Arise Kenya, it is not time to despair

When you’re getting ready to go somewhere and realise the pair of shoes that matches your outfit is the same one that pinches so badly because it’s tight, your brain starts to negotiate. The pain you previously experienced wearing this shoe becomes a distant memory and then you convince yourself that you'll manage.

TIGHT SHOES

You force your feet to fit despite knowing that it will end in tears, as Kenyans say. A few hours later, your feet start to get hot. Your pinky toes begin to throb and your other toes, as if in some sort of symphony, escalate this discomfort.

It hurts so badly to stand, so you sit. The pain intensifies, muscles contract and you now realise you shouldn’t have convinced yourself that you'll manage this kind of self-inflicted torture. You can feel the bruises forming with every friction, making walking impossible. You bite your tongue, clench your fist, hold your breath and take off your shoes even just for a minute of relief. You swear that you will never wear these shoes ever again.

This analogy fits into the Kenyan political scene. We wear a tight pair of shoe that complete our outfits during elections and despite knowing that it will cost us,  we convince ourselves that we can manage.

AN ILLUSION

We convinced ourselves that we have what it takes to go the whole nine yards and that it cannot get that bad. We do the same thing – which we already know yields no new results – but miraculously expect something different. And now here we are, with bruised feet condoning a leadership that makes us stretch so painfully without mercy.

We can’t afford basic needs. Jobs are an illusion, in fact, every time Kenyans ask about jobs, they’re told to not be job seekers but rather be creators. When we get sick and have to use public hospitals, we know for sure that it is the end.

When our children leave for school in the morning, we aren’t certain whether we’ll see them again because the school building might collapse on them. When they eventually return home, we don’t know whether this will be our last night together because houses can cave in and kills us.

NO SELF PITY

We don’t know what to eat because maize flour is poisoned, sugar has particles of metals, tap water is sewage-infused, meat is treated with chemicals and all we are told is that cartels have captured institutions. What do we do? What choice do we have?

Well, it’s time to take off this tribal shoe we’ve been wearing even if it’s just for a moment of relief and because I know there are many of us who’ve been wearing this shoe for so long that their feet must be completely soiled. I say do not despair.

This is our moment of hope and healing and as Toni Morrison says:  “This is precisely the time when artists go to work. There is no time for despair, no place for self-pity, no need for silence, no room for fear. We speak, we write, we do language. That is how civilisations heal.”

FIND COURAGE

So, let’s begin to rectify our choices. We are the curse but also the cure needed to heal ourselves from tribal politics. This, therefore, is the time to find the courage to do what it takes to build true solidarity of the people. We cannot despair.

Ms Okore is a Policy analyst; [email protected]