When will this stop: Terror in my country Kenya


My cry goes out to the victims of crime. I cry for all the victims that succumbed to the austerity of insecurity in my country since time immemorial.  Those swept by the strident blades of inhumane perpetrators. Perpetrators who freely torture and kill innocent lives of my Kenyan brothers and sisters. At times, I wonder whether the increasing numbers will ever ring a bell to those in authority.

I wonder how it will be five years from now, as corrupt and unskilled gluttons will be occupying high offices in government; whereas the fading cries for help emanating from the graves of maimed professionals under university training will go unanswered.

Is it about seeking justice to save their long-fought-for pride?  Or is it about efforts to save the undying prestige of having gone through hardships to secure a place in the university? Is it about the haves and the have-nots? If we can take time to answer these questions, then we will be able to understand that we are slowly permeating negative energy into the spirit of Mama Africa.

Ages ago, such cases were hardly there. No, it is not because there wasn’t enough media coverage. Neither was it because there was less development back then. I do not want to believe that the government does not have enough machinery to ward off enemies. I will stand firm in the words of our national anthem:

Natukae na Undugu – May we dwell in unity

Amani na uhuru – Peace and liberty

Raha tupate na ustawi – Plenty be found within our borders

If we are to dwell in unity, then it is only prudent that we be peaceful. If liberty should define our sense of freedom, then we should be free indeed. Free from the unending attacks. Free from the claws of agents of delinquency. If only our borders can indeed be secured, and our children be assured that school trips to Garissa would mean the same as a visit to the Aberdares or the Maasai Mara, save for the genotypic difference in the animals they will see, then this words will have meaning.

My little niece sits down on her computer to carry out research on major economic activities in county capitals in Kenya. But all she can find on Garissa is increased terror, Garissa attack, families mourning and it is appalling to even see her struggle with images of bloodshed at such a tender age.

As I pen off with baited hope, I pray that our screens will not see lifeless bodies, lost potential, lost opportunities for a better future, and for the not-so-much talked about deaths of young men and women in combat serving their country.

For the lost souls I pray. That your death be seen as a national loss and not another statistic scribed by the morgue attendant.

Teddy Eugene Otieno is Nairobi-based Kenyan journalist. Follow him on Twitter @teddyeugene

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