A milkman on his way to make a delivery early one morning in January 1941 chanced upon a car with its headlights on in a ditch near the Nairobi-Ngong road, setting in motion one of the most thrilling unsolved crimes in modern history. In the passenger foot well of the Buick lay a man, an important man.
Fire disasters in Kenya are part of our history of corruption and lethargy towards progressive measures to protect human life and property. Some now seem like jokes, with the same causes as previous ones, and often in quick succession. Each fire leaves a burn in the memories of those it maims, and guts through the hearts of those who have to watch their loved ones being sorted from among the smoldering cinders. For others it is a loss of limb, loved ones, and property.
Just how bad is Kenyan corruption that Mugabe felt the need to convince his cronies not to sink to the lows of Kenya and Nigeria? That question has been lingering in our minds for a while now, driven in part by our ill-informed hubris that our corruption is not as bad as it seems at …
All Kenyans do is run. If we are not running towards gold medals in European cities, we are running away from our problems and failures. We are running towards the Kenyan Dream, a hastily concocted thing that involves mostly, quails and their little spotted eggs, and once in a while, a Lupita.
Here’s the thing: being a dictator is hard. Being an African despot is even harder – you have to keep the people wowed and scared of you at the same time. All that responsibility, every minute of every day, even while you sleep.
It takes bravery to expose the system, especially when it involves the powers that be. The problem is that there is no reaction beyond a mere grunt from the populace, with the occasional twitching of the conscience that is quickly covered up with layers and layers of political sycophancy and apathy.