Nairobi City Council and Anti-piracy Personnel: Dogs

Did I punch him? Oh yeah. Did I beat them up? Of course, and it felt good, so good. People are not supposed to come to your premises and make wild accusations about you and your activities. People are supposed to be respectful of your space. Even the authorities are supposed to bust into your place like you walk around loaded. They are supposed to ask nicely.

Three days ago, a couple of Nairobi City Council askaris came to my business premises and demanded to see the business registration documents. The certificate was hanging on the wall. Knock yourself out, I retorted pointing at a framed document on the wall. They checked it and left without a word. I went about what I was doing and left shortly afterwards leaving my assistants in charge.

I got a call an hour later, about 10.30am. The buggers were back. I rushed back to my business to see what they wanted. They were accompanied by two tough talking officers of the anti-piracy unit. Apparently somebody reported that my computers were harboring a few gigs worth of pirated material. I told them they weren’t and so they should not waste both of our time. One of them wrote something while the other called someone on their phone and told them to hurry.

The caller asked to check my computers for pirated material and I declined. At this point, I asked to see some sort of identification and prove that they were indeed who they said they were. They did. Then the two council askaris decided there was nothing I could do and they will check even if I refuse. I stood my ground and told them to go to hell or bring a warrant. Unfortunately, things don’t work like that in this country. They restrained me and gained access to one of the computers. It was no point fighting off three grown ass men so I let it go but not for long.

I saw the mop at one corner of the room and in it a great weapon. Without any thoughts I took it and attacked my oppressors. Three of them ran out but the guy going through the computer wasn’t quick enough so he got served. Several punches before he hit the door. The caller promised me misery.

They ran to get the police. My two assistants who were kinda dumb-founded when the scuffle ensued composed themselves and tried to talk sense into me. They argued that I should just pay the council askaris and the anti-piracy goons off and let them be. The damage was already done, I told them. The police came and took me in.

Three days of remand, threats, intimidation and extortion. Three days in a hell hole. All for money. Well, they had me convinced I may never see anyone I knew for a long time unless I bribed someone. How much? Thirty thousand bob. Well you read write, sh. 30,000. I ended up paying sh. 20,000 but it hurts. It hurts to think that someone might have orchestrated this whole show and enjoyed my misery in the shadows. It hurts that the very people supposed to serve and protect us are our predators. I have heard it said that some people would rather meet gangsters at night than meet the police. I think now I know why.

Am I alone in my predicament? You tell me.

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Signed: Dr. Mwas
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Part 1: Poor Beggars

I have heard it said more than once that Kenya is a country of ten millionaires and ten million peasants. If you ask me, I think Kenya is a country of tens of millionaires, tens of millions of poor people and wall in between them. Everyday the rich are getting richer and the poor are getting poorer. It’s the story of our lives.

When a government is made up of hungry hyenas who eat even their own children, a big gap develops between the authorities and their subjects. More often than not, various characters take advantage of the gap created for personal gains. This only adds to the disillusion already rooted in the public. People will always see the government as the enemy. No leader, especially the politicians, remembers he was put there by a society that had faith and believed in him.

When people cry to the government to fill the gap and it ignores them, crime happens. Gangs sprout to govern areas ignored by the administration. They extort, kill, rob, rape and perform other inhumane injustices to the people they claim to police and protect. Those same gangs form coalitions and alliances with the state police and henceforth, they would be untouchable.

When the cry of the people becomes too great, sects are formed. I am not pointing fingers here but that is how a movement like Mungiki thrives. It exploits the gaps left by the central government. It preaches hope and ends up the personal gainer. Just look at what is happening to the matatu industry. How does one go about reversing the whole cycle after they stood there and watched it all happen?

After decades of grand corruption, Kenya’s economy has been reduced to what you could refer to as a past-retail-date retired whore. There is no more revenue to sustain the big mouths of the politicians and the big guys at the top. They are living like kings yet Kenya isn’t a monarchy. In their big tinted cars and helicopters, they see themselves as semi-gods.

The other day I was analyzing the stock market and one thing stood out very clearly: It’s the rich man’s playing field. It’s been proven that if you know what you are doing, you can make millions of shillings from the stock market. Take a stock like Kakuzi, for example. If you bought its shares towards the end of January, now your investment has yielded about 25% (beginning of March). Imagine you had about half a million shillings to play with.

Its time people stopped fearing the monsters that govern them. Civil justice is very sweet. Stand up for the future, don’t live for today...

[[ ...to be continued.]]

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Signed: Dr. Mwas
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My Motherland

My eyes are sore. I have cried for you for far so long. Looking at you now through, teary bloodshot eyes, I can’t help pitying you. However, pity on you is pity on me. You are my mother, my father, my brother and my sister. You are my heritage, my roots and my future. You are me.

I sit on the sidelines everyday and watch as my eldest brothers and sisters fight with our cousins. Wearing expensive suits and driving those big cars you would think they have anything between their ears, inside their skulls. They have grown horns, they no longer neither listen to us, the young ones nor pay any attention to the words of their wise parents and elders. Greed and senseless hunger for power is eating them alive. All they see us for is their slaves and clueless packs of hyenas. Hyenas they can get rid of when we serve our purpose in their endless quest for power and show for might.

I weep for my brothers and sisters born second after our eldest. In their rush to support our elder kinsmen, they trample over us. They forget they will need us to line with or behind them on judgment day. They forget that we are their soul source of resources. They treat us like outlaws, like we don’t belong. They take us for granted.

Many of my peers are lost. Time and again, they allow themselves to be treated like tree stumps or recyclable plastic. They fall farther into nothingness every time our eldest stage one of their show of might parades. Many result to cheap consumables that eat them away like cancer and many others sink into grave poverty. For the rest of us, everyday is a fight just to survive. We make endless sacrifices that only God notices. Very few of the vultures that are our eldest and second born kinsmen and cousins notice let alone recognize our efforts.

I thank God for our elders. By elders, I mean all the wise people out there trying to drum sense into the madly selfish world I live in. Before you quote me out of context, wise does not necessarily mean old. I salute all of our brothers, sisters and cousins telling our stories back to us and to our neighbors; near, far and wide. Traditionally, warriors were and still should be protectors. I respect those few of our warriors that have not and are not contemplating crossing over from protectors to predators. For all of you who are like me; fighting to take back our respect and restoration of law, order and justice; you hold a special place in my heart.

Let this be a warning to all of you brothers, sisters and cousins. I am on a warpath and I am fighting to survive. You have walked on me for so long. I am tired of your constant lies and empty promises. I refuse to follow you anymore. I am going my own way, a righteous one and I will find justice.

Cleanse your houses and cultivate love before I get to your doorstep. I am burning down your bridges of hate, tribalism and ethnicity. I am knocked down all your walls within which filthy corrupt deals are made. I am distilling all your hate-filled messages and cutting out your poisonous tongues. It is not revenge. I have to take back my motherland.

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By George Mwangi
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