Madaraka Day 2016 — the 53rd anniversary of Kenya’s self-rule — is two days away. Anniversaries, like birthdays, tend to get one introspective; taking stock of whatever measures of success one had set. If one is to be completely honest, money is often the yardstick. How much we have accumulated, if it has afforded us the things we want and need, such as nice roads and beautiful parks and constant electricity. We also measure the satisfaction of having attained a certain status, because at 53, we know that we deserve the good life. But the more we critically examine it, the more depressed we get. It’s called the Birthday Blues.
Truth is, at 53 we are borrowing from friends and acquaintances, even enemies. We are accepting charity and choking on debt. In fact, we are the 53-year-old still living at home with the parents, decades after becoming ‘independent’ of them. Why this financial wretchedness? Are we not industrious enough? We are. In fact, extraordinarily so. There is probably a Kamau somewhere in the depths of Iceland selling ice at a steep profit, an Amondi in Asia successfully convincing the Japanese to buy her handmade Kenyan craft by the shipload, and a Rhodes scholar, Mutanu, appointed to manage millions of pounds across market portfolios in London.
Back home we are just as driven, from the hustlers on the street to the corporates in the boardrooms. We are driven, we are genius, we are innovative. But in spite of this, we are eternally on the brink of national ‘brokeness’. Our pockets seem to have two black holes. And these holes have names: Debt and Corruption. In short, our money is spent before we make it. Granted, the legacy of corruption and borrowing precedes this government. But the evolution of our national budgeting is such that we have fluidly come from chewing away at the budget surplus, to polishing off the budget itself, and now pigging out on the deficit.
We jointly contribute about a trillion shillings in tax yearly. We make faithful contributions to an invisible ‘mega chama’, but we hardly realise our pennyworth. A Kenyan would be forgiven for fantasising about what Libertarians call ‘The Night-Watchman State’, where government functions are limited to security. Just keep us safe and we will hustle for the rest. It is difficult not to indulge in that fantasy when every pothole is a testament of what your tax is not doing for you. You think perhaps the option of keeping the money would’ve afforded you a monster truck to glide over the bad roads. In short, we find that the paternalistic model is failing us; that we are paying through our noses to enjoy unending blackouts and ‘benefit’ from relentless bribery and banditry. All the while we’re choking on dust and gagging at garbage. In our estimation, our tax level should make us spoilt citizens, with world class healthcare, smooth commuter trains and safe streets at midnight. Or is that too much to ask? If it is, then contributing to the GDP only for three per cent of it to go into debt servicing is too much to pay. When will a manifestation of this ‘War on Corruption’ happen? When will heads roll? We await the grand gesture. Meanwhile, we sorrowfully submit our taxes, and we look at our wallets and weep. Happy Birthday to the Republic, and many happy returns of the day. Monetary returns, I imagine.
Our pockets have two black holes named
Debt and
Corruption