TRIBALISM IN THE LINE OF DUTY.

The Last time I published a blog here was on 23-Apr-2015 but after Evanso MC Marsha – (hi is your blog still up n running ) and Fuchiuristic Fuchiuristic Fuchiuristic ...( ...andika blog tusome wewe..) request, let me say this..

This Morning, I watched a 48 Minutes video posted by Alshabaab after the El-Adde attack and it broke my heart. The contents of that video are just heartbreaking. I can’t share the video but let us pray for the men in uniform especially those in operational areas. Immediately after viewing the El adde attack video, I bumped onto a Facebook post by Boniface Mwangi on post election violence that got me thinking, 28^th December 2016 will mark exactly 12 Years since I joined the then Kenya Police Force (GSU). I don’t take this for granted as we have lost officers in the line of duty hence I got a reason to thank my maker for the opportunity to serve and for keeping me moving.

I quickly called myself to a brief meeting and I asked myself, Mwangi, what is your highest moment and what is your lowest moment so far as a man in uniform now that death is so real and the only thing you leave behind is a story that other people will narrate hence they may end up expressing their personal views and not what you could have said? This is the reason why I chose to write this.

The best moment is that I did not bribe my way into the service. I prayed God that he gives me a job so that I can be able to pay for my studies after I had cleared form four. He heard my prayers, gave me a job and I was able to undertake an undergraduate course, BCOM HRM at KCA University, Higher Diploma at CHRM and an MBA HRM at University of Nairobi and from September,2008-December, 2014 I was done. To God be the glory and honor! I have shared this in my previous blogs hence I need not say much.

For my lowest moments, these three moments came to my min.  El-Adde attack? Baragoi Attack? Post Election Violence? I could not settle on any but let me say something about the Post Election Violence and the attack on my tribe. After watching this video, link provided below ,I realized that nobody says much about Policemen’s encounter with tribalism beyond recruitment, promotion and placement hence my low moment.

(https://www.facebook.com/BonifaceMwangiBM/videos/1177882685564961/?pnref=story)

Days before the elections, I left Nairobi and headed to Kisumu. I was in a platoon of officers drawn from the sports unit from our Headquarters that was charged with the responsibility of ensuring that Kisumu was safe before and after the elections. On our way, my fellow officers were celebrating the possibility of earning one thousand dollars after one of the presidential candidate had allegedly promised that he would ensure that the lowest police officer would earn at least one thousand dollars if he was elected as the president. In this case, we were engaged in a tough conversation where the majority was of the opinion that this was possible but I asked a question that did not auger well with my colleagues. One of them was, where will this money come from? Will we discover oil or gold whose sale would generate money that would be used to pay us a thousand dollars per month? Little did I know that I was immediately labeled as an enemy by a good number of colleagues. This would come out clearly after we arrived and after the election results were announced.

We had an officer (nick named Kivuitu) who had a small hand held radio that was very helpful to us as we would follow election updates from it. Immediately the results were announced, a colleague scoffed at me and told me that we had stolen the elections (Mumeiba Kura!) I asked him how we did it and I was with him in the same Lorry and he told me that my people (People from my tribe) had done so hence am part of them and that meant that the possibly of earning one thousand dollars had diminished.

The conversation that followed was very heartbreaking and dangerous to a point where I called an auntie of mine and advised her to be on standby incase I needed her to book me a flight from Kisumu-Nairobi now that most roads were impassable and I felt like it was no longer safe for me to work with people who labeled me as an enemy just because someone from my tribe had been declared as the winner of the presidential elections. The days after this were unbearable for me. Patrolling Kisumu City was not a walk in the park. Engaging the demonstrators was not easy too as my mind was un settled. I gave my best but I still recall how buildings were burnt, brand new vehicles set ablaze in the show rooms, shops looted and the setting ablaze of part of Ukwala Super Market Kisumu.

Angry demonstrators tried to set ablaze Ministry of Public works premises but we took charge before they could do so. Others wanted to extend their anger to Kisumu Airport but they did not make it as we stood guard. Lorries carrying petroleum products for export also had a rough time but we still prevailed against the demonstrators and ensured that they did not set the lorries ablaze or siphon the products they were ferrying. We ensured that Ayoti Beer distributors’ stores were not vandalized and so did we ensure that brookside warehouses/stores were safe. We did so much as a team and my tribe did not matter here.  After the violence was over, we left Kisumu for Nairobi.

On our way, we passed by a Stadium whose name I can’t recall where IDPs had taken refuge. It was raining and IDPs had erected nylon paper thatched shanties, they had lit fire outside these shanties but because of the rains, only smoke could be seen from the outside of every shanty as the rain water would put off the fire despite the need for heat at least for the kids who could be heard crying, desperation was hanging all over and no one seemed to care. The most shocking thing was what one of our officers said, ‘’Ona vile Wakikuyu wanahangaika baadaya ya kuiba kura”. This he said with a lot of Joy which got me thinking, did these IDPs really ‘steal’ the votes as alleged? It was a sad moment indeed. Either way, our journey back to Nairobi continued where we passed by deserted homes, ruins of what were maisonettes and bungalows before elections that had been reduced to ashes, shopping centers that had been deserted and property vandalized  but this was very okey with a bigger percentage of my colleagues who had switched to their local dialect to ensure that they shared the ’juicy’ stories with less interruption from people like me who could not stand the mockery. They were all smiles; they cheered and jeered at the gory structures.

At last, we arrived in Nairobi but I was a wounded officer. I was hurting from inside, I could not understand why I was accused of stealing votes, neither did I understand why an officer would celebrate now that people from a certain tribe had been evicted from their homes, I could not comprehend how I stood in between my fellow officers and one thousand dollars so that all manner of worlds could be hurled towards me for just being from a certain tribe. I did not chose my parents, neither did I chose a name for myself; I was just a young officer who did not have a voting card either. Pain full memories were all I was left with after diligently serving my country during the post election violence.  This I did not share with anyone but now I have done so. It remains my lowest moment in the Police Service.

Twelve years of service are fast approaching but am all smiles. Things are changing, we are transforming, I love my job, I am a proud officer and I chose to stay put till I make Kenya a secure Nation and Make the Service a better one where young ones will grow up dreaming of joining it, not because of how fast one can enrich himself or herself with ill gotten wealth but because it will be a professional Police service, free from tribal outfits who can only see tribe from an officer. This will be a service where recruitment will be free of bias and promotion will be on of merit. I dare to dream…..!

CHOICES HAVE CONSEQUENCES.

I once did a blog on my Cry for Kiaritha my dear village. Here is the link: http://kaberemartin.blogspot.com/2015/01/i-choose-to-cry-for-kiaritha-my-lovely.html Some months down the line, my sentiments are well proven here.

Before the 2013 elections, I visited my village and engaged a number of youth on how they were planning to vote. To my frustration, the conversation broke my heart since none of them had his or her priority right in terms of the variables they were to consider in choosing who to vote  for. Any attempt to try to enlighten a good number of them bore no fruits as most of them were just drunk or were just not interested in making any decision contrary what they had already settled for.  Let me share a quick analysis of my findings.

The man who was vying for the gubernatorial seat was by then very alien to the residents of my village but now that one of the front men in his campaign team was a vocal man from my village, he had already convinced them to vote for Ndathi, a man that none knew anything about.  Come elections time, he got the votes now that he was also running in the Party whose big man was Kamwana. In short, for Kamwana’s sake, we sold our county to the lowest bidder for lack of a better word. 

For the senatorial seat, we had a TNA man who had failed to do anything much as the area Mp but because of our dire desire to give Kamwana the much needed fire power, we had to reward the former high School teacher if not principal with a senatorial seat. Anyone who was not running via the TNA ticket despite being more promising that these failed politicians stood no chance. Two years down the line, the man has done nothing tangible for Kirinyaga County but we can do nothing much. Come 2017, I can bet that if he aligns himself well, we will crown his failed stint as a senator with another term in office and then the same old story of biting our fingers vowing not to re elect him will continue being sung for another five years.

The reasons justifying  the choice of our Mp beyond being a TNA man too was simply laughable. He only needed to perfect in what he does best to date. Call for masses to arrange themselves in groups of tens and then each group is given a thousand shillings note and thats it. Talk of someone else apart from Engineer Joseph Gitari and you may lose all teeth as the young men from my area who just need a mere sixty bob to be totally drunk are ever ready to lose their lives in defense of the *Generous* member of parliament. Some years down the line, he pops up in villages, burials and other areas just to cement his culture of *giving* in preparation of the icing of the cake come 2017. Do not be surprised if he ends up getting a higher seat as a reward for his *generosity*.

The most surprising line of argument was that of the reasons behind the viability of the then Member of County assembly contestant popularly known as  Kabanya. If I got it right, he was taunted to be a young hustler who was to be given the TNA ticket so that he can *rear* himself. This was justified by the fact that other well to do guys had failed my village folk despite their well oiled bank accounts since they still stole hence at least if a hustler stole and looted the county coffers, they were ready to put up with him. This line of thinking was just an outdated one but any attempt to correct it met an equal measure of justification. Fast forward 2015, I heard that the young man is rarely seen and the first thing he did was to relocate from hustlers’ environments to an area where Mheshimiwa can afford a nice meal, a nice house and other goodies that comes with such a position.

How about the youth rep? I rememember  George Kagori as a school mate at Kerugoya Boys High school. He was some classes ahead of me hence I remember him bullying me simply because I failed to share with him a pawpaw that mummie had just brought me in one of the fine Saturdays. I still bear a mark on my thigh where he pierced me with a knife. Anything more than this, I must admit that I have not done a lot of homework on his modus operandi but I have seen some few selfies of him representing the youth agenda abroad and in other areas. Pheeeeew, bet I need to do more on this!!!!

The fruits of the above blunders can be seen today judging by the situation in our Local hospitals, our roads, health centers that were hurriedly constructed to bait voters to vote for them and other failed sectors in the county. Locals are just paying the cost of making political choices based on their throats for the young men and wazees, market women on the dust coats and kumi kumi ideology. Waking up to the case of guys planting bananas in the middle of the roads now that they resemble shambas is no surprise to me but a confirmation of how cheap we are when it comes to making decisions about the present and the future too.

Here is a sample of the rants: From Willie wa UTQ’s wall

https://www.facebook.com/wilson.utq/media_set?set=a.10204429421684353.1073741841.1495593552&type=1&pnref=story 

Desperate moments call for desperate actions

Willie Wa Utq  Said

People have planted bananas on the miringa iri road kirinyaga county due to the fact that so much money has been spent on the road yet nothing long lasting. Many vehicles have been stuck along that road in the past few days

Liloh Wangui Said

I love the demonstrators....kudos to them,they should do that more often but peacefully

Victoria Tylan Said

Barabara imekua shamba...its time

Cate Kinjo Said

Kudos kerugoya pple these guys have taken our silence n peaceful nature for granted sasa wakiunda hiyo barabara nitakuwa naenda gichagi more often bila kuogopa Gari yangu kukuama I always call my mum tukutane town coz I can't drive to miringa two

Alice Wambui said

 And it worked I tell you. In hours not days. These leaders, must it come to this? I thank these people leo sikukwama

Nancy Wanja Said

Nakwambia waliweka jam haijawai onekana keru tafadhali serikali saidia iko mbaya kabisa.

Any attempt to engage those using the social networks, case of Kirinyaga County Facebook group    https://www.facebook.com/groups/50756601582/  gives no hope as political sycophants quickly starts hurling insults to those they disagree with hence the whole discussion quickly loses meaning and any sober man just withdraws hoping that one day one time, all will be well. Meanwhile the question, begs, Can the youth be trusted as the game changers in Kenyan politics? We have the numbers but we lack sobriety!!!!!  Pheeeeewwww!!!!!

This is simply reaping the  fruits of our labor. Am surprised that some one from this area is surprised and worried of the outcome of our political decisions. This is lack of sincerity if am asked. Can something good come out from our leaders?

MEN AND VEHICLES. WHY THIS STRONG BOND?

What is this special relationship between men and vehicles ?

As I look back in my humble village, Kiaritha, I grew up in a set up where the most treasured mode of commuting was walking from one point to the other. Boarding a matatu happened only when it was very necessary and the distance to be covered dictated so. Either way, few were blessed to own bicycles but no one would dare ‘touch’ these bicycles without permission lest things backfired on him/her. The bike was a treasure, owned by very few! My dad was favored to own one called Momo and on Sunday afternoons, he would give it to Zach who would train us on how to ride. This was always a look forward I tell you. A more privileged lot owned motor cycles but these were very few. Owning a motor cycle was just not a usual thing. This meant that owning a motor car was next to impossible! Either way, very, very few had vehicles and that meant once they were passing by the roadside, we would get out and cheer like we were watching Ferrari in Abudhabi . Cars were just not heard of in a very wide area. This made me desire to one day own a vehicle and break this village curse!

Immediately after I graduated from Gsu Training School in 2005, I went for my annual leave which was a moment to ‘shine’ now that I was among the first from my immediate village to join the general service Unit after a long wait. I realized that to boost my ‘image’ more, I needed to upgrade to also not walk from one point but to cruise around  using a personal four wheeled thing to hence I started to scout for an affordable machine.  In this case, I fast settled for a Mini Moris whose owner was Dan a mechanic by profession. Later, after a long wait that took me about two years, I went back to the same guy and persuaded him that he needed to repair his then grounded Mini Moris and sell it to me. I was even ready to advance him some amount just to ensure that this thing was repaired and would just crawl from the garage for road test. I was and still I am a fan of the old school machines hence public noise in case I acquired this thing would not be a bother, moreover, my uncle who once lived abroad and was lecturing at the University of Nairobi used to drive around the city in a Volkswagen beetle.

One sad thing was that I was scouting for a vehicle but was not in possession of a driving, neither did I know how to drive hence I called on a cousin on mine by the name Tony to help me drive this thing from the village to Nairobi so that I would also be cruising in my Morris like the other buddies. Plans were underway to import an engine and a mechanic from Kariobangi who was a Mini Morris specialist was the Lead advisor doubled up as a consultant too. When we got at Dan’s garage, my cousin called me some steps back and warned me that my decision was ill advised and that thing would be a total headache if I bought it. I gave in to his advice not because I was convinced but because I could not drive as I was even ready to tow it to Nairobi so as to stand and be counted as an owner of motor vehicle. I remember one day, a friend of mine by the name Vivian telling me that if I bought a Beatle, she would not dare even accept a lift from me! I thought she was too hard on me but my love for the beetle never fizzled out. Will still own one sometime in the future, the old model to be specific…

Fast forward, 2015 is here. We no longer do a lot of bicycles. Young boys and girls have been left to in the arena especially in the urban areas but we also got grownups cycling just to enjoy themselves, for fitness but also for commuting per se.  We got motor cycles now. A gift from our Chinku brothers from another continent. 

They have turned to be very popular in the village but also in the towns as they have been used and are still being used to ferry us from one point to other at a friendly fee. Ladies have been the greatest customers as they rarely walk very much, may be to avoid dirtying their feet. (This is my personal view, crucify me not for this, we got a new constitution!)We got a new breed of men doing crazy rides especially over the weekend  and will do this with their sports bikes that cause a lot of fanfare especially along Thika road super highway. We got a lower version of men who do bikes but not out of fun but a means to earn a living. Young men have abandoned studies in the village to be employed in the Okada business. 

 Many have also turned to their customers for benefits beyond the cash they pay. I once heard some say that they only enjoy ferrying women as they pay well, are reliable and loyal! I read mischief in their talk but could not get into the debate as the more they talked, the more I heard them share of how they romp in maize fields with some of these customers especially the ones whose husbands migrated to the drinking dens and no longer fulfill their conjugal obligations as expected of them.

That aside, we got the motor vehicles. I bet our society takes an owner of a motor vehicle to be a successful man or woman. Almost every one dreams that one day he/she will own a car. This however needs to be re looked at and may be was the reason why I was so much interested in buying one at that tender age. There are several classes of motor vehicle owners and I will limit myself to private motor vehicles and may be those in the Matatu industry at a glance. We got the rich and affluent owners who are able to buy any type of vehicles, fuel and maintain them with ease and even are chauffeured from one point to the other.  Owning a vehicle to them is not a financial burden; their ‘headache’ may be constant upgrading so as not to be out done by their peers in terms of owning the latest models. This must be surely a happy lot.

 

I will skip others in this class and straight go to the second class that is interesting to look at. They are in constant debt as most log books are still safely kept in the banks as they are purchased through car loans or they are servicing a loan that was used to buy the vehicles they own. These will be seen driving from the first day of the month but as we get mid month, the numbers reduce drastically as the cars are left in the parking lots and their owners return to where they belong, using public means of transport. Saying this can be termed as hate speech as they will say that their cars are their choices as they decide when to drive them and when not to do so. I question this justification though. This is a class that would better live in a rented apartment or house but will spend a million plus shillings to buy a vehicle. Rarely will they think of buying plots even in the outskirts of the city, build there and may be drive in the later years. This is very un fashionable as they would appear backward in front of their peers but may be as a justification, our priorities are different. 

Young ladies and gentlemen will take a car loan and not give a mortgage a glance! These will be seen jamming the roads will learner stickers and accompanied by heavy reggae, rock of other types of music that characterize their lifestyles. Ladies will be seen driving Volkswagen Golfs and Polos whereas men prefer Subarus. Most of these are often parked next to drinking dens if not joints in the estates and will at times double up as lodgings for the obvious! Most will be police station customers on Friday, Saturday and Sunday nights and if not very lucky, they are towed to the same Police stations after a drinking spree gone wrong and if the owners are lucky enough, they are left hospitalized for a considerable duration of time. Subaru owners are good culprits of these happenings may be because they rarely know home at high speeds as the slogan goes.

Lastly, there is another class who own vehicles that rarely leave their parking lots not because they do not have fuel but because the mechanic failed to turn up as agreed as he has been angered by the owners in ability to buy the required spare part leave alone paying for it’s fixing. This is a class that owns vehicles that require constant pushing in the morning, that one will often here the fuel attendant ask of kawaida, that is fuel for Ksh 200 Maximum, will always have a towing rope in the boot, on top of the dash board exists spanner number twelve, a very reliable partner of these owners, whose doors rarely open from inside, that rarely have a serviceable spare wheel and so many other funny characteristics.

These are owners that are very often asking passer by people to help them push the vehicles from the middle of the road as they ran out of fuel and will later jump out holding a five litre jerry can hoping to the nearest petrol station. They later open the bonnet and using their mouths will inject fuel to the ‘Kafuraitor’ to  help the car supply the fuel to the necessary areas and they often appear drunk not because of a morning visit to the local but because of constant inhaling if not ‘drinking’ petrol. The love that these men show for these vehicles is second to none, the bond so strong and the attachment so strong too. These owners are always hopeful that the vehicle will one day grow up and manage a whole week running without breaking down.

The wives to these owners are a frustrated lot! All the love that they once enjoyed was snatched from them by these junks leave alone emptying the family bank account without any signs of improvement. Kids can be sent from school for fees, will  stay home for days but these machines cannot spent a night in the bush after the usual breakdown as the owners can use any other means to raise rescue cash but not cash to send kids back to school. These things if well audited have consumed a whole family fortune bit by bit, have led to family break ups and also have made men slaves! Many school fees joing accounts are no longer operational as the man can no longer be trusted especially after marrying a Datsun 1200, a Datsun 120Y, a Mahindra jeep and other classic oldies. 

A casual walk in estates occupied by most civil servants reveals much of what am saying. There are so many stalled Ex Gks, Ex Un, Ex Kenya Power, Ex Army, Ex Posta and Ex Jirani laying there in sad states. Rotting and creating ugly scenes but dare say so and you may end up losing a whole set of teeth as the owners see nothing like what you may be seeing if you are blessed enough to see the misery there in.  The owners are usually in the false hope that one day, they will grow up and at least craw from the parking lots. The most shocking thing is that some own more than one but none of these is mobile and incase another is on sale, someone will still take a loan, buy it and tow it to the parking lot, start watering it with hope that it will germinate one day, grow and bear fruits and he is counted to be in procession of three log books!

My constant pity goes to an interesting lot that buy old Psv Matatus that barely make a trip without breaking down, the tires busting or being arrested and detained by our ‘Friendly’ traffic cops. These have worn out tires, are always in the welder’s park, the driver has several phone numbers so as to call the mechanic once their valuable services are needed but that lastly end up hanging on four stones, the owners are left servicing loans and if not very lucky are left taking stress management pills if not classes. This is all in an effort to be counted as a motor vehicle owner. Sure enough, the biggest percentage of these are men but a good number of women are often found in the mix.

My question is, is there a motor vehicle curse or are most people’s priorities wrong? Well I appreciate that most people have been able to make money from the Ex Gks, Salvage Insurance auctioned vehicles and other have graduated from the last class above to owning serviceable vehicles but the numbers may not be very significant compared to those whose families have been shattered by emergence of second wives namely junks. A joke goes around that if a man has not been able to convince a woman to render him her ears, he only needs to stand next to a motor vehicle and behave in a manner likely to suggest that he is the owner and things immediately fall into place faster than expected. Whether that it true or not, I leave it to you! 

I have observed that once most of my male friends bought their vehicles, women officially became passengers with benefits and slowly forgot their wives and children and married alcohol. I guess am jealous...? Right...?