It’s not the bars that make people drunkards; try giving them hope
What you need to know:
- Not only does this not make business sense, considering that the competition for the few dedicated drinkers is awfully stiff, it also indicates a decided dearth of common sense.
- I come from Kiambu, and I often visit my village where I pretend to be a farmer. I have also visited relatives in Murang’a and Nyeri, and I’ve never seen any difference in the behaviour of people, often young men, who have lost all hope in life.
- Those who collect money weekly from the brewers are the same ones who are supposed to stamp out this menace, but who, instead, batten on the misery of the addicts.
The other day, my heart went out to Kiambu Governor William Kabogo when he publicly lamented that the county had too many bars, and indicated that his government would no longer license more.
Said he: “We cannot have a situation where, for every 30 business premises, 25 are bars. Shall we end up as a county of drunkards? This is unacceptable.”
Of course it is, though I doubt that the cure he is proposing will work. I have no quarrel with the thinking behind this resolve, and I see no reason why a village centre should boast one general shop, one tailor, one hardware shop, a small M-Pesa outlet, and six bars.
Not only does this not make business sense, considering that the competition for the few dedicated drinkers is awfully stiff, it also indicates a decided dearth of common sense.
Mr Kabogo is not alone in his predicament, for almost every governor in central Kenya can echo his lament and try similar solutions. The problem is that it is not the proliferation of bars that makes people in a certain village, location or ward alcoholics.
People do not drink because they are spoilt for choice of bars. Even if there was only one in every market centre, they would queue to take their daily dose of alcohol — if they can afford it.
Many observers wonder why, despite the strict laws governing the sale and intake of alcohol that came about with the introduction of the so-called Mututho rules, there has never been a significant reduction in drunkenness.
I have always thought that many of those rules were misconceived and misplaced, and therefore designed to fail.
One of the consequences is that they ended up punishing people who like to indulge their craving in a tolerably clean environment, while they did little to reduce the production and consumption of illicit stuff.
LOST ALL HOPE
I come from Kiambu, and I often visit my village where I pretend to be a farmer. I have also visited relatives in Murang’a and Nyeri, and I’ve never seen any difference in the behaviour of people, often young men, who have lost all hope in life.
In most rural areas, illicit liquor is king, and the number of zombie-like drunken characters who roam the dusty “streets” at all hours of day and night, is simply incredible.
But so far, I have not heard anybody offering any practical solution to this problem. The issue of illicit liquor only comes to the fore when scores of drinkers die or lose their eyesight after taking alcohol laced with dangerous chemicals. What is often forgotten is that this is an industry on its own, with its own rules, and from which a huge number of people profit.
The first thing to do is to find out who these callous opportunists are, for they, and not the drinkers, are the ones who make this industry hum along robustly. To identify them is not exactly rocket science.
Those who collect money weekly from the brewers are the same ones who are supposed to stamp out this menace, but who, instead, batten on the misery of the addicts.
That is why the production and consumption of cheap brews and spirits will never end. We must stop looking at this grave problem pretentiously and then offering unsustainable solutions.
What these young people need more than anything else is some kind of vocational training that will make them useful members of society before they become a total loss.
Why is it that in some rural areas, it is impossible to get an artisan of any sort, be he a carpenter, plumber, electrician, builder, or even someone who can hold on to a jembe for five minutes without huffing, puffing and giving up?
I am not, by any chance, suggesting that tightening the rules that govern the dispensation of alcohol in legal drinking dens is wrong. What, in fact, I am saying is that we should get our priorities right, and give young folks in rural areas a reason to live.
In short, reducing the number of bars, or even adhering to the Mututho rules religiously will not make any of the victims sober up. Looking at the predicament of jobless youths and giving them hope for the future could help. Let us start by reviving all the moribund village polytechnics in every ward.
