I watch in a shuddered frenzy as the moonlight becomes
dimmer. Having been the person that put-off the lights at the hospital on 12th
December, I stand in doubt. Ok not exactly doubt. The yolk of the moon has
burst on my head. The sky has fallen. Is falling. Where is James Bond?
But it always does. The sky always falls on health matters,
and we have learnt a clever way of putting it back and holding it in place. We
have learnt ways of devising and improvising. Making do. Moving on. What this current frenzy has brought to the
limelight is the heartfelt empathy of our leaders.
I heard one yell “doctors are killing people, by being on
strike” I couldn’t help notice the stench of semi-raw boiled egg mixed with
garlic, French beans, mushrooms and mrenda jetting out of his mouth and aromatizing
the misty sorrounding. He did a belch or two. I couldn’t really count. But it
was the belch of a well satisfied man. Much more disgusting was his pretence.
His I-cannot-even harm-the bacteria-in-my-mouth-by-brushing kind of attitude. I
suspect brushing teeth to him was considered as foreplay. Lucky wife he got.
I thought, silently, lest he belches on my sweaty face.
“But the country leadership has been on strike since Mau Mau
left the forest!” How would you explain the
lack of basic emergency drugs in hospitals in country that has been independent
and warless for 50 years? A very easy extrapolation…you don’t stock our
hospitals with the basic drugs, lives are lost…and it has been that way since
the black man in Kenya was allowed to wear trousers. Deliberate or not, people
have died as a result. So much so that I think as a country we are wasting an
opportunity to export manure derived from decomposed human flesh. If we did
that, I can bet my bottom dollar, Singapore would be taking soft loans from
Kenya’s pocket change. The tones would be back-breaking. The Honorable Minister
of trade should seriously think about this venture.
Back to the man with egg/garlic/beans/mushrooms/mrenda mouth
perfume. He stands tall on the roll of honor of hypocrisy. The Pharisees should
sit their buttocks down and seriously take notes on modern day double speak (a
laptop will be provided for that I am sure). Is he the same gentleman who flies
out to have his flu treated? The same
man who takes the Boeing to get his testicles examined. I wonder what his
‘fundamendos’ are made of that a black doctor in Kenya is not allowed to give them
a therapeutic squeeze. These are the epitomes of our leaders who do not live by
their consequences. When their shit hits the fan and splatters on your face,
they are up in the skies that very moment. As we are left with a open mouths
and a stench, wondering what has happened, they are back again with more
promises, they don’t even have the courtesy of reminding you to spit what has
collected in your mouth as you let out a disgusting sycophantic cheer. You
Kenyans are cool. And so am I.
Then comes another one to take the podium. Just the other
day she was as thin as an apostrophe. You could see the head of the femur through
her tie-and-die skirt. The trappings of power have however done her good. She
walks pulling her linen skirt from between her buttocks. Life’s good. Wonder
why the minister of energy hasn’t made some megawatts from the vibrations of
her rear yet we import stima from Jinja, Uganda.
Amidst ululations she confirms to the mothers of the country
that they can now give birth free of charge. I find myself clapping, against
two odds. One, that am a man so I have not had the privilege of getting myself pregnant yet and two because I know
what this free entails. But hey dude, everyone is clapping and cheering, so
take your silly sulking face to your grandmother’s grass thatched mansion. Bure
wewe, mavi ya kuku kabisa!
As she goes to sit down, amidst wild cheers, still pulling
this stubborn linen skirt from the embrace of her buttocks I remember she has
forgotten to mention that the mothers need to come to the hospitals ‘self
contained’. They should buy gloves, cord clamps, fluids, blades and hey the
doctors are very few too (WHO standards) it might be polite of them to carry a
one-use-only doctor from China in their kiondo. Those are the details, the
devil!
Before the dust settles, another one takes the podium. This one
has his tummy moving freely and graciously to the blast of the song ‘kanungo’ .
I wonder how he does it so effortlessly, but one thing that is obvious for sure
is that he has been eating his lunch without fail for a long time now. The song
stops and he looks lost. Like a rabbit caught in the glare of the headlights.
But he too has to say something. So he picks on the unpatriotic Kenyan doctors
who are on strike.
“We are going to sack all of you and replace you with
students..” he says, again his tummy moves with every word. It’s like it’s got
a life of its own. I like it. What a show. “You cannot let Kenyans die like this and get
away with it..” he says in a cracking voice. At this point I heard him belch
because I was close enough. I doubt if others did hear. Then tears rolled
freely from his eyes. It was such a scene. The crowd got worked up,
emotionally. And felt the sting of the words of mheshimiwa. They thought he was
crying, but I was close enough to notice that it was the eye-tearing stench of
raw onions from his belch that made him tear. You see, this man had a
three-course meal. Some onions were used to make his food, and some he ate them
raw. I learnt this kind of eating from books.
“You cannot let Kenyans die because you are on strike” are
the words that got my thoughts to race. Trying to put it into perspective. I
thought we already knew the country had gone on strike against its very own
people and their health since 50 years ago. And as a result, the mortality had risen in proportions. We were however doing well with security. We were
even at war with in a neighboring country. A good thing. You see, Kenya was a
safe country to die in.
The failure to increase budgetary allocation in
proportionate to the growing population had led to preventable deaths. But those were not deaths. The lack of diagnostic
equipment had led to preventable deaths. But those were not deaths. The failure
to expand our ICUs had led to deaths. But those were not deaths. The
overwhelmed doctor and nurse who was expected to attend to multiple patients
like he is some sort of a DJ…mix here, mix there… had caused preventable
deaths. But those were not deaths. In fact, they had come up with new
solutions, that was to bundle up these health sector workers into tribal circles for management as
a way to address all the above. This, they called ‘the constitution. ‘ You
should have seen their sleek suits, fat ties and staright faces when they were
talking about this.
As darkness engulfs, the rocky hills of Mutsuma have a way
of making the sky climax. The heavens opened, the men at the podium ran to
their SUVs as we stood to watch and exclaim “powerful people we did elect
there” living a moment of fantasy as boluses of rain painted our shirts.
While I was rained on
a bit, I didn’t mind, I knew I still had to endure the stretch of the road from
Mutsuma Market back to Burundu Health Center, where I worked and lived. For the
trouble of the rain, and the cold, I had bought my own penicillin just in case.
I hoped the members in the crowd would buy theirs too when they come to the
Health centre, because I have none in stock.
Then again I remembered the strike. And the sack. A genius
moment for me. So I thought to myself, how about we convert all hospitals to
churches, let people die and then let’s pray for them, for the kingdom of
heaven is free, and it is indeed a kingdom.
Let us pray,
