No country for the poor young men in our slums

A section of Kibera slums in Nairobi. [File, Standard]

Most school mottos extol the virtue of hard work as the key in education, and performing well in examinations as the key to success in life. The two are inextricably linked.

Conversely, Kenyans have internalised hard work and education like a cult hymn burned into the collective conscious and imagination. It is one of the few avenues that guarantee a fair chance of upward social-mobility.

As a result, parents spend their lifetime savings, including selling their last cow, or their last acre of land, to pay school fees to ensure their children attend school.

While a relatively poor country, Kenya has a striking and perverse level of inequality. According to Oxfam, less than 0.1 per cent of the population own more wealth than 99.9 per cent (more than 44 million people).

The richest people earn 23 times more than the poorest. A photo in Reuters captured this eloquently during recent evictions in Mathare slums. In the background of demolished houses, some well to do Kenyans were seen playing golf.

These figures assume a much deeper meaning if looked at through education as the vehicle that allows one a fair shot at life. Most children from wealthy families attend private schools while most from poor families attend public schools.

Approximately 80 per cent of Kenya’s population is below 35 years. Development planners consider this a demographic dividend, but Kenyan politicians see this as a disposable labour that can be used and dumped at will. Vijana ni nguzo ya jamii na viongozi wa Kesho (The youth are pillars of society and leaders of tomorrow) is a constant lazy fallback position.

Police batons

But jubilee has weaponised youth in a sophisticated fashion. During the 2013 elections, it crafted the image of #YouthCool by marshalling a breathless social media campaign as opposed to the mainstream media, which Jubilee considered staid and analogue. While not revolutionary, it got traction and captured the imagination of the youth by speaking their language.

Whenever Kenya’s rancorous election degenerates into conflict, the protagonists tend to be politicians and the youth. In the 2007-2008 election and subsequent violence, the police reportedly killed at least 30 per cent of the 1,500 people killed.

While this was a one-time event, and also threatened to blow up into a full-scale civil war, for people living in Kenya’s informal urban informal areas, police are an existential threat.

David is a wry young man with an easy demeanor and quick to laugh. He lives in Ubunga slums Kisumu with his single mother. A few days before he sat for his Kenya Certificate of Primary Education, David was chased by police officers following protests in Kisumu.

In his attempt to shield his head from police batons, his right arm was broken. His headmaster helped him sit his exams with his injuries. However, he performed poorly.

The burden of school fees has made David give up hope of ever pursuing further education. He has instead opted to labour on a construction site.

Similarly, Silas Lebo, a 17 years old student was beaten senseless by police when riots broke out in Mathare slums where he lived. He was later taken to hospital but died a few days later. “He wanted to become a doctor. His dream was cut short. I wish they killed me instead of Silas,” said Christine Lebo, his mother.

Society asked

Titus was a final year Bachelor of Business students at Maseno University. His parents, who live in Kitmikyi outside Kisumu, spent all their money to take him to school.

They had huge hopes in him. He wanted to have his own business. He was shot and killed by the police on October 26, 2017. Titus’s graduation day was scheduled for December 15, 2017.

David was meant to sit for his KCPE, Silas was about to sit for his KCSE, and Titus had completed his exams and he was just waiting to graduate from university.

All did what society asked of them; work hard in school and you shall succeed. For all of them, their hopes and dreams and those of their families were shattered. 

Speaking to the mothers of these students was probably the most difficult, all were slightly older than my mother. All these young men are my younger brothers’ age. These mothers were resilient as every mother is renowned for, but they were all at a breaking point. All are carrying wounds and trauma.

The cases of Silas, Titus and David are illustrative of how young men in slums from Mombasa, Kisumu and Nairobi are losing their lives because they are labelled as suspected thugs and terrorists. Enough for some citizens to grant security agencies carte blanche to take their lives.

The deaths of these young men, and the near dismissal of their death as the cost of ensuring security by those who are not affected directly by this crisis, is one of the main reasons the death of hundreds of young poor men continues in the low-income areas of this country.

Mr Boru is a policy and security analyst.