started turning funerals into opulent occasions. Why would anyone feel the need to "keep up with the Joneses." There is not a hint of added dignity in the act of burying someone in a bulletproof gold casket, in the slaughter of a herd of cattle, or in the printing of t-shirts and keepsakes containing the deceased's image. We all acknowledge that we came from dust and to the dust we shall return, therefore we just need to do enough to honour one that has passed on; this should, however, never involve driving their kinfolk to lengths of desperation that will see them spending vast sums of money on something as transient as a funeral.

There are 2 simple lessons on offer here:

1. Politicians need to aim higher and stop lusting after "low-hanging" fruit. Why seek to endear yourselves to crowds of mourners at a funeral yet watch as children under your sphere of influence learn under trees, hospitals remain dilapidated and people continue to suffer from joblessness and hopelessness. If they lack the willpower to say "no", take a few lessons on how to say no nicely. 
2. People need to learn to live within their means, and this is especially relevant the less you have. The begging bowl mentality we espouse at the top in needlessly borrowing money to fund everything under the sun has worked its way down to the bottom. We as a people need to be disciplined and stop selling our civic rights to individuals for a pittance. Perhaps if we held our leaders to a higher standard at the grassroots level, they would be forced to prove themselves at the country and international level.

So to bring things full circle, Let the Dead bury the Dead! We need our politicians committed to the task of improving the general livelihood of all Kenyans, and preparing us to deal with the challenges posed by the 21st Century. Let them desist from this foolishness of lame excuses and utter greed, and let them do the task for which they were chosen. History will deal with them unkindly if they choose anything else.

God Bless

The Huduma Number Fiasco

You can obviously tell that I'm already peeved about this Huduma Number registration exercise. Just the manner in which it has been rolled out amid mystery and mistrust, and the immediate threats that have followed is an immediate cause for concern. However, before you go on to condemn me as some unpatriotic critic whose only intent is to curtail development, let me give you some reference for my misgivings.

Let's take it back to my medical internship, circa mid 2014. The government had suddenly become overwhelmed by its "ghost worker" problem, so they had decided that they would conduct a biometric registration program of its civil servants to fix the issue. So summarily, they decide that within a small window of time (~2 weeks in my recollection), all civil servants would have to be registered, or run the threat of not getting their salaries.

In my mind I'm thinking "what the hell is this?" I had been posted to Kisii Hospital in May that year, reported on June 1st, received my paperwork that I needed to present to the Ministry of Health (at Afya House) on June 2nd; after making all the submission of the required data, I had reported back to my work station on June 8th and started working. So they basically had all my fresh data,  but now we were going to add biometrics. Well, when threats abound, you just make your peace with the situation and try to find time in your schedule for such things.

This registration turned out to be a little tricky. The hospital served as a registration centre for some days (not given out in advance), then there was the functionality of the biometric registration kits (questionable), and the speed of the exercise. I remember that the most convenient time for me to register fell on the morning right after I had been on the night shift during my surgical rotation; hence, I made up my mind to show up for the registration early the next morning before I departed for home. Morning rolls in and I get down to the designated area (close to the cafeteria), and I find a large line has formed. There are some clinical and other hospital staff in the queue, but, surprisingly, the bulk of the people in line are other county workers from Lord knows where.

The registration workers arrive and the exercise starts. It moves slowly: only 2 of the 3 biometric registration kits are working. Then the usual tomfoolery ensues with grown men and women just cutting in line or being mysteriously moved ahead of others unceremoniously. By 12pm, I still wasn't any closer to being registered, and I was basically running on fumes from a busy night shift. I cut my losses and decided to head on home, and try my luck on a different day. The rest of the day turned out to be a similar nightmare: lights went out, meaning I couldn't charge my phone which also dabbled as my alarm; I thus overslept past my reporting time of 8pm, waking up to multiple missed calls from fellow interns once I eventually plugged in and charged my phone. (In retrospect, this might be one of the reasons that I had supplementary weeks added to my surgical rotation).

I eventually had to get myself registered at the county offices some time later (as usual, the date for the exercise had had to be extended), and life went on as it should...but I was pretty sure that the ghost worker issue would rear its ugly head again

All of a sudden, in 2019, we apparently have ghost workers in the Police Force. I'm not exactly sure if Police count as civil servants, and neither am I sure whether they were expected to be registered during that last (eventful) program of 2014, which was of course run under this same Jubilee Administration. This all boils down to the same thing: we have a mediocre set of systems that have been set up to manage us. A proper management system would register employees, make regular updates to cater for changes in their status/upgrades, and lastly account for attrition in the work force, occurring through resignation, dismissal or retirement. The fact that we have ghost workers masquerading in the system merely means that the system is not being regularly updated (to weed out past employees), or someone with a higher level clearance is introducing bogus data into the system. Needless to say, the majority of the good hardworking people will suffer for problems originating from levels that are "way above our pay grades."

So now we have the Huduma Number, our Saviour-du-jour. As with all things of this generation, we are first reminded that it is digital and biometric; in addition, it is meant to bring together all disparate data and numbers that are essentially tied to each Kenyan, and basically make life easier. This isn't really anything new. I remember that some time before the most recent elections, some government spokesperson had shown up on TV and spoken of the need for a new card (and number) to oversee our other numbers. And even then I had still thought it was a ridiculous idea.


I actually managed to get my hands on one of the forms in advance, and I was able to start filling it out, but the only details I was missing were the expiry date of my passport and my driving license number. Looking at the form is simply infuriating because it just makes you realize that you've already filled in these details on multiple prior occasions when registering for your NSSF, NHIF, KRA and even driving license. And here's the kicker: you needed your ID card to register for all those other cards!

Anyway, filling out the form was easy enough, with the exception of these administrative divisions (county, sub-county et al.) which are pretty much a foreign concept to me. After it's all filled out, you have to sit and wait in line for your turn to be registered using the biometric capturing kits. Fortunately, I was being registered at my place of work and did not have to face the prospect of standing in a ridiculously long queue. Understand that the time it's taking for people to be registered is more along the average mark of 15 minutes, and there are some outliers that are even exceeding 30 minutes. That means that for every 4 people ahead of you in line, you should expect to wait about 1 hour if only one registration officer is working, or 30 minutes if you have 2 registration officers on duty. And that's hoping that the machines work the way they are supposed to! Rumours abound of the biometric kits being unable to capture biometric data if their battery charge dips below the 40% mark. Forget about that ease of registration display they show you when they register the President and other high ranking politicians. That is the demo version. You, on the other hand, are guaranteed to have a more tedious and nerve-racking time when you settle down for the process.

However, since this is Kenya, more frustration abounds when people fail to show common courtesy. How on earth do people grow up to be full blown adults and never ever learn to queue properly? People are already on edge because of the length of time the whole process takes, and the usual bunch of hiccups that ensue. Nothing grates the nerves more than seeing someone mosey up to the front of the line like they're entitled royalty. At our registration centre, someone had the foresight to draw up a register to keep track of people's order of arrival. This came in handy because we ended up switching to a larger room, and that kept things from devolving into free-for-all chaos.

The process itself merely consists of having everything transferred from the form to the Biometric kit, having your picture and finger prints taken, and also having pictures taken of some of the documents that you bring along with you. I think it only took 10 minutes to have my stuff over and done with. I can attest that my registration officer was a pretty stand-up guy...but then they did show up at 8.30 am instead of the previously stated 7.00 am.

Anyway, I have a little acknowledgment slip as proof that I've actually gone through the process. It still doesn't change my misgiving about the whole process. I don't really think this will improve anything. Sure there's all that talk of improved service delivery and rooting out ghost workers, but if this was something that was meant to be taken seriously they'd have started out with some civic education. Some people might try to explain it as the Kenyan citizenry being propelled into the future with a new digital number; this will basically save us the hustle of needing a whole bunch of other cards and numbers that are currently part and parcel of our daily lives. In theory, that would seem intelligent...if it weren't for the fact that our ID cards are already a key field item: they are basically the singular item tying us to our passports, KRA pins, NSSF and NHIF cards, and even our driving licenses. Someone may argue that the IDs may not be digital, but then the simpler solution would be for them to issue a New Generation ID card, and make sure that this time it is machine-readable. (the last generation ID card already included capturing of biometric parameters).

The common mwananchi is even more confused about what this new number will be able to do. Thanks to threats from government allied officials, people basically think that they won't be able to get bank cards, or perhaps that they may lose their cell phone numbers, or that they won't be able to register for things like passports (my personal fear). Sometimes in this country, unfounded fears can be something you should really consider seriously. I'm just thinking of the government clerks who will unduly frustrate people using this Huduma number as some sort of sifting criteria. These Hudumu Number cards won't even be ready for the next foreseeable couple of months (at least 3 - 6), and we will still need to use our IDs for most things, but one should never assume government offices are places where sound reason abides.

It's business as usual in this country. We haven't even passed legislation that's guaranteed to protect our data and honour our privacy. The politicians wrongly think that this matter is handled with as much carelessness as they form their political vehicles of the day: come up with the party first, then eventually tack some sort of manifesto and meaning much later on. Too much politics and tenderpreneurship has seen us sacrifice the soul of this nation for the vested interest of a few individuals. Politicians the world over are more likely to implement something new (affording them the chance to attend lavish ceremonies with ribbon-cutting theatrics) rather than retooling or fixing an old FUNCTIONAL system. The wisdom of the old saying still stands:

It is better to measure ten times and cut once than to measure once and cut 10 times

Any sort of critical thinking would convince anyone that this operation is half-baked; why else would they need to resort to the lowest form of manipulation  - intimidation - to get this pushed through? Kenyans are not an abrasive bunch of folk who merely routinely oppose the government for kicks - we can be reasoned with. The courts have tried to protect us from this hasty government decree, but this current government is renowned for ignoring court orders and bulldozing their way forward. The likelihood is that reason and justice will not prevail here.

However, there just might be some light at the end of the tunnel. I believe that the veracity of the data can be maintained beyond this exercise. This Huduma Number can eventually be written out of our collective consciousness, and we can get the ideal ID card we've been longing for. Fundamental to all this would be the fact that we build up a foundation of institutions and systems of integrity that will safeguard the dignity of the people of Kenya, and root out all the "conflict of interest" that is sucking our lifeblood dry. The land and people of Kenya will outlive the prevailing politics and trends of the day, and thus, we owe them something congruent to that. The glow and trappings of new technology will not be our saviour: a culture of integrity and respect for justice is all we really need, and something we will eventually get.

God Bless

 

Reasons Why Matatu Culture Needs to Die!

Lord knows there's no love lost between me and the matatu industry, especially now that I've spent enough time behind the steering wheel of a car to know how infinitely hazardous they are on the roads. However, for a little reference, I will give you an experience from my time spent in China

Anyone who's been to China will no doubt be familiar with the dynamics of things during the Spring Festival (their Lunar New Year Celebrations). Things in a lot of places can come to a literal standstill as people travel to their hometowns for the celebrations, literally turning some locales into ghost towns. Such was the scenario I faced in Chashan, Wenzhou, which was the location for our university town. Well, as luck would have it, while everyone was disappearing for the holidays, I still had to commute to the city for my internship -commitments at the hospital. I remember setting off one morning, and there were only about 3 other commuters on the bus. The bus driver dutifully stopped at each bus stop, and kept time. I think there were never more than 10 commuters on that bus, but we suffered no delays and business went on as usual 

Compare this to the typical Kenyan scenario that takes place on the weekends, in my case on Sundays.

Kenya is a not a unique case when it comes to the issue of Matatus. Just the other day, someone made it known to me that even South Africa has something akin to the matatu industry; I remember my Ghanaian friends mentioning "Tro Tros", and even remarking about how glad they were that bus fares down in Wenzhou wouldn't suddenly shoot up for no apparent reason during the rainy season (exploiting people is definitely a cultural universal).

Personally, growing up in Kenya in the 80s was a diametrically different experience. Matatus were something of a rarity; we actually had a functioning Bus system (the Kenya Bus Service - KBS), which had been in play for the longest time. It had a wide reaching and functional network, with clearly laid out fares and bus times (unbeknownst to me, it was a private company). I don't think I even entered a matatu before the mid 90s. One would wonder why matatus were actually introduced when the formal bus system was doing such a good job of getting commuters to their destinations so efficiently. As with all things in Kenya, the reason was Greed. As I've heard it explained, seeking to capitalize on the transport industry, government officials in Jomo Kenyatta's government sought his permission to introduce the vehicles as an extra source of income. (Perhaps it was linked to someone's acquiring of a Nissan Urvan tender - tenderpreneurship has always run deep in this country). Never truly fully legislated, the matatu industry went on to grow in prominence like a cancer.

It was very sad that the Kenya Bus Company went on to flounder in the latter part of the 90s. For a private company with all its resources and reputation which was practically ingrained into Kenyan psyches to fail so dramatically was something of a miracle. However, after having dealt with a slew of such mishaps in the recent memorable past (Uchumi, Nakumatt), it has become increasingly clear that the issue is always mismanagement; sometimes it is merely mismanagement with an aim of scuttling a business so as to make it easier to establish a similar business in the same market space. At least, this appears to be what George Thuo did as he rose through the ranks at KBS, and then left it to form his own transport company - City Hoppa.

With few exceptions, attempts to regulate the matatu industry have really been failures. The "Michuki Rules" seemed to be a step in the right direction, but those truly only worked because they were one man's Iron-willed affront (backed by the President) to a practically rogue entity. The matatus initially rose up defiantly and went on a massive strike, but Hon. Michuki stuck to his guns and business sense prevailed. "The Michuki Rules" were not perfect, but they were a start in the right direction.  Only problem is that President Kibaki followed this massive success by moving Hon. Michuki to the Ministry of Environment and replaced him with Amb. Ali Mwakwere. The gains made under Hon. Michuki were eroded almost immediately, but the death knell happened during one moment Kenyans vividly remember: as usual, the Ministry of Transport had deployed its familiar routine of mounting roadside operations to put the matatus in check; shortly afterwards, Amb. Mwakwere called off the operation, citing the fact that even he as a matatu owner was suffering. After that, the plummet back to sheer lawlessness is history.

Recently, parliamentarians have been calling for a resumption of the "Michuki Rules" on our roads in order to try to bring some sanity to the transport industry. In my opinion, this is a rather lazy course of action. The "Michuki Rules"had their time and place: what they really were was a symbol that matatus could be controlled if the right kind of pressure was applied. However, they were not perfect and needed to be revised. Two immediate revisions are as follows:

1.  There is no need to outlaw standing in buses. The world over, people stand in buses: the buses are actually designed for it
   Solution: Dedicated Bus Rapid Transit (BRT) lanes coupled with larger buses would both help to ease traffic jams and aid in shuttling passengers to their destinations.
2. Wearing seatbelts in a bus is unnecessary.
   I realized this might have been a way for them to ensure that only a specific number of passengers were carried within a vehicle, but it is actually a safety hazard. People surmise that seatbelts will help in case of an accident, but the opposite is true. First off, the seatbelts have only been retrofitted, not designed with the specific vehicle from the beginning. Second, the seatbelts are usually poorly-adjusted, which was a reason why so many of them hang down to the floor, picking up all manner of dirt that will end up deposited on your clothing. Third, what exactly are you tethering the passenger to? The seats in our matatus are merely welded to the sheet metal that lightly sits on top of the chassis, and when an accident arises, the seats just tumble like dominoes, effectively trapping you under a cascade of chairs. The seatbelt would only further impede your ability to be extricated from such a wreck.
   
   In the short time that I worked at an Orthopaedic Department, I saw 2 leg fractures that arose from 2 matatu accidents with a similar scenario to the one listed above. Talking to engineers and orthopaedic surgeons will only make you aware of how precarious the situation really is.
   
   Solution: the institutions in-charge really have to tackle this from the start - ensuring proper body construction, and that the matatus are driven within proper speed limits.

I am sincerely amazed at the carelessness of matatu drivers on the road. The other day, as I was driving,  I witnessed a matatu basically force someone to swerve off the road to avoid an impending calamity. I can remember one policeman remarking during my driving license test that "Matatu drivers are probably the best drivers because they know all the rules, and thus how to skirt around them." His point was basically a rebuttal of the assumption that roads could be made safer by forcing matatu drivers to retake driving licensing tests, because they would basically pass them without any issues.

However, I'm reaching out to a higher ideal here. We cannot continue to have the most reckless foolhardy drivers transporting the majority of our populace and not expect a high level calamity to occur...it is just insane. I've ridden in buses in both the US and China, and can without a doubt attest that the bus drivers are the safest drivers on the roads. That especially comes in handy in a place like China because most other road users are resounding lunatics. I remember one time seeing a college student on a scooter just calmly merge carelessly onto a road, cutting off a bus driver, and forcing the driver to stop dramatically. Having a matatu in the hands of a reckless driver is basically turning the matatu into an armed missile; hurtling at neck breaking speed, it really is just a petrol bomb aimed at innocent bystanders and fellow road users, and also likely a sarcophagus for its passengers. We need to take the "maximum number of trips = maximum profits" away from the industry so that we can focus on safety and sanity. 

However, matatu culture is not merely the preserve of matatus; the whole transport industry also sadly indulges in it. I have a big issue with matatus stopping all over the place. One day a driver must just have been trying to test my patience: he stopped in the middle of the road to drop off a passenger; then, I kid you not, he drove 15 metres ahead and pulled off into a bus stop to pick up a few passengers!!! However, driving along some roads, it's very easy to notice that there is not one single designated bus stop for public service vehicles to pull into. Therefore, is it any wonder that matatus are so unruly if even the authorities cannot provide such simple fixes.

In the same vein, it has always been a foolish idea to use the police to enforce these "traffic operations". I was disgusted at how diligent officers appeared to be about stopping matatus once the "Michuki Rules" were re-introduced, yet they were the same ones previously abetting matatus in their bad behaviour so long as they got a bribe. At one previous point, I remember passing as many as 18 policemen scattered between 3 checkpoints on my early morning commute, and that didn't count for any sort of deterrence because perilous matatu driving was the norm. It is an infinitely foolish idea to underpay an entire rung of essential service personnel, and expect them to act honourably. Add to this the fact that Kenya lacks any sort of effective "Conflict of Interest" laws and you end up with politicians (the likes of Amb. Mwakwere) and even the very policemen who are supposed to protect us indulging in the very industry that they are meant to surveil.

We really have to go back to basics in order to deal with this colossal mess. Nairobi Senator Johnson Sakaja believes that the answer is for the government to provide a metro system that he feels could be profitable, which I feel is a bit misguided. Governments the world over heavily subsidize metro systems, to the point of incurring visible losses just so that they can ensure that people are efficiently shuttled to their destinations. It all balances out in the end because everyone knows that enduring traffic jams pose a financial impediment, as well as contributing additional stress and health hazards to the populace sitting in traffic. Quite simply speaking, there is no room for matatus and "matatu culture" in the considerations of a well-functioning Kenya; maybe as just a vestigial accessory, but not as the principal means of transporting our people around.

I wish Pres. Kenyatta would pursue this issue with more vigour than he does the SGR (Standard Gauge Railway). The SGR probably won't even be profitable before his term in office ends; however, 1 - 2 years of consistent attention paid to public transportation would have fully borne all its fruit. The question is whether anyone's really thinking about this issue; our slumbering Members of Parliament are simply slapping an outdated band-aid on a system that they've never even bothered to understand because they've never had to use it.

God Almighty, please show us the way 

Discipline

I have been mulling over this topic for a while, and now it's just something I have to get out there. However, for the sake of making a few things clear in this post, I need to juxtapose 2 memories (for the first time no less) to serve as a useful reference point.

The first memory is pulled from 'orientation week' at Daystar University in late 2001. Now, I've called upon that time period once before, but I think it is begging for a revisit. On one of the allotted days, the University Registrar - Mrs. Arao (my very own mother) - addressed us. Granted, she did address us on more than one occasion that week, I am reminded of the first speech that she prepared for us. I can't really remember the specifics, but I'll never forget the topic: Discipline. Discipline was supposed to make all the difference between how we utilized our time, all the resources our parents (guardians) had invested into our studies, etc to make our stay at Daystar, and our time beyond university fruitful. From what I know of my mother's professional demeanour, she's never been one to take an authoritarian stance; but students rued having to meet up with her in her office if it involved academic missteps. Turned out to be many a trepid time for a few students, but it was merely her enforcing her guiding principle of discipline, which, suffice it to say, if you didn't learn it at school, you'd eventually have to learn from the world.

The second memory comes to you courtesy of an annoyance that I'm sure many a Kenyan faced in the 90s: dealing with KPTC (Kenya Posts & Telecommunications Corporation). This was before the advent of mobile telephony, so the best way to stay connected was by having a landline. This came with a few problems, one of which was problematic connectivity, and even worse than that was that the billing proved to be a huge nightmare. I remember there being times when our phone would be out of service for huge swathes of time, yet come month's end we would receive an astronomical bill. I remember once going to their offices to protest an unjust bill, and all they could tell me was that the system recorded us as having used the specific amount of units, and there was no way to verify those units. My pleas that the phone had not been working for most of the month, and that barely anyone was in the house making calls to rack up such a high bill fell on deaf airs. In the end, they concluded that we just pay the bill or risk having our phone service terminated.

This whole year has been an irritating reminder of how bad politics is for the Kenyan psyche. Not that it's restricted to this year alone; rather, it has come to a head this year. Constant electioneering at the expense of development, and now, after a bungled election which has put us on the world map, there continue to be shenanigans aplenty that threaten to draw us towards a dangerous stalemate in the course of the week. In my experience, I believe that all Kenya's woes boil down to one thing: Discipline, or rather, lack of it.

There seems to be a rather prevalent rallying cry these days (not exactly sure when it became so fashionable), but if you live here, you've probably become accustomed to it by now:

"Accept and Move on!" 

As it has been used for the current political situation, people will tell you that it is to ensure the safety and integrity of our country; things may not be perfect, but we can eventually work on resolving them later.

On the surface, it might appear that it's a well meaning sentiment, but at its core it's just a call for Kenyans to settle down and accept the current mediocrity. If you pressed people further, they'd probably regale you with a sentiment along the lines of,

"Y'know, Kenya is a very stable place; things could always be worse...it's not like we're in Somalia or something of the sort!" 

First off, Kenya has enjoyed a favourable position for the longest time, but laxity and indiscipline could knock it off its high perch at any point if we're not careful. Next, I don't get why there's so much panic about our current situation. People are acting as if not having a president will doom us to extinction. Short of going to war, or some dastardly terrorist emergency that would require the imposition of Martial law, this country  and its people will live very peacefully. The inauguration of a prior president under the cover of dusk in 2007 is something that is still fresh in many of our minds. I didn't have the option to watch that particular inauguration because I was in China at the time, and I believe it also coincided with the "Media Blackout of 2007/08", but it is a very shameful part of our collective history.

I'm tired, as are many Kenyans, of the constant politicking that never really came to a close after the last election in 2013. I was hoping to have some semblance of peace, maybe even return to reading newspapers and watching News after the August 8th elections, but that was not to be. Our Independent Electoral & Boundaries Commission (IEBC) presided over an election whose results it cannot defend, and which summarily ended up being annulled by the Supreme Court. I just wish the Supreme Court hadn't been hasty in deciding that we needed to have another election a mere 60 days after they tossed out the previous election's results because I am pretty sure that the IEBC has not resolved the issues that characterized the last fumble. I'm also pretty sure that a whole host of people are criminally liable for some things that went down, and now we're merrily sailing in the same boat with those very same individuals who have atoned for nothing.


People might suggest I am being outright political because of partisan issues, but that is far from the truth. I can't lie: the current administration has nothing to offer me (as a medical professional) as it has single-handedly bungled the handling of the medical crises that have befallen the country (which is a treatise for another day); other than that, their record on handling corruption is deplorable. But there's something more: like it or not, every one of us is a political being because we contribute a fair amount of our income to this country in form of our taxes. None of this is by choice (the money having already been taken right out of our cheques and factored into the goods we purchase), but it is a necessity we bear understanding that the money will be put towards doing something useful for our society; something, which, neither of us could achieve on our own. Therefore, to paraphrase the old saying,

"I pay taxes therefore I am political"

Politicians are probably the most selfish class of individual we have, but they are human beings after all. I don't subscribe to the school of thought that suggests we have to have good people/Christians/angels etc. in power so that we can have good governance; rather, I believe in a system of checks and balances that makes it so hard for people to act in their usual selfish ways, such that it actually forces them to be good. Lord knows here in Kenya we've done our fair share to put in these checks and balances: a new constitution, Devolution, and plethora upon plethora of commissions and bodies that are supposed to protect the common mwananchi. Best intentions notwithstanding, we really have very little to show for all these measures, and I'm including the recent decision from the Supreme Court as one of the saving graces.

What irks me the most is the amount of money that has been wasted. The IEBC went through a huge sum of money to guarantee us a credible election via high tech servers, tamper proof ballot papers, biometrics and top notch communication; to find ourselves befuddled by the end results really calls into question whether we wouldn't better off just using the old manual system. It was actually easier to rig the old system, but at least it saved us all an enormous expense. And to add insult to injury, the reconstituted IEBC stands accused of shenanigans the likes of which brought down its previous occupants: purchasing a whole bunch of satelite phones (none of which worked, and probably at rates more exorbitant than the basic market rate) and single tender sourcing.

The IEBC might look like a culprit, but it is not alone; our commissions and statutory bodies remain unable to shield us from Kenyans without any moral authority whatsoever to rule over us. Hate speech runs unabated, with serial offenders strutting across the land guilt-free, even when televised recordings of their utterances exist for all to see. The Salaries and Remuneration Commission (SRC) sits impotent as the Members of Parliament (MPs) will most likely undo recommendations that the SRC put in place to harmonize runaway salaries and benefits, and tame the wage bill. I don't even have a clue who is supposed to represent the mwananchi when state machinery is blatantly used in campaigns

Like it or not, this indiscipline (fiscal or otherwise) is the cancer that eats away at the soul of the republic day after day. A mere fraction of the money whittled away by corruption could easily have addressed the medical crises, providing enough money to adequately compensate all medical staff cadres...even Teachers and the Police ; more money could be used to cushion the majority of our vulnerable population who are merely one medical emergency away from being rendered bankrupt. The same money could also be plowed into industries (novel, struggling or thriving) to guarantee that the youth of this country could be involved in some form of gainful employment. Our politicians seem overjoyed at being able to drum up massive crowds of people for mid-week rallies, but all I see is a ticking time bomb. The same people who have all that time to sit at rallies and soak up the "doctrine of the day" are for the most part impressionable and have nothing to lose. When all that desperate energy is whipped into a frenzy, we will all reap the whirlwind. With nothing to lose, they will turn on the very business folk, businesses, factories, etc. that are meant to help us put food on the table.

There are no easy fixes for the mess that we've gotten ourselves into, but there is a path back from the precipice: we have no choice but to become disciplined. I wish our leaders could be the ones to lead the way, but it seems like even in times of crises they still do not feel the need to make the hard decisions. Which pretty much just leaves it up to us, the common folk, to take up discipline as our mantra. It has to be something that we strive for and render unto our children, or those over whom we have influence. We need to make it something that can strongly be associated with being Kenyan as we oft romanticize "Bushido" with Japan or "Excellence" with German machinery. We have already tasted mediocrity in our past; it's finally time to embrace our greatness.

God Bless.

 

ELECTION DAY

Considering how much ambivalence I've encountered among my fellow Kenyans when I ask them about voting, I'm still pretty psyched. This happens to the first time I've actually been able to vote out of the 4 times that I've been eligible. Don't count it as a dereliction of civic duty on my part; I've just never been around for the previous elections. So I definitely didn't want to miss my chance. I even got my voter's card way before the deadline hit (a surprise for a typical procrastinator like myself). Wasn't too happy at the Independent Electoral and Boundaries Commission's (IEBC) decision to ask people to report back to their voting stations for verification (as if I didn't provide all the necessary details first time around), but they saved face by making the verification an SMS/Online affair. Thanks to this, I even knew beforehand which line I would be in during the voting exercise: No. 11 at the PCEA Enchorro Emuny Primary School in Ngong!

So all I had to do was bide my time and prepare for the day at hand. So today I was up by 4.30 am, done with preparations and out of the house by 5.45 am. Fearing for the worst with regards to my car, I made arrangements to park it within a family friend's compound, which was a convenient 3 minute walk from the voting station. As I drove, it was quite the sight to behold: cars parked along the roadside in droves, and an amorphous massing of people at the school gate. The IEBC had assured people that it would really be an easy process whereby we would just walk in and we'd be shown into which lines we were supposed to queue, so I thought the process would be easy. I was wrong!

So, I walked into the school compound, under the cover of darkness, and just run into total pandemonium. Lines of people as far as the eye can see, and very little indication as to where I was supposed to go. Started to look for an official, but they were few and far-in-between. I had saved a PDF of my voter details, so I had it on my phone screen for easy reference. By the time I did find an official, he just pointed me off to some far off corner and went on his merry way. So, Plan B: walk up to people in lines and find out what specific line they were in. For reference, the IEBC chose the first letter of the first name appearing in your ID as the signifier for the line that you would queue in.

Casting my gaze further afield, I could just barely make out some numbers on classroom doors; so, I just had to look for the door labelled 11. Trust you me, this had already taken all of 15 minutes. But, it wasn't the end. Lines 11 - 13 were actually located on the upper level of the school building, with, up until that point, no obvious observable staircase leading to the polling stations. After asking around, finally settled into one line that I believed was a combination 11/12/13 line; I was relieved of this notion when one Administration Police Officer (AP) walked by, and told us that Line 11 was actually separate from 12/13, which saw me move ahead.

Once I was sure I was in the right line (knock on wood), I was sure that the only thing I'd have to endure was an appreciable wait....but there was more than that. First off, the upper level of that school building was the things that'd make an Emergency Preparedness Coordinator cringe: only one stairwell packed to the brim by the two lines of individuals ascending; a few stragglers milling through the middle, some genuinely geriatric, invalid or with child, and others lost or trying to skip the queue; and to cap it off, this was also the only exit for people who had cast their votes.

The permutations for all the things that could have gone disastrously wrong within that scenario are baffling. Having just completed some Life Support Training courses, I tried to imagine how that understaffed voting station would have dealt with someone suffering a fainting spell, heart attack, etc. My biggest gripe is with the building design specifically. Even on an ordinary school day, if a fire breaks out or a panic arises because of an "explosion", students will basically be trampled in a stampede through that one narrow stairwell. Sometimes we only ever survive because of God's grace because we fail to plan for the simplest eventualities; and as one of my Surgical Consultants (Dr. Oigara) always used to say,

Failing to plan is planning to fail      

Of course when you've been in a line for a prolonged period of time, the shady Kenyan characters start to crop up. I'm talking blatant line-cutters, ladies using the ruse of carrying the same child so that they can basically rock up to the line ahead of everyone else; and then they're those irritating characters in the back of the line who act like those ahead of them are slowing down the line, as if we ever had any possibility of influencing the events ahead of us. (these are probably the same impatient individuals who cause a fuss during traffic jams).

So it basically took me 3 hours and 50 minutes to complete this simple task. Mind you, many people tell me that conditions were better this time around. If I'm led to believe that the IEBC has actually learned from its mistakes and performed better this time around, then it would be something of a quantum leap to expect them to have a trouble free election anytime soon. I recognize that they have had some unique challenges this time around (being reconstituted afresh, having their IT Manager murdered, constant court challenges), but some logistical issues are not hard to solve.

First off, they've got to view the voters as mere monkeys, Sheep, or Children, if you please. We are basically showing up to an alien environment, and we are definitely bound to be confused. Their main function is to:

1. get us in line
2. get us into the voting booth to cast our votes
3. get us out so we can go on our merry way without making a nuisance of ourselves

And for Heaven's sake, they need to have a dry-run before the election day so that they can test the system out. Hoping for things to fall into place without any practice when 1000+ sheeple rock up to the spot is impossible. Barring any technical difficulties from their biometric system, they could probably shave off at least one hour from everyone's wait time.

Anyway, the day's done and nothing unbecoming has happened. I'm hoping to just be able to sit things out at home, and hope all things turn out peacefully. At the end of the day, come what may, peace and a normal semblance of life is what we crave for. We can sort out the other political stuff later.

God Bless.