Kudos to the Immigration department (JKIA)

To find out the night before you're due to travel that your national passport is missing is, to say the least, unnerving. This was my predicament three days ago in Juba, South Sudan.

After rummaging in all the likely places (and they are not many) I concluded I must have left the passport at JKIA on my way out of the country nearly seven weeks earlier. I had remained unaware it was missing because I need only my UN Laissez Passer to enter and leave South Sudan. The three likely places were the Immigration desk, the Java coffee house and a bag shop where I bought a backpack before rushing to board my flight.

The flight back to Nairobi from Juba was uneventful, except that just before we landed the captain announced that we had been put in a holding pattern by Air Traffic Control.

I looked out the window and, lo and behold, an aerial view of Kenya's picturesque Ngong Hills in all their splendor.

We had a smooth landing at JKIA. Armed with a copy of the missing document I headed straight for the shop where I bought the backpack. The attendant said they would have handed lost property to Kenya Airways' Customer Service desk.

At Kenya Airways a sympathetic attendant directed me to check with the Immigration Office, since the presumed loss took place several weeks before.

At Immigration I received the same courteous attention as I explained my case. I had my boarding pass from the previous trip to prove I had travelled through JKIA. The gentleman pulled out a stack of passports. As he opened them one by one, I told him I was praying. My passport was at the bottom. I breathed a sight of relief.

The passport had been registered in the Occurrences Book. I signed for it and left, my spirits soaring. I was feeling extremely grateful for the courtesy and efficiency with which my case had been handled.

A family mourns

Family mourns tragic loss of two sisters in crash

Jedida and Joan were two of the six people who died in the April 15 accident at about 4pm when the matatu in which they were travelling rammed into a construction truck parked crosswise to prevent vehicles from using a section of the superhighway....
http://www.nation.co.ke/News/Family+mourns+tragic+loss+of+two+sisters+in+crash+/-/1056/1391342/-/item/1/-/69gw2lz/-/index.html

As I read the article I realize it isn't just one family in mourning. Four other people died. It occurs to me there are other families in distress, whose loved ones possibly lie injured in one hospital or another. Beyond the emotional trauma, families are thrown into financial disarray either through high medical bills or because the breadwinner is incapacitated, possibly for life.

Evidently our nation is squandering its most precious resource... IS ANYONE EVER HELD ACCOUNTABLE?

Each time I learn about a road accident--and this is a standard feature in Kenyan news--I wonder if anyone will be held accountable. Have we as a society come simply to accept "accidents" as a fact of life.

Definition: an unfortunate incident that happens unexpectedly and unintentionally, typically resulting in damage or injury.

...a construction truck parked crosswise to prevent vehicles from using a section of the super highway... sounds, well, intentional to me.

I shudder to think that work on the superhighway continues... as a family mourns.

It's none of your bl**dy business!

I need to vent. This article got my gall. As I read it I wondered, are there no standards of decency in journalism!

The headline caught my eye. The title suggested it was a story of hardship in Kenyan slums... There was a photograph of an African woman, head and shoulders. I presumed it was an account of her struggle against the odds. Nothing prepared me for the effrontery that followed.

In an iron-roofed Kenyan shack, Veneranda Mudi talks to the Irish Independent

It starts with a description of the woman's place of origin: Western Province. There follows a sensational portrayal of the Kawangware slums where the woman resides, juxtaposed with the plush neighboring Lavington suburb for effect.

I identified with the writer 's account of "hundreds of thousands of people who struggle to survive in the shantytowns speckled throughout the schizophrenic city that also boasts air-conditioned shopping malls where you can enjoy free wi-fi with your latte."

The situation of Kenya's urban poor is preoccupying; the failure of the authorities to address it is a constant source of criticism. During a recent visit to Nairobi, I head a slum-dweller as on the radio: are we really Kenyans?

But that is not the issue here.

I felt mild irritation as I read that "...the interview was difficult -- Veneranda speaks almost no English so every question had to be translated from Swahili." The woman was fluent in Luhya and Swahili! Getting past my irritation I read on... only to experience a surge of indignation.

I'll spare you the details... but be my guest:  http://www.independent.ie/lifestyle/in-an-ironroofed-kenyan-shack-veneranda-mudi-talks-to-the-irish-independent-3080738.html

How dare a journalist show up at your house--I don't care if it's a mabati shack... How dare anyone harras you to establish the identity of the father of your child! The nerve! I feel incensed, violated on her behalf. All for a scoop? I could just throw up.

The mother in me weeps

I am obsessed with the case of one Trayvon Martin, who was shot to death in Florida, USA a few weeks ago. Listening to the news, I felt instinctively that his death was completely unnecessary. My sense of bewilderment grew as I learned of Florida's Stand Your Ground law. In my layperson's understanding, that law made it ok to shoot the young man. 

  

To be honest I find some of the arguments about whether the shooting was racially motivated or not confusing. At the end of the day, a young man lay dead. As far as I am concerned he could have been blue or purple, or the same color as the shooter. He was dead. 

In Nairobi, over the Easter holidays I was listening to the radio when when I learned of a family that was demanding justice for the death of a young Kenyan at the hands of the police. To be honest (I’m scratching my head) I do not remember the details. I do remember what was going through my mind…

A family’s shock. A son, a brother, just 28 years of age went out for a night of merrymaking. A telephone call. Whaaaat! According to the news report, the family of Fred Obado, an engineer, was informed about his death by a traffic policeman who claimed he was a victim of a hit and run accident. According to the news report, that account differs from those of eyewitnesses. Bottom line: a young man is dead!

In the news, another Kenyan family mourns the death of a young man, allegedly killed during a security operation in a Nairobi bar over Easter. Mark Muiruri, 21, had just graduated from the Kenya Institute of Management. [http://www.capitalfm.co.ke/news/?p=35507]

I scour the news for a sign. The optimist in me is looking for a signal that someone will be held accountable. Young men sent to an early grave—regardless of race, tribe, color, creed, social standing, sexual orientation… My layperson's thinking again: does Kenya have a variation of Stand Your Ground that would render the deaths legally justifiable? I pray not. 

My heart goes out to the mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, friends, neighbors… who may never come to terms with the losses. Easter will never be the same again.

Last night, I read news that Trayvon Martin’s shooter would be charged. I wonder whether the Kenyan police and the powers that be will step up to the plate. Will it take a campaign, a groundswell of public opinion as it did in the US? Will anyone bother? The mother in me weeps.