By Tabitha Marion
Jonte sits on a slab on the road side tired and sweat running over his face. He looks around
bewildered and confused not knowing what to do or where to head to. He sighs and leans his
head between his knees tears threatening to gush out his eyes. He thinks through his fate, what he
has been through and what he thinks would happen afterwards.
It has been years of no job, no pay, extreme hunger and absolute confusion. He hustles around
town driving a cart, ferrying goods from one point to another. Recently, that hustle has hit hard
times. Their main market were mamas who sell in the market, but right now with the hard
economic times every penny counts. They no longer order carts but prefer carrying goods on
their backs. It becomes a lucky day earning a mere kshs 100, but what would that suffice to.
He rises and faces the crowd that is protesting over the Finance Bill that was recently passed by
the Parliament. In him, breeds pain and desperation. The need for a change that he cannot see
engulfs him and he begins to walk hands lifted high as if making his prayer to the Almighty
above. He repeats within himself the stoic words "I need to be free again". Jonte feels bound both
body and soul. He is struggling to breath with oxygen all around him. He makes staggered steps
to an abandoned police truck and climbs on it with rage and feeble hands. He shouts loud and
jumps to get as much attention as he can.
The stunned crowd turned to give ear to their fellow protestant. And there, he gave his bleeding
heart out without fear. He said,
"I want to echo my plight because I can hold it no more. I have been injured and left to heal with
no care. For long we have opted for safety instead of justice and what has that done to us. We
have become victims of our own decisions and now we suffer from it. We are tired of being
lured with fake promises from politicians who care less of how we live and thrive. We are tired
of waiting for nothing but suffer with no hope of liberation. We are tired of the cry and tears. We
are tired of being lied to. They called us hustlers because their plan was to make us hustle down
their ill leadership plan.
I have been taxed to improve my state of living but everyday the slogan is 'tutaumia miaka mbili
alafu tukule raha'. Where is that joy we seek when all our leaders do is travel in lavish jets and
feed on meat while we chew the bones. If the goodness I live to see is my small-cubed mabati
house you threatened to demolish the other day, then I will not keep silent. When you are busy
mocking each other in public, remember that is we you are mocking. You go to churches to hide
behind the curtains and give out millions to cover up, the curtains are torn not any more.
If we cannot rely on the members of Parliament we elected to represent us then this is what we
can do best. They should declare to us openly who they want to work for, whether it is the
mwananchi or the system. We can not take it beyond this!"
Jonte struggles down the car and rallies the crowd to walk on. He at the forefront walked and
strength filled him with every stride he took. He felt empowered by his children he was yet to
bear, his family who suffered at home, the many children he saw on streets abandoned and left to
struggle on their own, the Kenyans who were out massively to fight for their rights, the cruelty of
the leadership he had seen and heard of…
Jonte approached the Parliament buildings with the crowd. He did not stop, he walked on. He
faced the police standing ahead of him wielding guns ready to fire, but that was not enough to
hold him back. He saw the pity on their faces as they shot at them. Jonte shot on his right knee
still walked on, shot on his chest still walked on until he held the gates enclosing the Parliament
buildings. And there he stopped, took his last breath and fell on the concrete ground. He smiled
as he told himself, " what a death I've earned… "
Jonte’s death would best be declared by the words of John Maxwell Edmund, who penned an
Epitaph in the war cemetery of Kohima. He thus wrote, "When you go home, tell them of us, and
say, for their tomorrow, we gave our today."
Tell them so.