DOWNING THE TOOLS

From teachers, doctors, students to journalists

I remember like yesterday though it happened 11 years ago. While still proceeding with my elementary education at Dandora Primary school, in the heart of Nairobi’s Eastlands, or Eastlando if you may, noise just erupted from outside as classes went on. I was in class eagerly awaiting the lunch break to commence. Hungry and bored, it was around noon when all hell seemed to break loose. I’m not trying to be dramatic but you can imagine the horrifying feeling a 12 year gets on seeing the teachers and staff run around in confusion and the rooftop undergoing massive pelting from stones of all sizes.

MAYHEM! Destruction is normally a result

It was a fateful Monday that will forever remain etched in my mind. Events leading to the mini Armageddon were that a young pupil from James Gichuru Primary School, also in Dandora had passed away after being hit by a matatu (Public Service Vehicle) while crossing the road, just a few metres from the school. His fellow schoolmates in anger had burnt the vehicle down to a shell and resolved to get all pupils from the estate into protest against reckless driving. And boy did they succeed.

Money is almost always a matter of contention

This course of action bore fruit but at a cost. The simple chant of ‘No bumps, no school!’ not only resulted in the creation of road bumps along the estate’s roads, but it also taught me the power of action in numbers. Nevertheless, it was a day of unprecedented chaos with looting and confusion marring the image of Dandora. After really the melee had subsided, did I come to terms with what it really meant to participate in a strike.

All the Kenyan students want is to learn

For some strange reason, I tend to believe that the culture of taking industrial action by striking is deeply rooted in the Kenyan psyche and the aforementioned incident is just to show that it’s not only the doctors and as the current situation, teachers who duly opt to do so in order to be heard. We also have university students who amidst chants of ‘Comrade Power!’ make their voice heard and stomachs filled in such strikes. Woe unto you if you own a restaurant on their path. We even had their lecturers copy-pasting this style of airing their grievances sometime back and as I type are also starting on another strike. The Vice president then had to intervene when prison warders threatened to take the same course of action and that was not long before many innocent lives were lost due to doctors opting to use a strike to twist the government into hearing their pleas. As a matter of fact, it’s just a few days since Kenyatta National Hospital, the biggest hospital in this part of the world duly fired 400 intern doctors who had also borrowed a leaf from their seniors and downed their tools. And don’t get me started on the section of women who wanted to deny their men conjugal rights in protest…

Normally, a 'ring leader' will gather the masses

As a college student, I have at times felt that only a strike would make the administration of my institution come into terms with some of the student needs. Yet I know deep down that a better way exists. I think when the gap is too large or the concerns too grave, then two parties might find great loss once a strike is called. The Government promising 300% increase of salary, albeit 15 years ago to teachers has come to hunt it now. The issue must be addressed because time wasted can never be recovered. The ball is in the teacher’s union and state representatives to chart a way forward.

The First family; Probably the children are in the best private schools

 I do not support the teacher’s strike but maybe, just like that sunny day in Dandora, back in 2001, a lasting solution will be found. Till then, I remain, Njabia the 3^rd.

STREET LIFE

Street life

Walking briskly towards the place I normally board a matatu (public transport means) to take me to school from Nairobi City, I felt a hand tag on my shoulder. In a split second as I turned to meet the owner of the hand, assuming it was a long lost friend or a stranger alerting me on something…I came face to face with a huge dirty hand holding human excrement!!!

Various times I had encountered people who had passed through such an ordeal. What happens is that the street urchin will ask for some money in which (s) he will smear you with the body waste if you do not heed to their demands. I froze. But only for a short while as my mind raced between asking for the spirit of Usain Bolt to come over me and make a dash from the scene, or turning violent and hitting the dude. In the end I faced him and asked why he needed the 20 shillings he was asking for.

Anyway, we reached a mutual agreement but I was not overly angry, albeit shaken. As I proceeded on, I had deep thoughts about people living on the street. A repeat of the same came flooding into my mind today as I saw some young children snuggling on cartons along a side walk as the cold July chill bit hard. These two children who looked barely in their early teens made me take a hard long look at the comforts we take for granted many a times. As I did so, three individuals I know surfaced in my thoughts.

Sam* used to be the most likable kid you’d ever come across as we were young growing up in Dandora. He never seemed to trouble anyone or have a problem with the rest of us. Only difference was that he was a street child. Later on did I learn that they used to be wealthy until his mum passed on and he refused to live with a step mother for reasons best known to him. When we were young, we’d play with him and he was generous in giving my childhood buddies ‘chombo’ (nice stuff that he would get at the dumping site in Dando). It was not until I enquired of his whereabouts that I was saddened to hear that he still loiters around yet he is a man now, a victim of circumstances.

Kevin* was huge. Even as a young lad, you’d see he had the build of a heavy weight. No one really knew where he’d come from, but most people were kind to him for he had no home. I remember vividly my mum giving him soap to shower and some food to eat. He was introverted but kind to strangers. I recall one day he came back badly wounded from a gang fight and the people around raised some cash for his treatment. It was then he confessed to having no family. He still is on the streets, probably he has no better choice.


Brian* was both cheeky and funny. He had this ‘Martin Lawrence’ look. I remember as kids, we’d just look at him and laugh as if being tickled. And he was full of zest and energy. His annoyance was he was very loud and seemed to care for none other but himself. Like Sam, he was said to come from a wealthy home. He simply loved the streets for the sheer pleasure of the madness associated with it. Sometimes, his relatives would get him but he was always back with more vigour. It was a vicious cycle really. I do not know his whereabouts; the street simply gave him an unbridled thrill.

Huyo jamaa sio mwizi

Next time my dear reader that you encounter an unpleasant interaction with especially street kids, take a moment to reflect on their human side and instead of cursing and sneering, it might just be more worthwhile to reflect that it could have been you. I remain Njabia the 3^rd, till next time, CIAO!

(* Not their real names)

G.H.E.T.T.O

These streets remind me of quick sand,

When you are on it, you keep going down…

And there’s no one to hold on to

And there’s no one to pull you out…

So you keep on falling, no one can hear you callin

So you end up self-destructing…

Getting Higher Education To Teach Others

The above six lines of Akon’s famous song ‘Ghetto’ literally sum up what I wanna write about. Since I first heard the song eight years ago, the lines remain true and etched onto my mind and engraved onto my heart. They put into perspective all my thoughts concerning where I grew up in.

You see, I am from the ghetto. Born and raised up in Dandora or Dee or Dandoch or Dandarra; whichever way you christen it, that was my home, still is and will ever be close to my heart. Initially meant to be an estate for middle-income earners with decent concrete houses and amenities that would offer comfort to the residents…Dee turned out into another ‘ghetto in Eastlando’ with a surplus population and alterations to the initial development plans.

But if I had a chance to have been born elsewhere, I would frankly and adamantly refuse for till now, I believe that growing up in such a place as Dee is a ‘blessing in disguise’ and the sad bit is that it can equally be destructive, just as Akon’s last line portrays.

In equal measure, I have seen people from the hood grasp the opportunities hat come across their way and live fulfilling lives. Sad bit is most of the young people will develop a rebellious, victim or content attitude with life in the ghetto. They are not to sorely blame.

I think society needs to refrain from making it seem like a person’s worth is related to what economic bracket they lie within. All of us are equal and the sooner we acknowledge that, the easier it will be to do away with snobbery, rebelliousness, inferiority and superiority complex all exhibited by especially young people on whichever side of the economic divide.

Till next time, I will sing along with Shaggy and Joe in their 2002 hit song…’Ghetto Child’. And maybe whistle along to ''Dandora L.O.V.E, ndani ya Hip-hop city...''. because that is what I am; just a  ghetto child who sees beyond the heap of trash in Dee.

Be blessed you wonderful reader. I remain Njabia the 3rd