Uneasy Calm Before First Jubilee Storm
There is an uncertain cloud that is hanging over Kenya as the country prepares to celebrate its golden jubilee. No one can say for certain in which direction the cloud will drift, but one thing we all know is that a major rainstorm at this time would definitely ruin the party. We all remember only too well the violent thunderstorm that hit the country at the end 2007; that horrible storm that claimed the lives of more than 1,300 people and devastated the lives of countless others.
The 2007-2008 deluge came with thunder and lightning, and it caught the nation flat footed and unprepared. It was a freak storm, like we had never imagined. Although many people claim to have seen it coming, very few expected its ferocity. At the height of the torrent, the nation braced itself for the very worst. The wind blew in all directions, and at one point, it threatened to sweep everyone and everything into the sea – an angry sea of blood that was flowing like a menacing tidal wave across the country.
And then, as suddenly as it had started, the tempest stopped, and the winds died down. In its wake, it left a nation confused, disorganized and groping in the dark to rebuild its identity. Like a shattered girl emerging from the horror of a rape ordeal, Kenya staggered to her feet, crying, cold and wishing that the whole incident had been just a bad dream. But it wasn’t. It wasn’t a dream at all. It was real. We had lost our innocence, and deep inside, we knew we had no one to blame but ourselves.
An uneasy calm settled over the country as the people began the arduous task of reconstructing their lives. “Never again,” we heard the elders saying. The promises sounded hollow, but we hung on to anything that sounded like hope. We were naked and vulnerable, and we grabbed at anything that would help us restore our dignity.
Four and a half years have gone by since the storm ripped through the country. From the outside, the country looks like it has made a remarkable recovery. Yet, for many of us living in the country, the truth is not hidden. Beneath the façade of normalcy, we all know that there are some ugly wounds that are yet to heal. Those wounds remain covered and kept away from the glare of light.
And so, on the eve of our big birthday party, we all stand, looking at the sky – watching as cloud gathers momentum and becomes darker. Somewhere in the distance, we hear the rumble of thunder. Yes, the rain is coming. The first flashes of lightning send chills down our spines, but we remain there, transfixed; unable to move. We look at each other with troubling questions in our eyes. Could this really be happening again? Could this be the storm that the prophet, the retired Justice Johann Kriegler warned us about? Could this be the big one that would make the storm of 2007 seem like a picnic?
And the questions keep coming, piling up, one on top of the other. Why is the coming Presidential election being contested so fiercely? What is it about the presidency that gets us all so worked up? I thought the whole idea of the new constitution to reduce the power at the centre and to push it down to the people? Has something changed, or did we miss something?
Where are these politicians getting their billions to fund their campaigns? And, by the way, why is the Independent Electoral Boundaries Commission (IEBC) beginning to sound and look so much like the defunct ECK that bungled the last elections? Why is the Commission remaining silent about the ongoing campaigns in spite of the fact that the time for campaigning has not been officially announced? Why are Parliamentarians mutilating the Constitution as though it were some draft school paper that needs editing?
No one seems to have the answers. And so we continue to stand, like zombies, looking at the cloud as it slowly approaches us. Again, we hear the thunder. But this time, it sounds like the voice of God speaking to us. “Where is your brother?” He asks. For a moment, no one speaks. We all know that He is talking about the IDPs. It is the one question that we have tried to shut out. And now God, no less, is asking the question. Yes, that same God who, for His own reasons, allowed us to reach the brink before raising his hand to calm the storm.
Somewhere in the crowd a cocky voice shouts out, “Am I my brother’s keeper?” The thundering voice of God comes back through the cloud as we feel the first drops of rain. “This time,” He says angrily, “you are on your own”.
Pete Ondeng is a leadership consultant and author of “Africa’s Moment”. He can be reached at pete.ondeng @gmail.com
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