It’s official, every Kenyan family needs a boat…
Wilson Lemukut, from Kokwa Island in Lake Baringo, who helped rescue the 16 youths who survived after a boat carrying 23 people capsized last Sunday. Lemukut, who owns a boat, went to the rescue despite huge waves in the lake then.
A couple of years ago, I wrote, jokingly, in this column that it was time every Kenyan family acquired a boat since whenever it rained, the country would turn into one big river. Unfortunately, that joke is no longer a joke – it seems that every family in Kenya will, indeed, need to acquire a boat or two.
Organisations too might have to invest in motorboats if they still want their employees to report to work whenever it rains. I say this because following Tuesday’s downpour, a couple of my colleagues did not report to work after they were marooned in their homes.
The devastation the rains have caused the last couple of days has been unprecedented. It has been nothing short of horrendous, with lives and livelihoods and homes and property lost as the downpour continues relentlessly.
Watching the news has become even more depressing because we know what we will hear and see. It is a situation that exposed, yet again, how poor the country’s drainage system is, and brought to the fore the repercussions of rapid urbanisation, which is a threat to critical infrastructure, and which has led to the destruction of wetlands and encroachment on fragile riparian zones.
Every year during the rainy season, structures built close to river banks are swept away, leaving hundreds of Kenyans homeless. And every time, politicians emerge, huffing and puffing, indignant, pointing fingers at those they feel have slept on the job, leading to death and destruction.
In a well-rehearsed script, they vow to ensure that nothing like that will ever happen again, not on their watch, only to forget their empty promises when the rains subside and the sun comes out again. The following year, they wear reflector jackets, head to the flood scene, dust off the same speech and give it again. Would I be wrong if I said we’re doomed?
On Monday this week, I found myself ‘marooned’ on a flooded pavement along Kenyatta Avenue. An entire section right next to National Bank was submerged in rainwater, water that had also swallowed up a chunk of the road, such that the entire place resembled a river.
To get to the other side, you either had to wade through the dirty ankle-length water and drench your shoes, (the water was probably mixed with sewage) or hoist yourself up a ‘perimeter wall’ next to the building, and use the decorative metal grills to support yourself as you gingerly moved along.
I told myself there was no way I was going to walk through the filthy water, if anything, I did not have a spare pair of shoes, so there was no way I was going to drench the ones I was wearing.
I, therefore, decided to turn back and look for another route to the office, but it was impossible because I was blocked by a thick queue of people waiting to cross. The women ahead of me were full of indecisiveness, wondering whether to plunge into the water or join the men up the wall.
Finally, ladylike behaviour won and they decided to wade across. As for me, it was crystal clear in my mind that this was no time to behave like a lady. I bravely hoisted myself up the wall and joined the men. Up to now, I keep thinking that a video of me on that wall will pop up on social media because I spotted a couple of people on a bus filming with their mobile phones. Nairobi, I tell you, is the school of hard knocks, and is certainly not for the faint-hearted.
