It’s such a pride
to be Kenyan.
But sometimes
I see the need
to hide my face
when a patient arrives
in the hospital in time
but dies
due to lack of infrastructure.
I’m proud to be Kenyan
until a patient flat lines
on a stretcher
while awaiting the bureaucrats
to update their systems
and software
and instead of being taken in
as a patient,
they are pronounced dead
and booked in
at the morgue.
It’s scary times
to be Kenyan.
Because the government
you depend on
suddenly have quarantine facilities
for foreign Ebola patients
while its hospital corridors
echo emptiness,
long lines
only to be referred
30 km away
from your home.
It’s even more scary
to be Kenyan.
Hospital triage
breeding harsh nurses
like the harsh reality
to our failing systems,
casually screaming approved
before you walk into
an empty pharmacy shelf
that humbles you.
Where is the special care
when the local clinic
has no water?
I’m even more scared
to be Kenyan
because we we are no longer able
to bleed the workers
to fund a broken engine.
Need I say the solutions
that equally don’t rely
on new system transitions,
the true universal care
is not an app
on the phone.
It’s a functional theater
in Kossoh.
It’s okay
to promise the sky,
but at least make sure
our health
is in is.
It’s okay
to promise the sky,
but at least make sure
our health is insured
and just not a license
to inherit
an empty bed.
