Which moral do you choose?

This is a follow up on my post a fews days ago (Please find it here) about Kenya’s invitation to invite Sudan president al-Bashir on the promulgation of Kenya’s New Constitution. Many things have been said about it, I enjoy the Freedom to add. The things we don’t see are what politicians are reading. I am 100 percent sure that Machiavelli’s The Prince is on the desk of at least some of the Kenyan leaders. One of the things that Machiavelli talks about is moral. There the monopolised moral by the churche/religion in this world and there is the moral with the meaning of doing what is good for the masses. Apparently, Kenyan politicians’ moral seems to be the Machiavellian moral, in this case (or at least that is what they say). They invited al-Bashir for the greater good: peace in Southern Sudan. In Africa quite often, there seems to be a conflict between the religious moral and what I just called he Machiavellian moral. It seems that a lot of news media and word leaders use that against Africa. They choose the moral they want and start condemning who ever they want. But if there is a ‘real’ moral, and countries and organisations garding it, why do we still have Joseph Koni, al-Bashir and that type of leaders. We should talk about this with a glass of nice my friend. Have a moralistic and good day !

yo' ya.. giv' me a slumhug

Click here for Daily Nation article Kibera

Gambling Machines in Caprivi Strip

On my trip through Namibia’s Caprivi Strip, I stopped at a small coffee joint to satisfy my caffeine-needs. In the end, I am still a Dutch. It was not my first time that I visited this small place in one of the poorest areas of beautiful Namibia. The type of area where people die of malaria because they can’t find transport to the nearest hospital or can’t spend two dollar to safe their own baby’s life. On the outside, nothing had changed. Still the dark orange/brown red-earthy color. Inside still the slow service and the super friendly girl who looks like she doesn’t need anybody as a customer today. Yes: everything looked as usual: I was even happy with the absence of Take Away Coffees. The mugs are on the way, like two years ago, I was told. But I observed something new there in the far dark corner and it made me angry, actually: it made me mad. I saw two gambling machines. I asked who had put these things there, at first nobody could tell me. I noticed the Russian signs and buttons on these what must once have been flashy and bling-blinging Mokba-one-armed-bandits. I could almost smell the wodka. After asking around a bit, some guys told me that a white guy had put them there and someone from the Ministry of Finance was the owner. Now that is what I call development! I took my instant coffee. Outside I found these young guys begging, hiding their small glue bottles in their hands when you approached them and I imagined how the future for these guys would look like if the gambling machines would be connected soon. The locals seemed not very interested in the machines. Some of them told me that all in a lot of shebeens (local ‘drinking places’ ) these machines had been placed recently. I want to stop here and leave the cynical thinking up to the cynics. Hope to meet you on the road! Have a nice day! And keep exploring!

[inspic=143,left,,thumb](New York, October 15, 2008) – The Kenyan government and international partners should strongly support the call by the Waki commission investigating post-election violence to create a special tribunal to end Kenya’s cycle of impunity, Human Rights Watch said today.
“The Waki commission has done an admirable job describing the causes of the violence and assembling evidence,” said Georgette Gagnon, Africa director at Human Rights Watch. “Now the politicians need to set up the special tribunal it recommends. Justice is crucial for Kenya’s stability.”

The report of the Commission of Inquiry into Post-Election Violence, headed by Justice Philip Waki, was published on October 15, 2008. The commission concluded that politicians on all sides had organized and funded attacks on supporters of their opponents. The inquiry also found that security forces responded inappropriately, using excessive force against civilians, intervening to have allies released from custody and failing to investigate individuals responsible for the violence. Human Rights Watch said that a complete overhaul of Kenya’s corrupt and abusive police force, as recommended by the Waki commission, is long overdue….

[mygal=nairobiriots]

I woke up this morning realising how lucky I am. I went to bed with the story of a Kenyan who arrived in Nairobi confused. He spent his last money on the bus to flee for his life, because a group of soldiers and citizens came to his home at night. Screaming to him: Who did you vote for!! Who did you vote for!! I will keep it short. He and his family bled into a river bed and spent the night. From there he and his family saw how groups went through the area putting fire on houses in the region. This man’s life was saved, and the attackers did not set his house a blaze. But they took his cows. I had a paeceful sleep although the story of the man popped up from time to time.

Then this morning they I woke up with the news of two ministers of the Kenyan government saying: we don’t need any African mediators, because we have won the elections. One of them was referring to a team of African ‘wise men and women’, among them Gracia Machel (Nelson Mandela’s wife) and Kofi Annan (former UN secretary general) who are jetted in for mediation between Raila Odinga and Mwai Kibaki. For your information: the two ministers: Michuki and Saitoti have both been around and they are not the cleanest.

This morning
This morning in the Newspaper, they showed how big the distance is between Kenya’s filthy rich politicians who don’t even seem to suffer from what is happening to their people. They can just talk about their victory and seem to blind that what is going on in ‘their’ Kenya. But ‘their’ Kenya seems to be a different Kenya. It is the Kenya of the career politicians, who have their children study abroad and who got away with almost everything they did in the past because they are who they are. Their Kenya, they showed is another planet, to which they can choose to fly to whenever they want.

The real Kenya these days is the Kenya of a people that tries to survive, of the people who don’t have a choice. The real Kenya is the Kenya is the Kenya from people that thought they were in a stable country and got hope in the past five years that things would get better. The real Kenya is the Kenya is the Kenya of people who from one day day to another are refugees, don’t have the choice to take a flight like a lot of NGO-workers, diplomats, family of the small group of privileged and tourists with a travel insurance who left this country.

The leaders of this country, none of them did not show anything that shows concern. There is no joint statement in which they show who they really. This country will remember them as many other leaders in Kenyan history: the ones that put their own interests above the people’s. Or… like we Dutch say: the ones that were the drops that made water in the bucket go over the rim… to finally start the Big Change…

What is happening here has gone far beyond who has won elections or not. It among others about a deep felt frustration from the poor. It is about a deep felt frustration about the permanent felt injustice in this society and a hope that was taken away. It is about choices and where they can bring people. Like the man from my bed time story: he did not have the choice but to save his life. Compare to minister Michuki’s choice: looking at the picture in today’s newspaper I have the impression he choose to go for a Dead Sea Mineral-mask and on the way decided to choose a nice new Hugo Boss suit.

I am just outside the Kenyan parlement now waiting for the moment the parlement is going to be opened. It might be the start of a new wave of actions, the choice of an angry Kenyan people. I will keep you posted! At this moment: The streets are getting quiet, riot police is around with cannisters of teargas.

AN OPEN LETTER TO SAMUEL KIVUITU, CHAIR OF THE ELECTORAL COMMISSION OF KENYA

Mr. Kivuitu,

We’ve never met. It’s unlikely we ever will. But, like every other Kenyan, I will remember you for the rest of my life. The nausea I feel at the mention of your name may recede. The bitterness and grief will not.

You had a mandate, Mr. Kivuitu. To deliver a free, fair and transparent election to the people of Kenya. You and your commission had 5 years to prepare. You had a tremendous pool of resources, skills, technical support, to draw on, including the experience and advice of your peers in the field – leaders and experts in governance, human rights, electoral process and constitutional law. You had the trust of 37 million Kenyans.

We believed it was going to happen. On December 27th, a record 65% of registered Kenyan voters rose as early as 4am to vote. Stood in lines for up to 10 hours, in the sun, without food, drink, toilet facilities. As the results came in, we cheered when minister after powerful minister lost their parliamentary seats. When the voters of Rift Valley categorically rejected the three sons of Daniel Arap Moi, the despot who looted Kenya for 24 years. The country spoke through the ballot, en masse, against the mind-blowing greed, corruption, human rights abuses, callous dismissal of Kenya’s poor, that have characterised the Kibaki administration.

But Kibaki wasn’t going to go. When it became clear that you were announcing vote tallies that differed from those counted and confirmed in the constituencies, there was a sudden power blackout at the Kenyatta International Conference Centre, where the returns were being announced. Hundreds of GSU (General Service Unit) paramilitaries suddenly marched in. Ejected all media except the government mouthpiece Kenya Broadcasting Corporation.

Fifteen minutes later, we watched, dumbfounded, as you declared Kibaki the winner. 30 minutes later, we watched in sickened disbelief and outrage, as you handed the announcement to Kibaki on the lawns of State House. Where the Chief Justice, strangely enough, had already arrived. Was waiting, fully robed, to hurriedly swear him in.

You betrayed us. Perhaps we’ll never know when, or why, you made that decision. One rumour claims you were threatened with the execution of your entire family if you did not name Kibaki as presidential victor. When I heard it, I hoped it was true. Because at least then I could understand why you chose instead to plunge our country into civil war.

I don’t believe that rumor any more. Not since you appeared on TV, looking tormented, sounding confused, contradicting yourself. Saying, among other things, that you did not resign because you “did not want the country to call me a coward”, but you “cannot state with certainty that Kibaki won the election”. Following that with the baffling statement “there are those around him [Kibaki] who should never have been born.” The camera operator had a sense of irony – the camera shifted several times to the scroll on your wall that read: “Help Me, Jesus.”

As the Kenya Chapter of the International Commission of Jurists rescinds the Jurist of the Year award they bestowed on you, as the Law Society of Kenya strikes you from their Roll of Honour and disbars you, I wonder what goes through your mind these days.

Do you think of the 300,000 Kenyans displaced from their homes, their lives? Of the thousands still trapped in police stations, churches, any refuge they can find, across the country? Without food, water, toilets, blankets? Of fields ready for harvest, razed to the ground? Of granaries filled with rotting grain, because no one can get to them? Of the Nairobi slum residents of Kibera, Mathare, Huruma, Dandora, ringed by GSU and police, denied exit, or access to medical treatment and emergency relief, for the crime of being poor in Kenya?

I bet you haven’t made it to Jamhuri Park yet. But I’m sure you saw the news pictures of poor Americans, packed like battery chickens into their stadiums, when Hurricane Katrina hit Louisiana. Imagine that here in Nairobi, Mr. Kivuitu. 75,000 Kenyans, crammed into a giant makeshift refugee camp. Our own Hurricane Kivuitu-Kibaki, driven by fire, rather than floods. By organized militia rather than crumbling levees. But the same root cause – the deep, colossal contempt of a tiny ruling class for the rest of humanity. Over 60% of our internal refugees are children. The human collateral damage of your decision.

And now, imagine grief, Mr. Kivuitu. Grief so fierce, so deep, it shreds the muscle fibres of your heart. Violation so terrible, it grinds down the very organs of your body, forces the remnants through your kidneys, for you to piss out in red water. Multiply that feeling by every Kenyan who has watched a loved one slashed to death in the past week. Every parent whose child lies, killed by police bullets, in the mortuaries of Nairobi, Kisumu, Eldoret. Everyone who has run sobbing from a burning home or church, hearing the screams of those left behind. Every woman, girl, gang-raped.

Do you sleep well these days, Mr. Kivuitu? I don’t. I have nightmares. I wake with my heart pounding, slow tears trickling from the corners of my eyes, random phrases running through my head:

Remember how we felt in 2002? It’s all gone. (Muthoni Wanyeki, ED of Kenya Human Rights Commission, on the night of December 30th, 2007, after Kibaki was illegally sworn in as president).

There is a crime here that goes beyond recrimination. There is a sorrow here that weeping cannot symbolise. (John Steinbeck, American writer, on the betrayal of internally displaced Americans, in The Grapes of Wrath)

Haki iwe ngao na mlinzi….kila siku tuwe na shukrani (“Justice be our shield and defender….every day filled with thanksgiving” Lines from Kenya’s national anthem)

I soothe myself back to patchy sleep with my mantra in these terrible days, as our country burns and disintegrates around us:

Courage. Courage comes. Courage comes from cultivating. Courage comes from cultivating the habit. Courage comes from cultivating the habit of refusing. Courage comes from cultivating the habit of refusing to let fear dictate one’s actions. (Aung San Suu Kyi, Burmese Nobel Peace Prize winner).

I wake with a sense of unbearable sadness. Please let it not be true…..

Meanwhile, the man you named President cowers in the State House, surrounded by a cabal of hardline power brokers, and a bevy of sycophantic unseated Ministers and MPs, who jostle for position and succession. Who fuel the fires by any means they can, to keep themselves important, powerful, necessary. The smoke continues to rise from the torched swathes of Rift Valley, the gutted city of Kisumu, the slums of Nairobi and Mombasa. The Red Cross warns of an imminent cholera epidemic in Nyanza and Western Kenya, deprived for days now of electricity and water. Containers pile up at the Port of Mombasa, as ships, unable to unload cargo, leave still loaded. Uganda, Rwanda, Burundi, Southern Sudan, the DRC, all dependent on Kenyan transit for fuel and vital supplies, grind to a halt.

A repressive regime rolls out its panoply of oppression against legitimate dissent. Who knew our police force had so many sleek, muscled, excellently-trained horses, to mow down protestors? Who guessed that in a city of perennial water shortages, we had high-powered water cannons to terrorize Kenyans off the streets?

I am among the most fortunate of the fortunate. Not only am I still whole, alive, healthy, mobile; not only do I have food, shelter, transport, the safety of those I love; I have the gift of work. I have the privilege to be in the company of the most brilliant, principled, brave, resilient Kenyans of my generation. To contribute whatever I can as we organize, strategize, mobilize, draw on everything we know and can do, to save our country. I marvel at the sheer collective volume of trained intelligence, of skill, expertise, experience, in our meetings. At the ability to rise above personal tragedy – families still hostage in war zones, friends killed, homes overflowing with displaced relatives – to focus on the larger picture and envisage a solution. I listen to lawyers, economists, youth activists, humanitarians; experts on conflict, human rights, governance, disaster relief; to Kenyans across every sector and ethnicity, and I think:

Is this what we have trained all our lives for? To confront this epic catastrophe, caused by a group of old men who have already sucked everything they possibly can out of Kenya, yet will cling until they die to their absolute power?

You know these people too, Mr. Kivuitu. The principled, brave, resilient, brilliant Kenyans. The idealists who took seriously the words we sang as schoolchildren, about building the nation. Some of them worked closely with you, right through the election. Some called you friend. You don’t even have the excuse that Kibaki, or his henchmen, might offer – that of inhabiting a world so removed from ours that they cannot fathom the reality of ordinary Kenyans. You know of the decades of struggle, bloodshed, faith and suffering that went into creating this fragile beautiful thing we called the “democratic space in Kenya.” So you can imagine the ways in which we engage with the unimaginable. We coin new similes:

lie low like a 16A (the electoral tally form returned by each constituency, many of which were altered or missing in the final count)

We joke about the Kivuitu effect – which turns internationalists, pan-Africanists, fervent advocates for the dissolution of borders, into nationalists who cry at the first verse of the national anthem .

Ee Mungu nguvu yetu
Ilete baraka kwetu
Haki iwe ngao na mlinzi
Natukae na undugu
Amani na uhuru
Raha tupate na ustawi.

O God of all creation
Bless this our land and nation
Justice be our shield and defender
May we dwell in unity
Peace and liberty
Plenty be found within our borders.

Rarely do we allow ourselves pauses, to absorb the enormity of our country shattered, in 7 days. We cry, I think, in private. At least I do. In public, we mourn through irony, persistent humour, and action. Through the exercise of patience, stamina, fortitude, generosity, that humble me to witness. Through the fierce relentless focus of our best energies towards challenges of stomach-churning magnitude. We tell the stories that aren’t making it into the press: the retired general in Rift Valley sheltering 200 displaced families on his farm, the Muslim Medical Professionals offering free treatment to anyone injured in political protest. We challenge, over and over again, with increasing weariness, the international media coverage that presents this as “tribal warfare”, “ethnic conflict”, for an audience that visualises Africa through Hollywood: Hotel Rwanda, The Last King of Scotland, Blood Diamond.

I wish you’d thought of those people, when you made the choice to betray them. I wish you’d drawn on their courage, their integrity, their clarity, when your own failed you. I wish you’d had the imagination to enter into the lives, the dreams, of 37 million Kenyans.

But, as you’ve probably guessed by now, Mr. Kivuitu, this isn’t really a letter to you at all. This is an attempt to put words to what cannot be expressed in words. To mourn what is too immense to mourn. A clumsy groping for something beyond the word ‘heartbreak’. A futile attempt to communicate what can only be lived, moment by moment. This is a howl of anguish and rage. This is a love letter to a nation. This is a long low keening for my country.

Shailja Patel

Hours later, I got a warm welcome, again, by a very friendly immigration officer at the Lomé international airport. I had to fly because the overland border was closed, not very promising, indeed. Of course the usual bureaucracy (‘We can not allow you in, when you can’t show us the boarding pass of the plane you were on, sir’, the plane with the engine on meters behind me).
-’Could you please join me to my office?’
-’Sure sir, I understand.’

The next day, elections passed. Calm and as the BBC reported with long qeus at the polling stations which is a reason to believe that a high percentage of people went out to vote. No violence reported, only some harassment around the border, which is a less than ten minute-moto-taxidrive from the city center.
Days passed, without any violence being reported. From the capital Lomé, I travelled over well maintained tarmac-roads, hardly counted any potholes nor roadblocks manned by angry drunken soldiers asking for money. Not that you would expect when you hear the name Togo? Excellent! My starting point is an average Kenyan road, that is like it has been bombarded recently and is full with roadblocks. Anyway, I stayed in hotels, that served nice breakfast, had rooms with cold and hot water and a friendly staff that understands hospitality.

Days later, I returned to the capital and I got a different feeling. Everybody in capital Lomé seemed to be full of fear the evening the results of the elections were to be announced. The beautiful waitress of the pub were I enjoyed a cold Eku-beer, came to me, bowed over, looked me deep in my eyes, and asked me extremely friendly with an extremely beautiful smile if i could leave ‘Parce que on ferme tot ce soir. On attend les résultats.’ I gave her my best ‘Pas de problème’ since long.

Arriving at the hotel, I found a panicking old white madam from the reception who called me on my room to tell me in a high voice ‘de pas sortir’, not to go out, or even better leave the country now, because even last time ‘they’ came and destroyed part of the hotel. I could not tell her my profession, so I accepted her advice calm with a polite smile and ‘Merci madam’. Coming from the North, I had not felt anything like tension. Talking with people about the elections, they seemed to be happy that they were able to bring out their vote, although they knew that their voice would not make a difference. And they told me and it seemed that people were discussing politics in the open. At least the president had brought some good things I learned: a year ago there was no water, there no electricity on a lot of places, but now there is. I saw police officers, ok, but they seemed friendly and not of the bullying-bulldog-type. It seemed that the whole nation was ready not to spoil this time. It’s the Togo-complot against the West