Taken from the Twitter feed of Disembe
Suddenly two boys who sold smokies and mayai find themselves in coffins so comfortable they wonder how death can be cooler than life.
Suddenly, from the comfort of their coffins, they see Ksh4 million and more ‘donated’ to their parents.
Suddenly, in death, unlike in life, they are able to achieve ‘state recognition’, with all its attendant courtesies.
Suddenly, they realize they’ve become bigger than themselves. They’ve become larger than themselves.
Next week, when the chereography is over here above, down there below, they’ll be properly welcomed in their new home; maybe by Sergent Kenei, or Meshack Yebei or Baby Pendo or Willy Kimani or GPO Oulu or Oscar King’ara, or the other countless, nameless Kenyans.
At that moment, they’ll realize just how their deaths, now such a big deal, is normal down there. One of the things I’ve learnt in Kenya is to mourn sparingly, weep sparingly and, as an artist, remain humanly indifferent. Those two ought not to have died.
And even as KOT vigil guys do their graphics and candles, we know that those two deaths are in vain. The police force that killed them is irredeemable. I, at least, know; because I saw civilian police run over human beings there near Anniversary Towers. I was there.
And nothing happened. So, for all the outrage, for all the vigils and the candles, the sad reality is that nothing will change. And nothing will change because we have a police force that killed a 9 months old baby and NO ONE has ever been held to account.
No one, even after an inquest.
No one, even after the inquest listed those to be held accountable. Do you know what happened? They were transferred, and, in time, PROMOTED. Death is death. Mourning is mourning. Yet, Kenya is Kenya. Sad, but true