By Machua Koinange

You are buried deep in your second dream. This is the part where you are walking through a forest and you find a bag hidden behind a bush. You unzip it and are astounded at the layers of cash. And then you wake up.

There are unusual sounds. Footsteps. Something hits the floor in the next room and you freeze alert. There are strangers in your house and they are not planning a surprise party for you. You peep through the keyhole and a dark figure lurks behind the door.

He doesn’t mean you well.

Now fully awake, you reach under your bed and pull out a big rungu or panga. A baseball bat would be a bonus at this time. Petrified, you pick up your cellphone that is charging next to your bed. You stop and think.

If you live in an affluent neighbourhood, you could press an alarm button to summon private security. If you live in Eastlands then the thugs have already advised you to keep your mouth shut while they do their work. Yell and risk your life.

And then it hits you. Who do you call for help? You could call your buddy who lives across town but by the time he gets here, the posse of thugs will have already packed most of your goods, helped themselves to your fridge and left. Or you could call your neighbour across who will most likely not risk coming out of his house.

Then you realise Kenya does not have an emergency number, the one single number that is ingrained in your head or programmed in your cellphone in case of emergency.

Well, let me clarify. Kenya did have an emergency number — 999. It’s the single line you would call to triage your emergency wherever you were in the country. You knew the number as soon as you were old enough to count. However, in later years it was not always a reliable number. In the US you call 911 and a voice filled with compassion answers: “911 what’s your emergency?”

So I remember calling the 999 one time years ago when I spotted a fire. It rang on and on until a thoroughly bored and tired voice came on line. She sounded upset I had even called.

“Ni nini (what is it)?” she growled.

“Fire! Fire!” I snapped back and gave the location quickly in my excited voice.

“Moto, hiyo piga simu fire station.” She hung up. I was stunned.

It grew more and more unreliable and then stopped working. Because the public had become accustomed to its unreliability nobody noticed when the emergency line fizzled into the horizon.

Here is the irony. Fifty years after uhuru and more than a century after the British colonised Kenya, we don’t have a working emergency line.

That should be a source of anger and shame. Apparently it’s not.

When civil society activist Okiya Omtata went to court on May 17 to petition the Government to provide a toll-free emergency number, he got very little attention and support from the public or the business sector.

Even worse, if he hadn’t brought the suit, Kenya would be trudging along towards NIC status presumably by 2030 without a working emergency line.

If you live in Mandera, Busia or Bungoma, the recent flashpoints of violence, you are probably seething with rage. God help you because you are on your own.

Yet, the revelation did not ruffle any feathers. Inspector General David Kimaiyo didn’t even find the matter worthy of a press conference to discuss a solution. And not a single Governor, MP or even senator thought it was worth their time.

 Escalating crime

Chasing higher salaries and disbanding the Salaries and Remuneration Commission are matters of far greater national importance.

Here is why this should be considered a national crisis. An emergency number helps you summon help however distressed you. You see your tax money working for you.

In the US, you dial 911 and can summon the police to your home in ten minutes. If they show up later than that, you can file a complaint with the County executive or even the Governor’s office.

While we are celebrating our golden Jubilee, here is the bigger irony about the history of 999. According to About.com: “The ability to dial a single number to report emergencies was first used in Great Britain in 1937. The British could dial 999 to call for police, medical or fire departments, from anywhere in the country.”

Accordingly in 1958, the US Congress first investigated a universal emergency number and finally passed the legal mandate in 1967. The very first US 911 call was placed on February 16, 1968 in Haleyville, Alabama by Alabama Speaker of the House, Rankin Fite.  The new number had to be three numbers that were not in use in the US or Canada as the first three numbers of any phone number or area code, and numbers had to be easy to use and remember.

There is an urgent need to restore the 999 emergency line in view of escalating crime countrywide. It is a national disgrace that not a single arm of Government thinks the issue merits immediate attention — unless prodded by a lawsuit. As it is now, you need to save a myriad phone numbers — one for nearest police station, one for the hospital and local fire station. By the time you scroll your phone directory to find the right one to call, valuable time has been lost.

A single number could help you summon the police, fire department or even an ambulance. It helps triage all the emergency first responders to the nearest location of your need.

A national emergency centre should be set up with trained operators. Hundreds of lives could be saved. It could be our latest crime weapon.

Mr Kimaiyo,  National Police Service, Communications Commission of Kenya, Commission for Implementation of the Constitution and mobile phone service providers,  let’s get to work.

Koinange is a writer with The Standard Group.