Mr. President, I know you have received so many cruel and constipatory open letters that you have now run out of laxatives. I know, Mr. President, that your advisers have read so many political commentaries that they find it difficult to demystify all columnists’ messages. I know every day, whenever the sun releases its shoot, your leadership is shaken by possibility of a putsch. Though many questions have been asked and you are yet to find answers for them, please, Mr. President, do find it necessary in that responsible piece of your presidency to read this unique one from a youth.
First, let me make it clear that I cannot purport to speak on behalf of the youth of this nation. The youths do not have a political party or a national association and I am not their leader. But I chose to speak for them nonetheless. Why? Because I believe we share same concerns. We go through the same pain. Our economic growth is suppressed by the same tax regime. I speak for the youth, Mr. President, because your government has equally apportioned sorrows to all of us.
Mr. President, do you remember the day you stood behind the humble, quiet and obedient state microphone during your inauguration? Do you remember when you took over the lives of 43 million Kenyans? Sir, on that day we heard you clearly. Your voice was louder than grenade blast and clearer than Prof. Makau Mutua’s crystal balls. Your hair was kempt. Your face was smooth. Your pinstripe suit was well pressed. And your demeanor? Youthful, energetic and assuring. The youths of this nation saw a beautiful nation in you. A country shading off its adolescent past and embracing its promised future. We got the real picture of the Kenyan version of Martin Luther King’s dream.
But what have we gotten for believing in you? What did we trade our hope for? Nothing. Our visions are blurring. Our life-long dreams have been circumcised by your commissions and omissions. Like a plain terrain humbles a roaring river, your administration has flattened our entrepreneurial vibrancy and grounded the wheels that were driving our nation’s development.
Mr. President, you promised us jobs. You said you would fight corruption on our behalf. You pledged that tribalism will find no space in your country. Don’t forget your promise to cut down the cost of living. So satisfying were your manifestos that uwezo fund was just an icing on the cake.
But three years later, Mr. President, your government has done nothing other than moving us from one scandal to another. Instead of receiving news that a new stadium is being built, or that college fees has been reduced, or even that the King maker, Mr. Tribalism, has been assassinated, all we get from the media is that three of the six ‘corrupt’ cabinet secretaries have been suspended, the government is broke, El Niño is coming and the government is buying a bar soap at Kshs. 37,000 and that it is the letters that form a person’s second name that matter and not their competencies.
His Excellency – the President of both the living and the unborn – where do we go to because it appears Kenya was not meant for us? If we were in North Africa we could have easily crossed over the Mediterranean Sea to Europe, to become slaves of the white man. Lake Victoria cannot help because we are told they strip women and clobber men in Kampala. Tanzania is not a preferred destination because Sheng tampered with our Kiswahili. The employers cannot provide us with relief because they prefer grades to brains, or rather, they love it when one’s father or aunt works with them. Where do we run to, Mr. President? The opposition would have helped but they look like they will create an M-pesa account to fundraise for us. What will rescue us, Mr. President? The constitution has been mutilated. Spaces meant for civic engagement have been contracted by tribal politics. Our pastors have chased God away. He is now far away in the skies. We are hurt. We are irked. We are hopeless. We are hapless. Why do you give us what we did not bargain for? What do we do with these antonyms of the promises you gave us during 2013 electioneering? What is wrong, Mr. President? Ang’o marach? Niki kiurû? Nini mbaya?