BEING KENYAN! LET ME EXPLAIN...

A Motorcycle rider at work

You are running late, last night you did not sleep so well. Your neighbour came home late. He uses a stove to cook. He forgot he ran out of paraffin so between the cussing and lighting his charcoal jiko- whose carbon monoxide almost literally killed you in your sleep, he woke you up. It took you tossing and turning, gazing at the ceiling and two hours to fall back asleep.

So you hastily call your bodaboda guy (most people have one nowadays). They come in handy when you are running behind your schedule. Its 6am in the morning and you are freezing out of your mind so you tuck your head and hands in your warm cardigan. You tell him to speed up as you have some urgent issues to attend to at the office. You pass through the frail wooden bridge. You close your eyes tightly as if a slight glance at the flowing mess will thrust you in, but you can smell the stench and you can hear the sewage roaring as it flows downstream.

It’s Tassia, so you swerve potholes and heaps of garbage. And your motorist begins a conversation, that judging by his anaemic tone stokes bitter feelings. His voice is laced with a defeatist attitude as he lament the shoddy work of a contractor who was working on that road, three months down the line, it is worse than before.

He attempts to que to into the conversation but it’s too cold and you are running late so your brain is scattered all over the place. “Mm”, you respond strongly and persistently to assure him you are listening and that you agree.

Its 9pm. You rush to catch a matatu back home. It has been raining so the traffic jam is nuts. You seat quietly and transit from a reverie to a trance then finally to a slumber. Suddenly someone taps you roughly at the shoulder, it’s the conductor collecting his dues.

Then there is this man seated behind you. He is most probably in his mid-forties. He has four kids. The eldest finished his secondary education last year but missed the set mark to join the University as a regular student. There are two who are currently in high school, and he has not cleared there fee arrears. Then there is the last born. He is in a private school. He wanted to give him the best chance in life so he enrolled him in a private school. I mean! Let’s face it public schools are quite crappy. This man is loaded- no I don’t mean the ‘sponsor’ kind of loaded, I mean loaded with puzzles about his four children’s future. “Will he afford to pay college? Will his children have a better story than his?”

He hands the conductor seventy shillings without making eye contact.

“mzee gari ni mia, lipa ama ushuke” he retorts

What follows is a nightmare of a conversation that hinders you from any sleep. Finally the man hesitantly reaches for his pocket, grudgingly hands him a ten shilling coin, then a five and a ten.

“Hizo ni ngapi?

“Bado haijatosha”

“Nirudishie hiyo nikupe hii mia”

You mean all this while he knew he had a hundred shilling note?

But he is not done.

It’s late and cold, every passenger is quiet and in some reverie or deep thought. This time he begins to rant about the sky rocketing of the prices of basic commodities-

“When fuel prices go high you matatu people are so fast to hike the fare prices, but you can’t bring them down when the prices stabilise.”  

He tries to get the woman seated on his left to join the conversation. She just flashes a tough look that melts down to a brief simple grin. May be to signify she agrees with him. After which she goes back to her world that she keenly gazed into before she was interrupted.

The man now turns to the guy seated on his right. He hopes he can save him from having a monopoly. He does not even flinch he is on his earphones- maybe he is listening to some loud music or he is not listening to any music at all.

And he finally taps your shoulder. But all you want to do is just sleep since the traffic has come to a complete halt. Not that you don’t have anything to complain about but you already had your share of the conversation in the morning.

Your mhindi employer has finally agreed to give you some time off work and you want to use this opportunity to visit your parents in Kitui. You wake up early to catch a bus at Machakos country bus. You have carried a lot of paper bags and the conductors hustle you trying to get you to board their vehicle. You are scared you might be pick pocketed. So you put on a stern face and tell them off. It still does not help. Either way you make up your mind and board werewolf.

Unlike the monster figure of the mythology of Hollywood that turns on a full moon, this one never turns. It is simply the fastest bus with a bad ass driver that could get one to Kitui in the shortest time possible. Although just like the monster ‘animal’, this one is also scary especially when you put the ungodly speed into consideration.

Just before the driver leaves, a man hops in. You notice him because he first scans nearly every passenger in the thirty three capacity bus. As the driver swerves past men hurling carts and pot holes in Kariokor the man stands up, holding a gigantic New International Version bible on his right hand.

Obviously he is the fervent evangelist who is going to read you some scary verses about judgement day then persuade you and the other passengers to ‘Endeleza kazi ya bwana’ through giving.

He introduces himself, but for sure he does not need to; you know them, and so does every passenger aboard. He reads from (a verse on giving), and you wonder- this one is well experienced, he cut to the chase! He goes on and on about how giving to the good works of the lord is important. The message not stoical, because you have heard it double digit times. But oh! How grateful you are to God you are not the passenger sitting right next to preacher man, the spitting- if she knew she would have carried an umbrella.

Then comes the prayer part, he insists that everybody closes their eyes. No he does not- he scares everyone to close their eyes by throwing verses about the punishment that awaits those who do not respect the lord. Now that you are scared (most people cave in upon the mentioning of judgement day). He prays for every parent aboard (unmoved- you are not a parents), then he prays for every passenger to have a promotion at work (oh! Now he has your full attention your expectant heart is touched in fact you are tempted to lift your hands), he curses accidents and covers the road with the blood of Jesus Christ- then he finishes up.

But it’s not a day unless there is offertory. So preacher man hammers his final point- “Tutolee bwana sadaka ndio mtumishi wake aendelee kufanya kazi.” Ninety percent of the passengers aboard, sink in to their activities completely ignoring the man of God. 

The young man next to you who has been chewing miraa the whole time, mumbles something in a heavy Kao accent “Kwani lazima aitishe sadaka?”

The evangelist resorts to his favourite mechanism- “The day you die only the work you have done for God will matter” (These threats!) And it works, as always. In fact that moment your mind takes you to places you do not want to go-

Just before Kitui town there is an accident black spot. It has been said that every 7 days there is always an accident there. You don’t know the last time there was an accident, you feel cornered and for sure you do not want to gamble especially with your life. You reach into your pocket and assemble all the coins you received as change, it’s mostly in one and five shilling denomination, you almost feel embarrassed but you give it to him anyway. He looks at the money, at you and proceeds to collect from other passengers. With that look you feel he has moved from raffling your feathers to plucking them, because that look spoke disdain. May be even a hex.

Isn’t it perplexing to really think about what we go through in a day as Kenyans from different walks of life? (I should just say financial walks of life, right?) One needs to take a first class photo for Instagram, another is hoping to get that job they interviewed for seven days ago, another is hoping his boss at the construction site pays him his three week wages, another is making plans for a business trip to Dubai, or a farmer is preparing to till his land.   

Photo Credit:

THE DUST HAS SETTLED

A crop field

Ukambani is a coined term used to refer to the Kenyan lower Eastern region, predominantly occupied by the ethnic Kamba community. To some people Ukambani is synonymous with hunger and starvation. The truth though is every part of Ukambani is unique and some are agricultural hotbeds (contrary to popular belief), producing quality products all year round. The region has three counties: Machakos, Kitui and Makueni. I hail from the first. Yes, that county where everything is done with flair. We have ambulances; at least one in each sub-county and some patrol cars. When these arrived, people were so excited with valid reasons- most of us had never seen an ambulance on our village road or a police patrol car pack at the chief’s office. We made headlines for a great reason.

We believed we were like the hot kid in the estate who has rich parents, attends the best school and has the most hyped birthday parties. The media was awash with stories of how cool our county was. Folks from other counties wanted to be in our county (am serious! you should have heard the conversations in the local market when those cars arrived.)

But, just like every part of Ukambani is unique so are the sub counties that make up Machakos county. When I say I come from Machakos County so often people show glitter on their faces. Of course I do that with intent to improve dress myself with the colourful ‘cool kid’ image. I feel good when I believe people think I come from a cool place (who knows, maybe they don’t think what I think they are thinking).

But trust me my rural home is another image of the ornate county. We don’t have tarmacked roads, we don’t have flowers planted by the road side, and we still rely on kerosene lamps for lighting- except for few middle class families who can afford solar panel installation. Nevertheless we still ride on the ‘fancy’ name of Machakos County when need arises (mostly for our egos).

The prominent source of livelihood in my home is agriculture. And right now things are very rosy.

<<Rewind

Yes, to a time that was turbulent. A time when Mother Nature had conspired against us. The year 2009. The devolved unit Machakos County as we know it today was not there and there was certainly no flair. President Kibaki sat on the presidency seat and we had a Prime Minister’s office.

In a year we have two planting seasons- November/ December and April/ May; Short rains and Long rains, respectively. The 2008 November/ December harvest was fair, way below the needed amount. In fact due to low supply of maize (our staple crop), the prices were low. But agriculture is everything to us, we sold the maize to settle loans, send children to school, buy extra pair of shoes and clothes for the family and saved a little for consumption as we waited for the April/ May planting season in 2009.

In March 13^th 2009, local dailies wrote of a warning by the Meteorological Department ‘…the long rains expected between March and may are likely to be depressed.’ By the end of March the prospects of rain were dim and aloof. Despite the imminent reality of drought and warning by the Meteorological department farmers in my rural home went ahead to plant. I mean, farming is main way they knew to survive, it was all they had; so they buckled up and rode to the market to purchase seeds whose prices had already skyrocketed. They ploughed putting in their time, money and hope and looked above for the rains. But nothing came; their money, time and hope remained under the soil and begun to rot.

As months went by, hunger begun to bite; starvation and despair became the stark order of the day. Most families did not have an alternative source of income or food, and life another turn for the worse. The bodies of some sick and old people gave in, so they left this troubled world hopefully to a better one. Pupils who could not attend class on empty stomachs chose to stay at home. And the cattle begun to just fall down and die. The walls were caving in and the clamour was heard by the government (SMH) and the corporate society. It wasn’t only people from my rural home that were crying, it was also people from; Mandera, Wajir, Garrissa, Isiolo, Marsabit, Moyale…(you name it).

The Kenyan government known to have a fetish for eleventh hour action; appealed to the international community for help and declared famine a national emergency. The Corporate Society led initiatives to crowdfund: My own home area became a beneficiary of the ‘Mutui Museo’ (good neighbour) initiative. Though I was miles from home still pursuing my Secondary Education, I felt the impact of the famine; as my family to a good extent relied on income from agriculture. 

The same ill fate befell us in 1984/ 85. In fact there are households that never recovered from the 84/ 85 drought. As they buried friends who had fallen and their cattle, they buried some of their dreams and expectations of life, their lives were forever altered for the worse.

>>flash-forward

We have not been darned to this cold and sad history. Like I told you things are quite rosy right now.

For obvious reasons, when the meteorological department announced in 2015 that there would be more rains across the country (El Nino), many people in my home area were skeptical. They sneered at the reports and warning.

By October 2015 heavy rains started across the country and we joined the rhythm. We had a bumper harvest that season. We are already into the March/ May planting season, the rains have fallen graciously and our galleries are still full.

(Can I get an AMEN!!?)

An excited woman shows off her produce

But you must know that a bumper harvest means different things for different people at home.

There is a single mum who will sell off part of her produce to settle her children’s school fee arears. She has been selling lies to the school principal to keep them in school; and so this is her time to mend all the broken promises. She will also buy them new school uniform and new shoes, the ones they are currently using cannot see a tailor anymore and she needs them to feel comfortable and confident as they study. Oh! She hopes they can change the stories of their lives.

Then there is the mama with an insatiable appetite for posh ‘kitenges’. She will call the dealer to negotiate a price for the produce. Immediately she receives her dues, she will ride a bodaboda to pay the tailor a visit. If the kids and husband are lucky, they will be factored in the budget, but she must come first. Then she will be rest assured of ‘beating’ competition all the women in church as far as dress code is concerned.

There is the alcoholic husband and dad. Since he is married to ‘Karua’, he will wait for her to leave for a ‘Kyathe’ (merry go round meet-up), then call a dealer whom he had already made prior plans with. He won’t even negotiate a price for the produce. “Leta tu chenye uko nayo”, he will hastily say. After all he just needs enough to pay for his accrued bill at the local brew den. Then he can drink on credit again. The dealer will pay him peanuts. Then give him a lift on his motor bike to his usual brew den. He will caution the dealer against using a route where they might meet with his wife (‘Karua’ is known to be very unpredictable). On learning her husband is going on a drinking spree, she might pounce on him. Not that he is scared of drama (he is used to it!), he does not want a broken leg; see, he just recovered from a broken arm and nose!

After coming home drunk for several nights, ‘Karua’ will make classified investigations to find out whether her husband has been paying for his drinks. Then she will discover that he already cleared his bill and has promised the brewer he will bring more money. Because she is a brilliant woman she will inspect the sacks of food in the store, and know that her husband has been ‘stealing’.

She will caution him against spending the harvest on frivolous leisure: But she won’t stop there, no! She will purchase a big ass brand new padlock and lock up the store then put the keys around her neck. To get the keys he (her husband) will have to literally run her down and over. But you know he can’t!!

Additional info: I want to thank my dad (who is quite literally a walking library as far as history is concerned), for the assistance he offered me while preparing this piece. ‘Am lucky to have you as a partner in this journey. Asante’

'OUT HERE!'

                                                   

A hand reaching out to touch the sun-a sign of longing for Hope

The final year in university is usually an interesting one. Good thing or bad thing is – it only come once. It is the year when it dawns to most comrades that they seriously need to make a life for themselves – a great job, good money and less hustle. But in a country where unemployment is at forty percent, it is imminent that some comrades end up hustling for quite some time before God visits them.

Truth is even before graduation some comrades might have already secured themselves a source of income. They are normally the envy of others who are still stuck in the hell of sending application letters. Then there are others do not have any job but have some god father somewhere in a government office paving a way for them.

and the rest have themselves and belief that they would get jobs – without positive prospects or a godfather, but not without slaying a giant or two.

This piece is dedicated to all the ex-comrades who have turned hustlers. Those that the world of employment has beaten them senseless. Yes!

As I write this piece Walker a good friend of mine is a few months shy of his first anniversary as a graduate. Even before Walker graduated, some daddy’s friend had told daddy to bring his son’s certificate so he could get him a job; so father and son rest assured and waited for godfather to come through.

Things went South and all the strings daddy dear was pulling snapped. Every hope has been a dead end. To be precise: Five regret letters, one failed interview and a very screwed aptitude test down the line; Walker is still a statistic in the forty percent unemployed young Kenyans.

And his life has become a quandary of sorts.

See, lately ‘weird’ stuff have been happening; like being scheduled to partake in the house chores- a clear indication his family might be losing patience of his situation. Some family members have advanced to giving him looks that blatantly ask- ‘what are you contributing to in this house?’ Just the other day he heard his small sister sneer from the kitchen, “watu wengine ni kukula tu, hakuna kitu wanafanya.” (All you do is just eating without making any contribution). Words is the easiest weapon to destroy a man with, Walker has come to understand.

Walker does not have a hot hand for Sport Pesa bets. And Njoki Chege’s recent rant over sport betting fanatics has left him more devastated than healed. That lady is just a dedicated sadist, he believes.

She is a problem, but the least one. His priority right now is to restore his ‘dignity’. Income or no income, he has to. Even if that means creating an illusion.

Walker is not the only person who ‘life out here’ has screwed. There is Tee, also my good friend. Tee has always gone for the big things in life. You know when we were oriented as freshmen in campus, the vice chancellor described us as the – crème de la crème of the society. Tee did not get the memo that, that was just a speech. And speeches are meant to have sweet lies.

He let the crème de la crème ideology get into his head. That’s why he rented a house in Donholm and invited a friend with whom they would share the rental and upkeep costs. Each would give 5,000 shillings monthly to cater for the rent. From his school of thought this was easier than ABC…

That time of the month when the landlord pry’s around knocking on the doors of tenants’ who have not paid up the rent came. They ran out of lies and it all became clear: That accruing enough money from hustle, to find enough for sustenance was a lot harder than he had anticipated. Njoro their landlord had already threatened to lock down the house and bring in the local administration to deal with them.

So on one fateful night faced with the stark reality of being humiliated, they decided to disappear from the house. Yes! Disappear. When everyone was sound asleep each packed their few important belongings and ran as fast and far as from Donholm as they could. I mean what do you expect from a man who was best friends with some local police officers and the chief? That was a dangerous man to have for a landlord to a rent defaulter.

And that is how my friend Tee, started a new life in Mombasa.

And then there is me. Me- Elizabeth.

Of the three of us I was the most disillusioned.

I believed I was special, shock on me! Everyone out here is special- everybody believes they have something extraordinary to bring on the world table.

So being an adult in my father’s house I have had to re-arrange my priorities. Apart from growing myself as a writer I have to seriously up my game in preparing ugali. (Yes you heard me right!). I have seen the way people in the house including my parents savour my ugali – distracting them from the fact that I don’t contribute to the family’s upkeep. You think am being paranoid? Look…!

The other day I was in my bedroom as usual, busy typing my stories from my laptop. Then my dad came by and stood at the door and in a voice that reeked of suspicion he asked, “What are these things you do on your laptop?” I almost went defensive,

“Oh no! Am not addicted to pornography”

then I realized it would not add me any points. So I began to explain…

“You remember I told you am a creative writer, well I blog”

The expression on his face had only one question – “How does it make you money?”

I did not wait for the question, so I went ahead to give an answer.

I licked my lips, scratched my head then began to explain,

“there is this thing called traffic…so corporates'…”

Yes you guessed right! He did not stay for the whole explanation, he instead left me choosing words carefully to sound economically correct and proceeded to do more valuable things like having his four o’clock porridge.

I think he wants me to write a blog post and finish my explanation! (hahaha – this should stay between you and me.)

Men! Out here is really cold. It is really hard to find that person who will believe in your skill set and give you an opportunity to make them money and get yourself a living. But there are other people, who seem hell-bent to make a hard journey even harder.

                                               

A job seeker

The ex-comrades who already have jobs.

These guys cannot stop posting photos of themselves at work and captioning them with hashtags – “Work hard play harder”, “#born to win” “#work tings” (BTW why can’t you just write ‘things’? what does plucking the ‘h’ do for your status?). Thanx to their decisions I have inadvertently become a serial Facebook liar.

When these jobo comrades spot you in town, with a hanging face from a failed interview or carrying a load of envelopes with job application letters, they insist to say hi. Even though they can clearly see you are dodging them (for obvious reasons), they make sure to corner you, you exchange uncomfortable grins as they super annoyingly scan you head to toe; hastily trying to gauge how good you are doing.

And as if that is not torture enough, they deliver the infamous question

“Unawork wapi siku hizi?”

Then you are forced to either be courageous enough to say you are still job hunting or lie to dress your joblessness with witty words like am ‘self-employed and things are just picking up’. Given the incessant need of human beings to uphold their ego, you choose the latter. The devil bursts out in laughter while the jobo comrade walks away feeling accomplished.

But not to worry ex-comrade you and I are ‘#team ngori’ (sheng for bad-ass team), ‘God’s got us, and we gonn’ be alright!

Now if you don’t mind excuse me, because I need to google – how to perfect, perfect ugali?

A CALLING LETTER & A DREAM

Entrance to Maseno University's Main Campus

On that day, I was one year shy of being two decades old. By 6:30am my father and I sat at the easy coach waiting lounge in Railways- Nairobi.

At 7:30am i would begin a vital journey in the life of every young Kenyan: I would be en route to Maseno to start my four year undergraduate degree journey.

I was happy I made it to university, but I was very aware that studying an undergraduate degree was not a stellar accomplishment, at least not anymore- well apart from for my grandmother and a few villagers who still thought university students were ‘watoto wa serikali’ (the government’s children) entitled to free chicken and lots of money given by the government.

We were at the waiting lounge an hour earlier (or more-trust me); with a father like mine you could not dare be late in anything- especially to board  a bus we had paid for. Travelling on that day, would make sure we got to Maseno a day before thousands of young Kenyans who would be my comrades for four years. My father single handed decided we would arrive at Maseno one day before the material day, not because he was nervous but that was just his rule in life and by default my rule too. According to him; being the earliest bird came with multiple advantages.

When our bus was 30 minutes late, I began to give him faces that shouted (you see how worthless it is to arrive so early!!). And my statement that went like “mimi nilijua gari lazima ichelewe- wakisema 7:30am wanamaanisha 8:00am” (when they say 7:30am they mean 8:00am). Did not deter him from telling me stories of how he always caught the worms in life for being an early bird. He warned me that if that was not my philosophy in university I would fail in multiple things.

-of course he was right… But it took incomplete assignments and hypertension during exam periods to learn!

Later while in the university I would also learn that admitting loudly your parent accompanied you for admission to first year was very uncool and wasn’t a line that could score you a hot boyfriend in campus. By the time I learned this I had already announced that I was a daddy’s girl brought by daddy to campus.

At 8am we took our seats.

I confirmed one last time that I had all documents needed for admission. I cannot stress enough that according to my dad some things in life have absolutely no room for errors. Like arriving for admission then you realize you left an important document at home!! (this makes so much sense in my adult life).

One of those was my calling letter that read ‘Bachelors of Arts Degree in Economics’. Those bold letters told me that my dream of studying journalism would be dashed.

And it was, when I applied for inter faculty transfer I discovered as a regular student admitted by then JAB- Joint Admissions Board today Kenya Universities and Colleges Central Placement Service (KUCCPS), I was a few cluster points short to qualify for a Bachelor’s degree in journalism.

The first few weeks as freshman were a combination of excitement, disappointment and discovery that saw me in pursuit of an identity join the intercessory ministry under the Christian union. I did not last more than two weeks there and I assure you I will tell you the whole story in another post.

Everybody knows that when you go to a new place, making new friends is inevitable. The same was true for me in my first semester. I hopped from one friendship to another in search of I don’t know what.

One of the friendships that did not last was with this one lady who was totally obsessed with ‘looking fashionable’ – I was also obsessed with the same ‘devil’, only I was too busy seeing the speck in her eyes. She would go to Luanda every Thursday even if it meant skipping class.

Why did she go to Luanda? - You ask. (Let me explain)

Luanda is 15 minutes’ drive and 20 shillings from Maseno University. Every Thursday is usually a market day and there are cheap clothes sold; from as low as 20 shillings. When you are in Maseno and you need to look good at a low cost, Luanda is the place you need to go. But brace yourself for scorching sun as hell, possible pick pocketing and a run into a guy who has lost his mind to weed.

At that time, I could not fathom why this friendship was annoying: Was it coz this chic rubbed her Lunda elegance on my nose or was it the fact that I could not buy clothes like her as I was afraid of being broke while still in session? (But today I know why).

Anyway, before I joined campus I had heard stories of how comrades ran out of money and ended up having strong tea with a mandazi or two for three meals a day, or were totally dependent on food from the school mess (that dependence meant one was financially challenged), I most certainly did not want to be that comrade.

Plus what 19/ 20 year old wants their reputation to be tainted with such? - (“ule msee hukula mess” Jesus no!!).

So I was something between a strategic miser and a keen financial planner (of course this changed gradually, but not totally). In fact I can guarantee you that at one point, I worried more about being broke than failing my exams. First year Me is responsible for nearly half of the financial discipline I have today.

No matter how afraid I was of being broke, the nightmare came true, on double digit times in the four year long journey. In fact I believe at one point my situation was so bad it would seem hilarious to a church mouse.

When I left high school, I worked in a local school and I remember telling my colleagues fast forwarded tales of: How I would join the university and the reveries about my career would come true.

The university is indeed that place that paves the way for a comrade to achieve his or her dreams.

But it is also the place where dreams are broken, to be mend or not. In the four years it was that place for me. In the resounding clang of my broken dreams I still found joy.

In pursuit of satisfaction that I couldn’t get from my degree course I ended up being a presenter with Equator FM. Darn! I remember that night before my first day at the radio station – I literally couldn’t sleep, I tossed and turned in bed repeatedly going through my content and imagining what could go wrong and creating a solution for it.

Well – a lot of things went wrong. Like I left my microphone on when I was off 

air, I was a nervous wreck and somehow the music just had issues (later I learned that it is I who had issues, not the music). Of course I got better and greater – and regardless of how terrible the first day was, I was a radio presenter for three years.

I also became a content creator, thanks to my good friend Churchill Ongere who in 2012 invited me with a couple of other people to start BAMU (the Bloggers Association of Maseno University), this basically marked the beginning of blogging in my life.

…I still owe Churchill a cup of hot coffee.

In her commencement speech to2008 Harvard graduates J.K Rowling – wished the graduates blossomingfriendships. Friendships that could traverse the experiences the world wouldthrow at them. Supportive friendships that would make life’s riddles bearable.

After four years, as I sat at the graduation parlour, roasting in my mammoth of a graduation gown waiting for the chancellor to give me the power to read bla bla…. (Seriously I never got that thing he said). I remember asking myself questions about this past time that lasted four years that would never come again. I wondered - whether I made the most out of it. Whether I grabbed every opportunity. Whether I was happy with every choice I made the best choices. Whether I was happy with the young adult I had become. I did not have precise answers to these questions but one thing I knew for sure I had made great friends.

                                                    

My graduation

On that day, one sat few rows in front of me, another few rows behind me and the other in the column on my right hand side. I made friends who since I graduated I have turned to in times of distress, whom we share ideas and laugh. If one day nothing else ever counts, I know this will.

My dear reader from whatever place in life you are reading, this just like J.K Rowling wished 2008 Harvard graduates the best friendships:

I wish the same for you!

Here is a paragraph from that commencement speech –

“…the friends with whom I sat on graduation day have been my friends for life. They are my children’sgodparents, the people to whom I’ve been able to turn in times of trouble,people who have been kind enough not to sue me when I took their names forDeath Eaters. At our graduation we were bound by enormous affection, by our shared experience of a time that could never come again, and, of course, by theknowledge that we held certain photographic evidence that would beexceptionally valuable if any of us ran for Prime Minister.”

AN ANGRY DEMOGRAPHY

Someone using their phone

Public servants facing graft allegations in Kenya today find themselves between a rock and a hard place when citizens talk freely about their allegations on social media. The individual(s) facing the allegations is dragged on social media ‘mud’, mangling there once spotless reputation and declaring them guilty without a trial.

In his weekly column #Frontrow, Larry Madowo talked of this ruthless court of public opinion that condemned the estranged officials. The article that came after his tell it all interview with Nancy Barasa also drew an example of the predicament of Ann Waiguru who has fallen in the hands of the ‘court’ double digit times.

In the article titled ‘Stop judging people without facts; it can ruin their lives’, Larry raised a poignant question,

“Why are we so eager to believe that someone is automatically complicit just because an accusation has been made against them?”

One thing that is clear when the public servant facing malpractice allegations is torn apart on social media, is the anger laced in the no holds barred commentary. Not to justify the unjust treatment but the truth is unless; national institutions tasked with prosecuting corrupt officials are ‘cleansed’, to a point the taxpayers exude confidence in them, public officials respect hard earned taxpayers money,

the abuse and condemnation by citizens online is bound to continue and even get fierce.

In his article Larry wrote “…we should learn to suspend judgement and presume everyone to be innocent until proven otherwise.”

What is the reward in this morally upright way?

The reward should be the responsible person(s) being held accountable and the looted resources returned to public coffers. But we have been deprived of this reward for the longest time possible.

There is a demography in this country that not only knows no one responsible for loss of public funds is ever held accountable. A demography that has witnessed first-hand the legal process of accountability being rigged long before it started.

According to a story done by ventures Africa, 4 million Kenyans engage in social media daily.

35 percent of twitter users are aged between 18-29 years old, and they are part of the demography am writing about (source: jetcrams.com).

So, the largest portion of the population, about (40) percent, which is worst hit by joblessness, makes up the largest percentage of active social media users.

Basically, we have 40 percent of the total national population composed of angry people with Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, google+ and Linked in accounts, which they are not afraid to use to rip the people ripping their future through corruption- with and without evidence.

An angry and dissatisfied demography is the reason we see so much anger when issues of governance are discussed online.

I mean seriously...

What will a young person say about his/ her country, where despite having a degree they can’t get a decent job (and don’t be so fast to say how he/ she is not hard working). Corruption has created a wall between the potential employers and to climb over one needs ‘god-fathers’ and bribes

this is the bitter truth.

Goldenberg scandal was the country’s gift to this generation when they popped to the world. They are now in their twenties and the puzzle is still unsolved. The face of the Goldenberg scandal resonates with most if not all corruption cases in Kenya.

As corruption, and unemployment rise so does the anger and the feeling that our country does not reward hard work. It is such anger that manifests itself in venomous online rants whenever we talk about corruption.

It is because of this anger that judgement is never suspended and such anger pushes people to presume everyone is guilty even when the EACC declares them innocent.

By the way, remember Tunisia?

When Mohammed Bouazizi, a 26 year old Tunisian set himself ablaze on 17th December, 2010? The street vendor was protesting after confiscation of his wares by a municipal official.

His family and friends shared a video of angry Bouazizi on social media and on 18^th December, the same year there were civil protests against: Government corruption, unemployment and social inequalities.

An angry demography (I repeat) is a ticking time bomb and apart from brutal online rant, it can detonate to civil demonstrations.

There is a generation that is wounded. A generation that has lost trust in most of the fundamental institutions in the country.

Larry Madowo was right when he wrote, “…strange things happen in Kenya and they have helped erode our trust in institutions”. And this digital generation has no problem channeling the anger through hashtags.

We are way past asking them nicely to calm down. Hope only lies in seriously transforming our institutions to create a system that will reward the hard work the citizens.