The 2007 General Elections in Kenya will be remembered in our history as the most contentious and violent elections. Underlying ethnic tensions came to the surface in a surge of violence that was transmitted live by our national television stations.
Those of us from relatively comfortable backgrounds witnessed the
mayhem on screen from the comfort of our homes as the oppressed
majority revolted against the current injustices surrounding the
elections. This is my story as a witness.
The popcorn crackles and pops in the background inside our spotless kitchen. I snuggle in my warm duvet as I watch people running through the streets of downtown Nairobi. Cars blaze furiously in the background. I sip my cup of mango and apple herbal tea as a crowd of people chant on the streets of the coastal town of Mombasa, “Tumechoka! Tumechoka!” I don’t think they’re tourists. When I call my friend, who’s on holiday in Mombasa with her family in a five star hotel to find out whether she’s ok, she asks, “There are riots in Mombasa? Let me put on the TV.”
I tire of the TV because no election results have been announced yet, three days after we voted on the 27th of December 2007 for the next president of the Republic of Kenya. I flip through the daily newspapers, and stop to stare at a powerful picture of a woman running through the streets of a slum not far from where I live. I don’t recognize her.
Funny, when I went to do my internship in London five months ago I bumped into a Kenyan girl that I keep on meeting at parties in Nairobi. She was on holiday there after a trying semester at university abroad.
There’s no holiday for the Kenyans who live in the sprawling slum of Kibera, Mathare, and the rural towns of Kericho and the city of Kisumu. The delay in the announcememt of the electoral results has caused mayhem on the streets of Kenya. Luckily we’re indoors, like the rest of the Kenyan elite. If you have at least three square meals a day, own a TV and a decent education, you’re considered elite here. ‘Life is a comedy for those who think and a tragedy for those who feel’, says Horace Walpole. We chuckle in our house as we see a looter in Kisumu fleeing with a huge cooker on his back. He overtakes a woman running away with a large carpet. The next shot is of a man being beaten by the police. I don’t recognize any of them and neither does any one else in our house. The pop corn is ready, so we dig in and continue watching TV.
Breaking news: three people dead in chaos in Nairobi. There is still no news of the final results of the presidency. We hear loud yells outside our house. Must be the people in Kibera. The man who calls himself the people’s president has many supporters from the other Kenyans, the non elite. They’re getting angrier with every passing moment. We lock the gate of our 2 acre compound in the suburbs of Lavington so we feel safe now. We hear more yells but they’re coming from the TV though. People are protesting in the town centre. I’m getting worried because as a documentary producer I know only too well of suffering. I’ve interviewed people about it in the slums of our great country, and made nice documentaries about their stories. These compelling documentaries are watched by NGO program officers at invitation only conferences. Life is a comedy for those who think.
The TV comes alive. D- Day is finally here. The chairman of ECK is about to announced the official results at KICC. I interviewed him once on the topic of voting. He’s a decent man, with a plush office and a nice TV. The people’s president and his men cause pandemonium and prevent him from announcing the official results. Everyone gets kicked out of the centre, the media, politicians, every one. There is chaos as the police control the situation, forcefully. I hear whistles coming from the direction of Kibera. I call another friend of mine who lives in the suburbs right outside the second biggest slum in the world and she tells me how scared she is. The have nots from Kibera are marching towards the suburbs. She is locked up safely in her home with her family, watching TV, so she’s ok.
The people’s president is still calling for a recount of the votes as he gets helped out of KICC by the police, who are holding AK 47s. Everyone is confused, panicked. And then faster than you can say ‘hoodwinked’ the chairman announces the results of the elections in a private room. I hear whistles and screams in the distance. We are recovering from the shock in our sitting room. We are outraged! And we want more herbal tea, so I go and make some. My aunt calls me; she’s at home with supporters of the businessmen’s president. Strangely enough, she’s Kikuyu like me and wealthy, but she supports the people’s president. It seems her designer sunglasses are not tinted dark enough to blind her to all the poverty and despair the have nots endure in Kenya. Her friends persuade her to shop for sunglasses at the same places they do. That’s a hard sell, considering that all shops are locked and barricaded because of fear of post election riots. The have-nots are tired of window shopping while the elite buy sinfully priced goods in the Western influenced sprawling malls that are mushrooming all over Kenya. After all, the economy is doing well.
When I come back with my herbal tea to the sitting room I see on TV that the new president is being sworn in at a private, exclusive ceremony in State house. I recognize one of the guests; I think I met him at the club last weekend. The ECK chairman is seated in the background as the new president swears on the Bible. It’s in sharp contrast to the 2002 inauguration at Uhuru Park. Jubilant Kenyans from sides, the elite and the have nots cheered him on, as they stood side by side. Now he didn’t bother to invite the have nots, who are now rioting on the streets of Nairobi. Life is a tragedy for those who feel.
The have-nots take to the streets and news comes in of people dying. I hear helicopters outside, they’re circling Kibera. I no longer feel like drinking my herbal tea. More images of rioting are shown on the television and we are worried; we might not be able to have a barbecue tomorrow to herald in the New Year. The international observers say, ‘there may have been a few irregularities but we must accept the verdict of the ECK’. Cars burn but no one is worried. We are after all a peace loving nation so it will all blow over. That’s what we say as we drink warm cocoa, trying to stifle the cold chill running down our spines. I remember Sierra Leone. No one knew it would fall until it did. My friend living in the suburbs near Kibera calls me because she hears gun shots outside her home. It’s the owners of nothing who carry guns in a civil war. The elite are driving them to temptation.
Rumors fly back and forth people’s phones; talks of the chaos ensuing on our streets. We wait for the news to confirm it all. The anchor announces that all media stations have been barred by the government from showing live coverage of national events or anything that might incite violence and panic. The media, which is the bridge between the elite and the have nots, has been severed. We have no idea what’s happening on the other side. Another batch of popcorn is ready. We dig in. And wait.
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Sincerely,
Alexander