Allow me to introduce myself again. My name is Sgt Makini. I work under a boss called Inspector Tembo, who also happens to be my father-in-law because his daughter and my colleague Sgt Sophia is my common law wife.
My boss is past retirement age but has no intention of leaving any time soon, and he might not have to worry about it for the time being because somehow, the paperwork (and perhaps the gold watch) is stuck in Nairobi.
To you, that might sound glamorous — a cushy police job, a senile boss and the most beautiful woman in my bed. Well, the last part is, but here’s the kicker: We’re all deployed in a very remote village called Jiji Ndogo. A place with a larger population of goats than people. Emergency calls here involve getting someone’s cows out of his neighbour’s farm and preventing a possible bloodbath.
Why am I telling you all this? Because I truly don’t like it here. Nearly every day, I wake up and feel like quitting. I think of all the people working in Eldoret and other glamourous cities and wonder, why me? I could be working traffic detail in Nairobi, or fighting cattle rustlers in Upper Eastern. Or I could even be working dignitary security detail. Oh, the thought of going to the airport even when not flying fills me with chills. Instead of any of that, I’m in Jiji Ndogo herding chickens because Mama Kibicho forgot to close the coop and now there’s chicken rampage on the streets.
Life is frustrating and sometimes there’s nothing we can do. I know I’m not the only one working a dead-end job and wondering when there’ll be a light at the end of the tunnel. My tunnel would be pointing in the direction of Eldoret, have I said that already?
Unfortunately, this frustration doesn’t start and end with adults. Children are also wary of the direction of their lives. Put yourself in the shoes of a current Form 4 student. In four odd months, you’ll be sitting a final exam that marks not only the first major milestone in your education, it signifies that you’re now an adult. The government and the society call you an adult and spits you out into the world.
Suddenly, you have to fend for yourself and make sense of a world every adult around you is complaining about. Most of these kids know their folks won’t afford to take them to college. The only legal option left is street vending or the overcrowded boda boda sector. And even those who manage to attend college aren’t so lucky either. Most of them are out there riding those boda bodas or hawking water melons.
It’s no wonder there’s so much hooliganism in schools lately. I’m not trying to justify the actions of a few bad apples. What I’m trying to say is that when all these school arsons are taking place, there are some good students who could rat out the perpetrators. Why don’t they?
Maybe they fear retribution, or maybe they don’t see the point. I can imagine a student thinking, “What do I stand to gain by risking my life to stop this strike?”
There are many sides to a story. I’m a cop, I should know this. We as a society need to attack these problems from all angles, the same way a literal fire is extinguished. Never before has it needed a village to raise a child like this moment. From proper parenting to better management in schools to a government that cares for its youths.
A parent came to the Police Post complaining that her school has demanded Sh40,000 per student because of a strike. I couldn’t do anything about it, but it’s time the government opened its eyes.
