Did the pandemic change anything about Kenya? Not really

We’re right at the end of 2020, a year that has taught us that Murphy’s Law holds true – anything that can go wrong, will go wrong, especially in a global pandemic.

Everyone is so excited about leaving 2020, but I wonder if we are being pre-emptive in our happiness. Not because it isn’t good to be positive, or hope for the best but expect the worst, but also – even in the thick of this global scourge, nothing has really, really, changed about Kenya.

It was just the other day that Sonko was complaining about being ousted from his rightful Nairobi seat – meanwhile, he and his daughter have been implicated in a fraud scandal.

A few years ago, doctors went on strike, and this year, they are on strike again – for almost the exact same reasons: not enough insurance, not enough money, not enough protection of doctors and medics and not enough health workers or resources.

We’re still in debt. I didn’t think it was possible, but we are in even more debt (to who? Another question for another article) that we’ve been since Kenya was literally born. As usual, our leaders continue to sell Kenya piece by piece to the highest bidder – selling something that isn’t theirs to give, because Kenya belongs to its future generations, and all its future generations will be doing is paying debts. 

Debts that we shouldn’t have taken and don’t need to build rudimentary white elephants that cross national parks, that defaulting on will impoverish the country.

We had an election, didn’t we? And the campaigning started two years in advance. Well, this year, corona or no corona, is no different. Already, the numbers for coronavirus have taken a backseat to fellow Kenyans being addressed, by-elections in Msambweni, and politicians telling the people of Kenya, in essence, to pipe down.

These same politicians, by the way, are the ones with the ventilators in their houses, doing just enough to make sure the economy doesn’t collapse completely so that they have just enough to leave, in case of anything, and live off their offshore accounts.

It would appear that almost nothing can make Kenya change. Not post-election violence, not the illusion of democracy, not an embarrassingly low ranking on an international corruption scale, not an international court for crimes against humanity, and not even Covid-19. 

If anything, Covid-19 has illuminated the true nature of leaders and Kenyans – on the one hand, there are wonderful stories of landlords reducing rent and people being more sympathetic with one another in these trying times, valuing family and keeping it sanitary; on the other hand, masks for doctors are being hoarded at the port and the thought of the vaccine reaching our shores makes me a little bit sick, because I’m sure they’ll find a way to unscrupulously steal money from Kenyans because of it.

This is quite depressing to me, somehow even more so the pandemic. Yes, coronavirus is horrible, and we’ve lost so many people that we shouldn’t have, especially healthcare workers. But as business continues to pretend that it is as usual, the true nature of what it means to be living in Kenya in this time comes out more and more, and for me, that’s even worse. 

To live in Kenya and be aware of it – to know your taxes are going nowhere, your politicians are doing nothing and no one cares -- is to constantly be in a state of rage, to paraphrase poet James Baldwin. I would add that it is also to be constantly frustrated. And it doesn’t look like it’ll change soon.

I keep wondering what it will take for Kenyans, both the angry and the apathetic, the leaders and the little men, to get tired enough to tip the scale over, and get what we deserve. 

While I realise that this is a global problem, I really thought it would have happened by now, what with poverty, economic instability, rising unemployment, poor leadership, inflation, new taxes ... the list goes on and on. We have so many problems to deal with that we can’t deal with it at a systemic level, everything remains the same. 

The roots are entrenched too deep, and I don’t know about you, but I’m losing hope with every headline.

Happy New Year?