Kenyans won’t join Super League of jabs mediocrity

The Health minister has always accused Kenyans of not giving him credit, even though he’s well aware a majority of us don’t work for any bank. Today, we shall begin by appreciating that it hasn’t been his fault that the global Covid-19 vaccine supply chain is irredeemably broken, and we cannot remember anywhere in his swearing-in speech where he promised to fix it.

That doesn’t mean Kenyans have washed his image and he’s now whiter than the eyes of Njahi beans. This week’s statement – that the government is going back to the Covid-19 vaccine market for a second dose from companies other than AstraZeneca – was more difficult to swallow than a dose of quinine tabs.

Those who went to school to study vaccines are still in the lab cracking their craniums on whether the Covid-19 jab can be mixed and matched; but the Health minister has already crawled into the conclusion that no vaccine is limited, as they can do all things through Christ who strengthens them.

We should have seen these red flags when Jubilee fans waved them at Kasarani stadium during the 2017 swearing-in, and whoever discovered that Kenyans are colour-blind should be given the Nobel Peace Prize already.

Priority list

While we were told those in the priority list would receive preferential treatment for the jab, we saw those younger than KICC posing for the cameras with a syringe deep on their left arms when our elders in the village were still asking for the distribution list.

Even though health is devolved, Afya House had to wait for noise from governors to remove them from the rollout darkness, as those who asked why the jabs were being transported by tortoises were told to be happy that at least they had legs.

When they finally arrived at the county health facilities, health workers had to wait for trainers who had been stuck in the Nairobi traffic to arrive. When they finally made it, the government had issued enough contradictory messages for anyone to send their left arms for drilling at a health facility near them.

Every night we go to sleep, we pray to God to send his son to calm the daily vaccine storm currently overwhelming Afya House. We appreciate there isn’t enough money to buy a range of dietary options for Kenyans right now, but we don’t want to continue watching Afya House policy makers eating their own words in their daily sessions with the media.

When Jubilee came to power, we were promised they would put Kenyans first. A government that puts her people first would’ve planned with the worst case scenario before venturing into the chaotic vaccine market.

When Kenyans asked why the government had approved the Oxford vaccine trials here, we were assured we were guaranteed a bare minimum number of vials on compassionate grounds for volunteering our bodies to science. At the very least, we should have demanded fair compensation when we tested positive for Covid-19 vaccine donation.

This vaccine fiasco has made us realise that a shopper at the Gikomba flea market has better bargaining skills than those Afya House policy makers who studied bean counting at the university.

While others are scrambling eggs to thank their bodies for a job well done providing timely vaccines to their people, ours are busy scrambling for words to assure us that everything is under control. Yet when private healthcare providers offered to bring vaccines for those who could afford the markup, they were whipped with acrobatic decrees before being kicked out like polio.

Kenyans need to know the endgame with this vaccine guesswork. If the Health ministry’s intention is to test the public’s tolerance towards government annoyance, then the news is that we aren’t interested in that Super League of mediocrity, and we demand our country back.

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