Our underdevelopment is rooted in religion, politics, love for miracles

By Edward Indakwa

I have only run a cross-country race once — in Form One. I limped into school last, battered and half dead, my lungs on fire, my feet sore, two hours after the second last guy.

So I smiled when I heard one of our runners say he was praying to God to help him win his race at the recent World Athletic Champions in Moscow, Russia. I smiled because, recalling my one and only cross country race, in which I limped home last, no amount of prayer would have made me win.

It, therefore, didn’t surprise me that our prayerful runner and his two colleagues lost.  They ran selfishly, tactlessly, and were deservedly routed by the enemy. Contrast that with Mercy Cherono, the 22 –year-old two-time world youth cross-country champion. Cherono dared the Ethiopians to bring it on, frightened them: “We fear nobody,” she snarled. She bagged a silver medal.

Folks, we need to stop dreaming about miracles because miracles are about leaving everything to faith and fate. It’s a gamble — you win or lose. But, mostly you get conned, big time.

I have read many stories about folks who sought fortune through miracles but only ended up getting ripped off. We have too many clowns chasing mercury, looking for the eggs of an owl, selling homes and sinking the funds in pyramid schemes and parliamentary elections — in a bid to make millions without breaking a sweat. We have those who plant seed to get blessed with riches, or purchase talismans fortified with concoctions peppered with the private parts of people with albinism. It is a rip off. They all get conned.

Its been said that Africans are too religious but I think we are just daft. In a few short years, we have transited from what the missionary called pagans to very religious people and back. Now we are mostly ‘baptised atheists’ scratching beneath beer bottles for millions in phantom lottery wins. The only thing we are  consistent about is that we keep chasing that miracle, that mirage, and getting ripped off.

More prudent people would figure out how to tame the vagaries of weather — investing in research, irrigation, drought resistant seed varieties, and proper storage facilities. But we pray for rain.

More prudent people would have the crooks who steal road signs and the criminals who speed recklessly in unroadworthy vehicles on Thika Highway arrested and their licences revoked. Instead, a team of pastors prays for the road.

More prudent people would get a small loan, start a kiosk and build wealth over time. But we want to sell the land and hand the proceeds to a crook purporting to sell gold from Congo, or recruiting Form Four leavers into the army. Why do we do this to ourselves?

I can understand my great-great grandfather sacrificing a goat in 1856 to save his child sick with epilepsy. He was helpless. He lacked the science to confront an ailment he couldn’t even begin to describe, or understand. So he called it demons, sacrificed his goat, left it to fate and waited for a miracle — which never came.

But even he had the good sense to know that if he wanted to multiply his livestock, he needed to risk his life in a cattle raid, work for the next tycoon, marry off his daughter — at least do something intelligent or soil his hands. Illiterate as he was, if you had asked him to plant ‘seed’ to multiply his wealth, he would have spat in your face and told you only his  zebu bull does that.

Now I50 years on, for every school you see, there are six witchdoctors, ten churches, 30 politicians and ten crooks multiplying bank notes — all promising heaven. Shockingly, the amount of devotion and passion with which we engage witchcraft, religion, politics and the con artist is hardly ever found in the classroom, research facility, library or public office.

If you think I’m mistaken, examine the following three scenarios: One, invite people to Nyayo Stadium for a demo on how to invest Sh20,000 on a quarter acre of land and earn Sh45,000 in three months. You will be lucky to get 20 people.

Two, announce a religious crusade where miracles will be performed. Oh yes. Tens of thousands of people will turn up and collapse with emotion. Three, call a political rally to discuss some shifty review of the Constitution and 100,000 who have no idea what you are talking about will come singing war songs and dancing.

Finally, announce that you have a wonder herbal drug passed to you through a vision, one that treats every ailment under the sun from cancer to full-blown aids, and your home in the remotest part of Kenya will become a major destination for those on foot, buses and helicopters. 

From illiterate pagans who feared the unknown to baptised atheists too daft to confront the truth, we’ve just never lost our love for miracles.