Damn those pictures in my head.

Something extremely annoying sometimes happens to me. I open the shower and as the cold water trickles to my back and triggers the singing bug....moments later i shut up, a sudden curse forming on my lips.

How could i? How could i be singing one of those annoying songs...ati tawala Kenya, tawala...tawala what! I realise i am actually worse than Pavlov’s dog. Somebody must have read his works and instructed my teachers, way back in primary school, how to ensure we never forget some stuff.

The teachers made us sing, as we lined up by the roadside to welcome that man who used to be the head of state. And these mental images stick in our heads and just refuse to go away.

I remember that era. I remember politicians and adults who discussed ‘debt burden’. I remember how prices went up. I remember the 1990s. As teenagers, we had to work hard to earn pocket money. Our civil servant parent’s earnings was not always enough for all our needs.

As a university student, i came to understand public policy better. By then, Goldenberg had happened. Our parents had been retrenched. University fees had been introduced and jobs were extremely hard to come by. Any hopes for my kid brother drinking milk in school as we ever did remained just that: hope.

Oh the pictures in my head. I remember how nobody could talk politics just anyhow. Then one day, i heard Jaramogi, the old man who we only used to hear myths about, started talking. Exchanging words with a certain man others preferred to call ‘the man from sacho’. The men in the estate only whispered about it.

Then there was a day a certain section 2A was repealed, mugumo trees and razor blades not withstanding. Everyone started talking about it. I could hear their discussions as they walked along the Amasya crescent – that road that our backyard faced. It was loud enough for me to hear all they said, and nobody arrested anyone. Something different had surely happened.

Oh the pictures in my head. They refuse to go away, even though i try to erase them. When the local chief made us line up along the road and chant ‘Nyayo’ we retorted by chanting ‘Nyoyo’. ‘Nyoyo’ is one of my favourite dishes. It is a mixture of maize and beans. Another community calls it ‘Githeri’. We also sang ‘Twa-ha-ra Kenya... so that we dont have to say ‘Tawala Kenya’. Those afternoons used to chant ‘Nyayo’ could have been aptly spent analysing that poem called ‘the empty head’ and relating it to policy makers of that time.

They were interesting times. They proved to me that those politicians were not out to better our lot. They had no idea of how best public policy should be formulated for our benefits. They blindly agreed to Structural Adjustment Programs, because they knew they had stolen the cash with their left hand....and with their bad management, and the rest of the population suffered the consequences.

I hate to remember what we went through. I personally think anybody who was remotely involved in any role in government, anybody (including the ones who want Kurudi Tena he was VP for almost a decade!)who was involved in enacting public policy, anybody who agreed to any loans that we are now paying.....that person surely does not deserve to be anywhere in government ever again.