Why the men in Nairobi are furious at Governor Johnson Sakaja
A couple of weeks ago, when the city experienced a downpour, the sewer burst and mixed with flood waters.
Incensed. That's the word. Not angry. Incensed; and even this word doesn't come close to what every Nairobi man should feel right now.
Incensed means to be angered at something unjust or wrong. And what's happening in Nairobi is unjust and wrong. And then some.
Men, the unjust acts and wrongs being perpetrated are right in our faces and noses and reek to hell. I'm reminded about the sorry state of our capital city each time the sewer in my estate in Zone 8, between Tumaini and Kifaru Primary School, bursts and spews forth the city's excrement; making the road impassable and living in our houses unbearable.
A couple of weeks ago, when the city experienced a downpour, the sewer burst and mixed with flood waters, which made this stretch of road impassable. There were several close shaves. People wading through the water and sewer almost drowned in overflowing trenches. Some of this wastewater marauded people's homes and business places.
Doing my rounds in neighbouring estates the next day, I heard the same worrying woeful tales from Nairobians. Contrary to what we were promised during electioneering, the county system is not working. It's broken. This jalopy was broken and virtually written off before it even got started on its five-year journey. Surprise, surprise!
Just like the typical Kenyans that we are, we knew this Okwangara Express’ wheels were all precariously balancing on stones. We were warned by mechanics and our guts about its state. Yet what did we do? We elected to go against our better judgment and fell for empty promises instead of tested performance. And as Gregory Isaacs sang in Promise: A promise is a comfort to a fool; make that 5,325,000 fools.
Folks, this broken leaking system — um, sewer— is our comeuppance. Serve us right, y'all. We chose good looks instead of able hands; and dimples instead of diligence. Our emotions overrode our common sense.
The perennially bursting sewer off Moi Drive in my neck of the woods perfectly encapsulates the state of the green city in the sun. The capital city is reeking, right up from City Hall to every ‘hood’. And it'll continue reeking until we — and I'm talking about upright men— decide enough is enough. It's like the county kahunas are telling us we're number two. Which means County 47 has gone to number two. And I don't mean Riggy G!
I was born and raised in Nairobi. Then, the systems worked. That was our normal. I'm a child of Baby Boomers. Unlike Zoomers, I know how it feels to live and thrive in a functioning city, with otwendo faya in your hip pocket. (Sorry, Zoomers. Otwendo faya was our Sheng’ for 25 cents, aka loose change).
And this? It's gangrene. We’re being bled to death. When I read the latest Auditor General's report, I was more than incensed. If you're a Nairobian man who's working hard to put paltry slices of bread on the table and a roof above your family’s head, this multi-billion shillings heist should incense you.
Read the report, folks. Read it in your pulpits, public squares and private abodes. Read it and let the reeking stench sink in and cause you to vomit.
It’s not merely a report. It's an indictment. And it's not just an indictment of the Governor but of the governed. Because? This is our choice. And choices have consequences. Sometimes good. Other times dire.
In Nairobi, there are only two types of people who are not incensed— the cartels and their cronies.
That reminds me. I passed by Lang’ata Cemetery the other day. I kid you not; even the dead are turning in their graves.
