The rule of the cane

“Nitachapa wewe kiboko” was a widely used threat in my formative years. It tended to be applied by figures of authority; parents, teachers, chiefs, judges, policemen when addressing lowly subjects. I grew up with corporal punishment back when everyone was fit for a caning. No one was beyond a good beating and some teachers caned just for kicks.  They administered the cane with vigour and zeal.

There were head teachers who had reputations as stroke masters. Like a good colonial DC, their strokes were unforgettable. Being disciplined for mischief was one thing, but most caning was misplaced, mostly on students who failed to understand instructions and scored poorly.

It was common knowledge, a few lashes a day, kept the bad grades away. I met headmasters with real anger management issues only that back then they were called disciplinarians and the means were not half as important as the results a cane could produce. We were assured that a good beating and sound education went hand in hand. Indeed, they are students who can truly claim that they would never have passed their exams without the help of a cane.

 Fear factor

The cane carried with it the power of humiliation. Satisfaction was derived in seeing the victim cowering in the presence of this intimidating object to which they had to submit. The most humiliating act was to be caned in public, in front of an audience. The cane’s fear factor was a residue of a brutal colonial legacy.

Kenya was a British colony and like all good ex subjects of the crown, we carried on the great tradition of correction, owned and localised it.

Squirming in pain

The tradition of six-of-the-best, is now about as Kenyan as chai. A headmaster would ask the students to bend over, lightly stroke the targeted bottom, take aim, and descend with a resounding thwack. Most howled and started pleading, vowing never to taste that pain again. A good portion accepted the suffering. They learnt not to give the caner the satisfaction of squirming in pain as a show of power over one’s oppressor in a state of powerlessness. Which only gave the caner more resolve.

The cane represents very many things in the Kenyan mindset. To get caned meant to be humiliated as a form of punishment. We were programmed to believe that we deserved the caning. That somehow our actions had brought upon us the wrath of the cane. So people who went through the Kenyan educational system learnt to submit to authority early. Even when that authority changed labels from parent, teacher, employer and Government, in the face of punishment, there was a reluctance to protest because speaking out only seemed to attract more punishment. The Government routinely ‘canes’ its citizens through punitive policies and thanks to our early training, we submit first and protest later.

 Prominent senior citizen

So when Lengo Mdzomba, the man from Kwale who made the news headlines for assaulting prominent senior citizen Raila Odinga and Kwale Governor Salim Mvurya, the story was largely framed to exploit its underdog appeal. The observers’ were interested in the reason behind the assault because in our psychology, one must have done something to attract the wrath of the cane. 

It was impolite to see the humour in the absurdity of the incident but the media was not going to look a gift horse in the mouth.  It was an incident ripe for snickering and jokes loaded with innuendo (Did you hear about the Boko Haram incursion in Kwale?). In a society afflicted by the tall poppy syndrome, caning is regularly used to cut people down to size.