Boniface Mwangi we are on to you…. 

So today I was walking past town hurrying to catch a bus at Kencom stage, if you know 4W route you’d understand my haste. As I crossed over Moi avenue from our ancient Kenya National Archives building onto Kencom, I froze for a moment. Not due to the pretty Nairobi ladies crossing alongside me, not even due to the crazy cars dotting our roads, ok maybe a little. It was Boniface Mwangi, stalled in this very old Mitsubishi SUV, KA… sth plates.

You see it’s a Sunday and as is custom in our nation today is a day where: firstly the faithful visit their churches, to faithfully execute their mandate as Christians and secondly and more fun a day to spend quality time with family, after a long week of busy schedules, deadlines and pursuing money. We all sit back and enjoy the fruits of our labour with family. Here’s where the lines are drawn, between the haves and the have nots, where some of us prefer to fly to the white Malindi beaches for the weekend and some resign to a simple 2kg nyamachoma treat from their local
In our all too familiar fashion, our ‘Waheshimiwa’ have always claimed the former status, going to as far as globe trotting for holidays. We, the common mwananchi, have been left to enjoy the joys that come with a humble home. This has particularly developed within me a certain disgust to our crop of leaders, with their fuel guzzlers and pot bellies. I find myself hating by default, bet it’s brain memory, you know like the much famed muscle memory.

So here I am in an election year, 2017, actively participating in political debates, my fury rising and dropping with the happenings in parliament, getting worked up by the apparent lack of quality leaders and the few available overwhelmed by the rest. Theft dotting our national and county governments alike. Leaders getting discredited in one way or another. In these murky political landscape, I stand there bazing at one of my social justice heroes, Biniface Mwangi. An aspiring Mp for Starehe constituency, everything about him is right. He fights for truth, fights for justice, organizes protests against leaders passing uninclusive laws and runs a youth empowerment program.

This all seems ok and great, but before I smile and raise my hand and wave at this future Mp, I would like to inform him of something; that most of our padt and current politicians started off just as he is doing, humble with right until the sit within the august house, and all changes. Suddenly the chaperone of the people turns into the proverbial fox feeding on her charges. All good, well meaning individuals turn sour, unapologetically, too much so that the few that perform catch the public eye. Seems as if the seat is cursed a last resort of the white colonial masters before they gathered their belongings and took off to their countries.

Our new entrants in the political arena, remember where you come from, the faith you carry with you, the wave you ride. Be wary of the evil that infects those who seat in that house, those we call leaders and seem to own the title a little bit too much. Those who turn and steal our property shamelessly. To Boniface and the new comers, congratulations on the courage hope you make change and don’t thrust us in another 30years of enduring financial scandals and economic stagnation.

2017 Elections: The Rot! 

2017 elections: “Party leaders at a rally tell the people “Register as voters so that you can determine the people you want as your leaders” At the same rally, the same leader turns to the aspirants and tells them, “Even if you loose,”serikali ni kubwa, tutakutafutia nafasi hapo.”


This isn’t rocket science, neither is it too much the Queen’s language for us to call that spelling professor from tv, to help us out. We all know what is happening, what they mean and what they are doing. And you laugh when a leader openly says “pumbavu tuuuu…..” on the dais.

Lemme take a step back and unravel the mystery that is full speed headed for a collision course with us Kenyans. I have tried to stay away from it too long, kept my sentiment to myself as a true Kenyan would do, never wanting to adulterate anyone’s beliefs or political opinion. I guess I was raised well (proud of it by the way) and wouldn’t, for the life of me, go out there in public (or as it is in our time:online) and start name calling and shaming anyone for their slips, mistakes, bad behavior and more intolerable acts. Especially at a time set by our forefathers: cast by their pain and death, preserved by their blood and sweat, to ensure our prosperity as a nation, a true depiction of our freedom of choice!! ELECTIONS. Free, fair elections are coming up!

I believe we all need to air our views, after all that’s what we bought with thousands of deaths while fighting for our freedom! All alike, the poor, rich , middleclass, even the class less people who seem to have and not have at the same time or those of us who would be flaunting gold bracelets at one time and begging the next time. All equal votes, the process should be free and fair; call it a holy time for people to reflect into the past decades and decide what kind of leadership they would want! A process that should be respected, actually revered within our borders, where no manner of belittling, misdirection or manipulation should be telorated.

A picture comes to mind from my past, over one of those Christmas morning cartoon movies, where the kingdom looks on at a coronation process. All in awe ready to bow down when the mantle passes from King to the all deserving and loved Prince. None of the noble men jeer at the process, despite their reservations of the new King.
Respect!! Loyalty!! Honor!! Is what we lack!

That a leader may stand infront of thousands and utter such nonsensical words and still find it ok is an insult to the dreams and aspirations of those that established this nation! A spit in the face at the electorate, the millions of us. This momentous occasion that we all brace for, this moment that defines us more and more every half a decade, one that is to show the world of our progressive minds is being taken lightly.


Our current crop of leaders have decided to replace honor with bafoonery, have decided to replace progressive politics with cheap shots below the belt, respect with careless remarks and insults. Dear Kenyans, our dais of freedom of which we boast, kn which we stand on aloof as a sovereign state, proud to conquer the world! That dais has children playing on it, little boys and girls peeing and defacating on it, playing ‘tap that’. The children have found their way into every corner, into the judicial corner, parliamentary corner and even the executive corner. Shame! Shame! SHAME on you leaders.

As the hopeless feeling of lack of choice, as the creeping realization that there is no good option set before you, dear Voter! Do not forget that voting is the voice you have, keeping quiet only loudens the deceitful’s voices.

Take a vote, speak loud and clear!! And I don’t mean that piece of paper being dished out by the IEBC agents, know that your real vote is your voice, your sentiments your social media posts, sentiments when in a group of fellow countrymen discussing national matters. So walk proud that you have a voice and flash it responsibly, do not give it out to whoever is charming enough on a dais.


Kenyans Against Tribalism 

I celebrate Journalists that fight for truth, equality and Peace, with time this traits seem all the more rare. Here’s a post by Biko Adema. I wouldn’t dare edit a word, read through and meditate on it.

*Serious Read for ALL Kenyans By Biko*

So as weird as this might sound I dreamt about that story, not in the way I will describe it but roughly. The clearest part of my dream was of a tanker in the middle of Kenyatta Avenue, right at that intersection of Koinange Street, it’s long cold snout pointing towards GPO. The whole street was deserted, not a single soul in sight, a breeze blew loose leaflets down the vacant streets.

There were stones on the roads and all sorts of debris; shoes, spent teargas canisters, handbags, lipgloss rolled towards drainages, an open notebook facing down, a teddy bear, mobile phones that had been trampled on, broken spectacles, a child’s lone black shoe, motorbikes felled on their sides, napping in this ensued melee, hats, a novel by Clancy and plastic water bottles. There were cars parked in their spots with windscreen caved in, some with doors swung open as if waiting for an important person to walk out of a building. Nobody came. Nobody will come. The buildings were hollow with emptiness, broken windows, naked mannequins, their clothes stolen from their unresisting stiff plastic limbs. When I looked up, over the skyline towards Eastlands area, black smoke bellowed into the sky. If you listened keenly you could hear a faint scream, like the sound of a strange bird. A chopper whirred away in the horizon.
The air was rent with burnt rubber and fear and desolation. KICC, now a mockery of development, stood out for once, hunched in this emptiness. Our Parliament – the theater of comedy – sat silent for once. A few military guys leaned on their cars smoking cigarettes and laughing at a joke.
The entrance of Intercon Hotel was bare of that tall elegant doorman who stands there in uniform, he would not be bowing to anyone. If you walked into the foyer you’d be met by broken glass and a bunch of lone suitcases that would never connect with their owners. Down the street, a half drunk bottle of Yamazaki sat on the counter of The Exchange Bar at The Stanley. At Nation Center, the military stood guard with guns. Traffic lights blinked amber.
Tom Mboya street was a ghost town – a transistor radio played Kameme loudly from an empty shop. River road; dead. Museum Hill overpass, dead. Our National Museum, dead…ironically. If you stood at the roundabout at Kenyatta Avenue and Uhuru Highway and looked east, you could see all the way to the hump of hill leading to Nakumatt Mega. Not a car in sight. Not a human. Uhuru Gardens across echoed with the the carcass of democracy and free speech.
Only cops, military officers, stray dogs and cats, and ghosts of a dead nation walked the city. At night bands of hoodlums prowled in alleys, ducking into empty shops to steal shoes. Nairobi as we know it was dead. Nairobi in ruins. A city that had turned into an oxymoron. The Mau Mau and our founding fathers turned in their graves.
Elsewhere, in the outskirts of the city we fled. Luos, Kisiis, Luhyas, fled towards Nyanza. Kikuyus fled walked towards Central. Kalenjins left for the Rift Valley. We only carried things that we really needed; family, clothes, food, water and lots of prayers. While we previously drove cars now we were all on foot, every last one of us and we all gravitated towards what we knew, home, shags, dala, gicagi. We also carried fear and uncertainty. We were weighted by the unknown, by terror.
We left everything we owned in our homes. Our microwaves would never warm any meal again. In Runda the electric fences still hummed with current, fencing off empty homes. Abandoned dogs, pedigrees that cost 250K a paw, barked incessantly from hunger and lonesomeness. Luxury cars lay parked in compounds. We left all our money in our accounts, now useless. M-Pesa had gone down a week ago, right before power went out in most parts of the city. Everybody was mteja. M-banking was a dodo. Fuel a rumour. We all ran away from the stench of death in the city, a city now framed by smoke.
When we passed by dead bodies lying by the roadside, we covered the eyes of our crying and terrified children.You had already paid school fees for your child next term? Oh he/she won’t be needing that. No bells would ring. There would be no snackboxes to pack. There was no single bus leaving the city. No water in taps. The expatriates had all fled, there will be nobody on Sankara’s rooftop bar chugging bottles of Krug Grand Cuvee using their “hardship” allowance. No planes took off in JKIA, our national liner, KQ, sitting on tarmac with no pride left in its belly. Military vehicles swarmed the airport with military guys drinking alcohol from duty free shops. Nobody was going to land into JKIA to go look at the wild animals in the Mara. In fact, the Mara was so deathly silent, that wild animals started coming out of the park to look for humans to stare at. The trains stopped moving. The young brilliant guys who had started excellent hopeful startups had watched them all go south. The Kenya Shilling had become paper, a prophesy of Luo Dollar and Octopizzo’s song “Bank Otuch” coming to pass; pesa surely, is otas!
The radio only played the national anthem, over and over again, a sound that we would associate with desperation.

All this happened because all the tribal shit that we casually played with online had now come to pass. Luos had turned against Kikuyus, Kikuyus had turned against Luos, Kalenjins had turned against Kikuyus, Kikuyus had turned against Kalenjins, Kalenjins had turned against Luos, Kambas had sat on the fence, Merus had fought for Kikuyus, Luhyas had fought for Luos. Then when we had gotten tired of fighting and hacking each other because of our last names. When the city had sunk into desperation and suffering, it had become about class, and the poor had come for the few rich who hadn’t left town; climbing over their walls, raping their wives and daughters, breaking into their safes with machetes on their necks and fleeing into the waiting lawless darkness.
Nairobi’s hope had died. Then there was nothing left.
The only thing that continued working was fear and hopelessness.
Kenya was done.
We made headlines on all the major networks. CNN kicked us while we were down on our knees; a hotbed of a mess. Wazungus shook their heads and muttered, “Kenya? I couldn’t have seen this coming. Africa is indeed cursed.” Talking heads compared us to Rwanda, then Burundi, then Central African Republic. It was open season; comment was free. We had become savages. Donald Trump, now the president, sent peacekeepers down; big burly men in dark shades standing legs apart at roadblocks while tyres burnt cinematically in the background. The French dropped us relief food. Even Somali, broken as she is, stewed in a broth of war, looked over our fences with puzzlement. The UN stayed in meetings, deliberating, looking up the word “genocide” on Urban Dictionary first before they acted.
We had all lost.
All of us.
We were done.
We had become refugees.
We crossed through our borders with our children. Thousands and thousands of us, mostly the middle-class because the wealthy and the ruling class had left as soon as the fire started burning. Now they were in Milan and in Switzerland and in London eating caviar and swirling merlot and cognacs, an eye on a burning country they once professed to love.
We crossed the borders clutching our children’s trembling hands. Children we named Liam and Tamms and Amani and Zenani and Hawi, a generation of modern post-internet children, free and alive to all the possibilities that escaped us, children who were to save us from tribalism but whom we now had failed terribly.
Tanzanians welcomed us, yes, but would end up treating us like the poor cousins who had come a-visiting. Ugandans opened their borders to us. Museveni, who we constantly mocked on social media, mocked and taunted and made memes of, now said graciously, “Let them in, let those Kenyans in but check their pockets, nobody should come here with hashtags! Not on our soil!” Yoweri had become our father.
And we shuffled into Uganda in our old shoes and battered faces and weary souls and we were given a section, a large tract of land where all these humanitarian bodies perched on us, like vultures on a dying animal. They pitched huge tents for us and we lived like goats in a pen, taking a shit in the bushes, showering from sufurias, queuing for food like slaves. Refugees. Even our shadows were miserable.
We had become a disgrace to ourselves, a spectacle to the region. We had stripped ourselves of all dignity and had become beggars. No hashtag would save us. In fact, our neighbours would create a hashtag;
#SomeoneSaveThoseKenyans on our account. Imagine that, a hashtag by Ugandans and Tanzanians and Somalis, these people whom we felt were inferior to us; we mocked that they couldn’t even spell yet they were now saving us. Oh how the tide turns. Kenya, the oasis of peace in the region, was no more. Kenyans On Twitter had become a rubble of collapsed hubris. Regret cuddled with us in our wintry refugee tents.

Used to instant showers, warm beds, and all these things we currently take for granted, now we craved a place to just put our heads to sleep, a peaceful place where nobody could kick in the door and drag us into the darkness because we had the wrong name. In the sprawling refugee camps, grown men silently wept in darkness. It rained in Uganda. Daily.
Chaps from Amnesty International would show up like they always do, and talk to defeated men, place fatherly hands on their shoulders as the clouds above rolled in with more rain. It would rain and rain and rain and we would huddle under the tarpaulin and listen to news from home, aching to go back and do normal things: buy bananas at Zuchini, go to T-mall and do an M-pesa transaction, sit in evening traffic along Uhuru Highway listening to a drive show, have a meeting at Java Yaya over a granola with strawberries and honey, run at Karura, buy a Jambo Jet ticket online, like a picture on Instagram, you know, simple everyday things. But we wouldn’t be going home anytime soon. Nobody knew when. Kagame would meet Uhuru, Yoweri would meet Kagame. Magufuli would meet Raila. Uhuru would meet Raila.
As refugees we would sit all day and all night, sit in miserable clusters, wondering how it had all gone to the shitters, but knowing very well how it had come to this. Our children, now with their tattered clothes, would stare at us with empty looks and only find fear in our eyes. And all this shit started because we thought we were immune to war, we thought we would not be broken by tribe, it was all fun and games hating on Facebook right up until the crows came home to roost.
Now we had tanks in the streets

**Think twice before you Share any article on tribalism: Think Peace, Think Kenya.

#KenyansForPeace #KenyaElections

Vote for who? 

He was the last man to put down his rifle
And the first ruler to abolish slavery in the Americas
He fearlessly fought against developing tribal lands
In 1890 he fought fiercely against mining in black hill.
He was imprisoned at Standing Rock agency and he lost his life fighting for the Indian people.


He was Chief Sitting Bull of the Siuox nation!

Yes he did, and many more leaders followed suit with such traits. These were the good all days, where the leaders knew that their lives were useless compared to their charges, when leadership meant giving your life to your followers. Great nations on this earth have been established by these kinds of  leaders who would stand tall, unshaken, and fast!
Such stories inspire me, Nelson Mandela of South Africa who braves decades of prison time in protest against apartheid! Refusing to back down and compromising his stand by accepting a position in an oppressive regime.

Tales of the courageous and practical Thomas Sankara of Togo. Who got into power via a military coup ousting an opressive leader. Sankara revolutionized his nation, he would seat in public and champion his people to build themselves, support their industries, build businesses and grow. 

A more popular video is of him as he asks a young boy with a Levi’s t-shirt who Levi is and where he’s from. Sankara stood true to giving his people the power to self empowerment, even when he knew his deputy was corrupted by western nations he didn’t indulge into extra judicial killing to protect himself and his administration. He was assasinated by his deputy and the nation’s history followed the path of many disaster ridden nations in Africa.

J. R Rowling of Ghana couldn’t stand the goverof the day as it ran a disorganized stinct. He overthrew the government and set up an individual who had shown promise as President. Reason; he says he couldn’t hold a political position as he was a military man. Years later the country was back in shambles, as his choice followed in the previous regime’s steps, ones more J. Rowling moved in to rectify the situation. Taking power and leading the country to stability.

These are leaders who left the world agape with wonder, their impact well documented and effects felt to this day. Looking at Kenya through these lenses would cause one a mild stroke.
So dear citizens as you proceed to register as voters and subsequently vote for the next batch of our nation’s political leader.

–#OneNation #TribeKenya

#BringCarolHome 

#BringCarolHome went the hashtag across social media, mostly Twitter where it has been surfacing time and again. A quick glance doesn’t give much but a look into the story beckons tears to one’s eyes. The sad story of a beautiful, lively, energetic, and ambitious young girl by the name Carol.


Carol a recent graduate yet to delve into the real world, is resting at home with family, she has been feeling sickly but was determined to have nothing put her down on that day. They talk, share all the while; she had been sick months before and the doctor’s visit put her under a steroid medication. It was hard but on this day it seemed to have caught up with her: she seized! Convulsed! The family was notified and there the hospital stint started.

Agha Khan Hospital, Nairobi Hospital, Matter Hospital and Ladnan Hospital all were hnable to diagnose the disease ailing our beautiful friend. Carol constantly on medication was subjected to dialysis treatment as the kidneys seemed to fail. At this point hope seemed bleek as she would be rushed between ICU and HDU so often it baffled her doctors. All the while as the family diligently cleared her mounting hospital bill.

A charitable doctor saw the plight of the family and explained their loss in diagnosis. He expressed concern on the bills paid and suggested that they take Carol to India for a more specialized diagnosis and treatment, owing to their superior medical equipment and services. He went ahead and directed the family to Global Health City hospital in Shennai India and got them in contact with a doctor. Thus her move to India seeking treatment.

The family took her to India in quick succession and within the first couple of days she was diagnosed positively with Lupus. They started of by recovering the kidneys, reversing the medication effects she was suffering through before treatment. At this point the family knew they were ill equipped to handle such and had gone ahead to ask their friends to help in clearing of the mounting bill. Hence the social media movement championed by her former classmates from Mass Communication. #BringBackCarol

Fasg forward to January 2017, Carol’s medical trip to India seemed almost over, what with her improving condition, livelier spirit and general aura. Her mother and sister’s precense went a long way to improve her condition in this strange land with strange tongues and foods. Now getting better discussions on her getting back home had commenced allowing for clearance of her outstanding bills as she gets better at home a familiar and comfortable location.


On January 10th ones again the social media movement was on full swing, trying to catch President Uhuru Kenyatta’s attention as he planned to visit India. #BringBackCarol was leading twitter movements in Kenya, off to a great start. Looking forward to a successful day. At about 9 am that morning Carol was announced no more!

Stunned! Dismayed! The many friends and family froze, silence prevailed as all scampered to confirm the bad news. At 11am word was out, officially, across social media, as we all mourned a life taken too soon. Leaving the family with a devastatingly huge hospital bill amounting to 3.9 million Kenya shillings.

The family and friends are now asking any well wisher to help them, in prayer and funds whichever possible.

Contact person is Kevin, the brother, 0726 498003
M-PESA Mchanga
Paybill is 891300
A/c number 8557

The Maasai Heritage 

He stands up straight, more upright than his agemates long aged. He hold his long walking stick closely, now part of his hardened anatomy :a herder is known by his stick.

He throws his cloth over his shoulders ones again as he peers afar, keenly studying the activity. His piercing eyes are still strong and stern, with the kind of depth that shows the owner has seen too much in a lifetime. His sight pierces through the crowds, the traffic, the dry, dusty bushes beside the road, kilometers away he sees it. Standing as it did a century ago, untouched by time, testament to his legacy.


He ignores the tout calls and stares into the young man pulling him out of his way,
‘Doesn’t he know who he speaks to…? ‘
He withdraws and the aged man crosses the road without a care in the world. Slow but sure he confidently crosses unmindful of traffic. His youngest grandson had explained, that the man on the wheel controls the metal box, man had yet again managed to amaze him. But this trip today was more important, one that couldn’t be delayed by anything.
‘They should know who crosses… ‘
He clusps his leather artifacts a little tighter, adjusts his shuka onto his shoulder and proceeds as traffic deftly avoids his step.

He mutters something under his breath and spits in response to an infuriated ignorant driver. Perhaps a curse, a restriction to never use the route running through this land.
Why should he move?
Why should he step aside?
After all, even a moran doesn’t bow to such crude acts, those are meant for simpletons. Yet his word would suppas even 20 morans. He proceeds and doesn’t give a second thought to the boda boda rider on his right, who came to a complete stop.

With one swing he puts down the babbed wire keeping strangers out, the earten grounds feel smoother, familiar, best for grass growing ;if only its glory had been maintained. Just a few more meters he saw it and trembled as he stretched to feel its cold presence.
A moment of silence as he listened to the wind as it confirms his presence.
He feels the ground beneath him quieten to one voice in a century.
His heart pounds along with the victory drums within.
He sees his father and his grandfather before him all holding their long sticks next to them, their people behind them; happy, celebrating: Their Bloodline lives on. Their people will have a leader now.

He recalls as a young man, when he saw his father, from afar, touch the shiny pole, and smiled gratefully knowing his son was observing from where he stood.

“This is our land….. ”

Corruption in Banks

So I was in a bank today, opening up a new bank account for my new business. Following my new year resolution to do those things that benefit me like befriending forward-thinking guys yo meeet the same end. I strutt in all documents in hand, neatly prepared. My partner goes first as he has to rush back to our small business. Great service I think, this is a verg mordern bank, breaking new records as they come up.

As he leaves in a rush, he leaves me behind as I finalize with all the dotting i’s and crossing t’s process in the bank. You see the attendant was directed by his friend, so he was first becoming an acquaintance of ours, great service. My pal jumps in again, he had forgotten to leave behind the cash we were to deposit and was bringing it. As he handed it to me, the bank attendant looks up from his 17″ hp tft screen, pausing his progress,

“na yangu ya lunch….? ” (what about my lunch…..?)

I almost flipped, pulled off my hair, caused a scene, and before I could formulate any words, my partner smiles and tells him that I WOULD LEAVE SOMETHING SMALL. I follow suit with the smiles and hold my silence.

Here we are trying to make a proper living in a brutal space, in a town where the Governor has just added the annual business registration fee. And a bank attendant wants his ‘lunch’ from me, ontop of the salary he gets for services rendered under his contractual obligation.

Sad day indeed, when corruption roots into the private sector attacking the financial sector in its growth. Next time the supermarket attendants will ask for ‘lunch’ or ‘tea’ when eating is too far fetched to fathom.

When will we wake up? Lemme fight my part as I wait for shopkeepers to ask for the same.


Pardon my outburst. 

Matiangi leads!!

One would expect the basic roles of a cabinet secretary as: to see through roles charged unto him/her. But since this obvious thought doesn’t strike our very own leaders, those who call themselves our representatives on every level (Shame shame shame) we live to be stunned by public servants that get the job done! We started off in the recent past when Michuki installed the famous ‘Michuki Rules’ that saw a more than significant reduction on road accidents, effects of which we enjoy till date,think of the thousands of accidents avoided.

Fast forward to 2016 we get a Fred Matiangi, an administrator heading the all too important post of Cabinet Secretary of Education. In a bid to curb exam cheating he has installed the much needed systems to frisk students thoroughly and reduce exam materials yo a bare minimum. He also fastened the marking and release of results to reduce undeserved awarding of grades. As a result we can bank on KCSE as a truthful indication on someone’s performance and intelligence. What seems to be more interesting to me though is that, whatever he has done doesn’t seem to be too complex or far fetched, infact, I can safely bet that numerous scholars had suggested these actions way before but no one was keen to hear nor implement.

Headlines are ones more made when he announces degree audits across universities, discrediting those who hold fake degrees. We can only imagine how many of our ‘leaders’ will fall on the wrong side of this witch hunt. I am certain this will be hilarious, surprising, and saddening at the same time. Mheshimiwa all the best.

A cabinet secretary, a position meant to be executive political un-inclined to ant side. They should be professional employees of the state giving their best to their country, it goes without mentioning that all cabinet secretaries are the best professionals the government can master, our best foot forward so to speak. And if these team fails to manage constructions that don’t adhere to real estate rules, or can’t bring sanity onto our roads, one would wonder if really Kenya is that poor. Poor or human labour that can do these duties to the fullest.

I refuse to believe we lack the kind of people mentally adept at performing and still maintain a heart of humility and patriotism. The kind of people willing to offer their works, strengths and time to the betterment of our country.

Or are we…..? Admitting our ineptitude would mean that the many undergraduate degree holders as of now, the many masters degree holders and even professors cannot apply their profound knowledge to save a nation, their nation. It would mean that we have failed as a nation to achieve dreams of freedom set out during our fight against colonialists: empowering our very own to work in our nation and for pur nation’s benefit. This thought would go a long way to explain why Kenyan construction companies cannot be trusted to build a skyscraper to meet all regulations and here comes the Chinese.

Socks need serious pulling up!

Interested in Politics….? 

So a while back I tried engage one of my friends on a debate on a national issue:ELECTION bill, SGR, EURO BOND, Insults to the president, opposition ordering a parallel voter tallying system. Ready with facts and beaming to get my thoughts and takes challenged, I was met by a vold stare and a blank “I don’t watch the news anymore…….”
Before I broke out into a “you are not a patriot enough…” speech, I learnt the fellow was too much of a patriot to see such goings on in our society. He was fed up, tired, lost for words and was seemingly incapable of doing anything, his wprds didn’t matter. In retrospect, I wondered how many Kenyans thought and felt so?

Seems like it’s been a lifetime now, fighting for the truths and equality much lacking in our nation. Fighting against what we would call or term as obvious; normal workings of government and officials within. Like what the good Cabinet Secretary Alfred Matiangi is doing, simple roles within his parvue; curtailing exam cheating and selling of exam papers prior, putting to task individuals not working within his sector.

We have been treated to repeated bad news, and news of bad news coming with political battles leaving nothing out, all is fair game, be it the sanctity of human life, our future savings as a country, development projects. This leaves room for a build up of lies and hearsay at such a level that one can’t keep up with them.

Those of us who seek to unwind the lies or seek the truth are immediately eeked out by them and turn to silence and ignorance for comfort. Those simple decisions where you find the government not taking the most logical way out, and seems to stutter, hide and twist the whole thing to suit a few. If ever a revolution would happen it would target such norms in public service.

Patriotism seems to escape all these individuals leading our country almost by design. There is never a reason or individual to say ‘I am doing this simply for the benefit of Kenya as a whole.’ our leaders are rotten, and you don’t have to research to see this, all you have to do is be in any Kenyan social platform and comments of the likes of CORD’s Millie Odhiambo & JAP’s Moses Kuria will find new lows to stun you.

A little known fact is that this number of people, Kenyans smart enough to know the lies, are on an increase within Kenya. Owing to the high number of graduates and educated kenyans. Free Primary and secondary education has made it possible.

Though before this course changing dynamic is awakened in us, we will have to make peace by the growing number of unparticipating Kenyans owing to a loss in confidence in our system. A sad fate but one that seems necessary to pass through. Brace for uninterested Kenyans.

Naivasha accident Wake Up Call

On the eve of our Jamhuri day celebration 2016, the day we ade set to celebrate the day we finally got complete and total liberation from our opressors and colonisers. The day we celebrate with accurate strides, the development we have achieved, the far we have come. This is the one day we can say with certainty the number of years we have been free to do as we wish.

So come 2016 as we prepare to celebrate this very milestone and a day before a dark cloud looms and a deafening thunder strikes. Kenyans travel home over the festive season, to enjoy with their loved ones, and this time it wasn’t different. Karai, an area in Naivasha, where the road comes to a curve as it slopes downwards. Given it’s an interesting ride, an area where speed freaks, like myself, would live to drive through. The area is one of those points on a highway with all signs of speed, an area that no slow slugs, pedestrians are welcomed. Complete with acceleration/alow lanes on the side for trailers that would otherwise slow traffic.

The story goes that the residents along the route complained of the section and the ministry in their humble, noble and prompt fashion swooped in a put a bump right at the bottom of the exhilarating slope. So since January speed freaks, myself included, had to enjoy the sloppy curve and descent, all the while estimating to see where the new bumps were installed. Better iyou have a European car with great brake pads, otherwise you night end up squashed behind a track. Almost instinctively, drivers in their brotherly capacity, always put hazard lights when approaching the bumps to warn the oncoming and pursuing traffic of the danger zone. The lights go on from as far as halfway down the slope, often at night.

Suprisingly I am not the only one who had noticed the looming danger there in my speed escapades along the highway. From Facebook, there are posts from as soon as the bump was installed challenging the wisdom behind the installation. One would think that the ministry of transportation, the county government, the national government or even the Kenya National Highway Authority(KENHA) have among them competent engineers, or in the very least men tempered by common sense and logic. One would assume that those charged with overlooking repair and maintenance of roads are aware of the general workings of roads, road users and drivers. But in this case…….. All these institutions failed us mightily!

A Ugandan-bound track carrying inflammable materials sped down the slope in normal fashion, perhaps there were no cars infront to put hazard in warning, or none to slow down prompting his slowing too. The track hit the bump and momentarily lost control swerving onto the opposite side of the road, head on with oncoming traffic. What happens next was similar to a scene from the popular horror movie, The Omen. Sad sad indeed, so sad that 40 individuals died too soon, many more burnt beyond recognition and many more families and lives wrecked!

Our complacency showed! It reared its head and it was ugly. Too often, we have complained of the wrongs in our society and nothing happens, no one does anything, those charged with the responsibility never raise a finger! And now this caught up with us, on our roads; our engineering pride! Think of it this way, Naivasha-Nakuru highway opens up the Western region from Nairobi, anything happens to it and there will be a total gridlock! All those headed to Kisumu, Bungoma, Kericho, Kapenguria, Eldoret won’t make it if said road is blocked. Meaning the President and Deputy President uses the route on their duties to the said areas, by road of course. You would imagine that atleast one of the many senior government officials would have noticed the issue and sort to follow it up, but no, they must have all assumed another would do it. Just like that lives are lost, a celebration is darkened!

So Kenya what are we doing? Where is the pride in our works? The indelible mark we leave behind whenever we complete an object? The diligent foundation on which great workmanship is built? Are we so lost we can’t recognize when a road desperately needs a bump or one less? Do we need international observers to come observe that too? Do we need Chinese engineers to come repair even bumps?

I often think of my country as a great one, one that forges the way for the other nations to follow. Unfortunately my dreams are squashed repeatedly by new lows. Just when I was accepting that my country can’t manufacture a bicycle, I now have to accept that we can’t knkw where a bump should and shouldn’t be? Please country men.

In the famous words of President elect Donald Trump… ‘Let’ s make our Country Great Again!!! ‘
Yes I quoted him!