Corona: Trust in God, but wash hands too

Full disclosure. I’ve been making fun of people who respond to Covid-19 with "Only God can save us"’ or "We need to wash our hands with the blood of Jesus". This is only because it’s such a knee-jerk reaction for Kenyans to revert to religion when it suits us, and desert it when it doesn’t. 

Say a cop flags you down because your tyres are worn out. Your first reaction will not be "God is good all the time, afande, when is my court date?" It will be, “Si tuongee bana, haya maneno yaishe hapa?” True story.

Our relationship with God is situational, and it kicks into overdrive in adversity. So it’s no surprise that many of us are responding to the new coronavirus by crying out to a higher power. Which is not to say that there’s anything wrong with calling on the name of God when you’re in trouble.

As a matter of fact, I’ve been doing the same thing. It just means that you should appreciate the irony. And in the case of Covid-19, follow all the rules, and take all the precautions suggested by health regulators. I mean, yes, God is a healer, but what does it hurt to sneeze into your elbow and wash your hands? He won’t be mad, I promise.

All sarcasm aside, it’s really beginning to feel like pre-Jesus Egypt up in here. I mean, plague, after plague, after plague, after plague. Grand corruption should have been a red flag, but no, we had to wait for actual locusts to show up before we figured that the universe was sending us a message. Now Covid-19 is a thing.

I should say that Covid-19 is the latest thing, and unusually, it’s something we didn’t do to ourselves. It was thrust upon us while we were getting up to our usual shenanigans. Y’know, spending billions building bridges in the sky, letting blood rot in storage, allowing terrorists to occupy border towns, and turning a blind eye as battered and bleeding women are asked for bribes to prosecute their abusive spouses. That last one really gets my goat. But objectively, they are all bad, for lack of a worse word.

 

The criminal justice system is especially bad. People are out here paying for justice that – of all things – should be free. I’m not talking about those high-end crooks who can buy judge, jury, and justice as a package deal. I’m talking about women who walk into police stations with bloodied lips, swollen eyes and broken noses only to be asked to ‘facilitate’ the prosecution process. Eti, mkono mtupu haulambwi. Or the urban youths arrested for ‘loitering’ or ‘walking with intent’ only to find themselves in remand for months.

 

Talk about cruel and unusual punishment. The prison facilities in this country are hopelessly overburdened, the staff overstretched, and the prisoners oppressed. Behind bars, the eco ‘system’ is brutal; there’s no accommodation for frailty. Folks who go in clean come out dirty, and folks who go in dirty come out irredeemable. Yes, I know: This is a massive generalisation, but it’s true.

As a country, our halo is so clearly visible because it is cast against a backdrop of unbelievable darkness. Our energy is heavy, thanks in no small part to the atrocities that occur every single day without much pushback from the general population.

Factory settings

The only way to redeem ourselves might be to revert to pre-colonial factory settings. To a time when the highs and lows of western civilisation had not left an inoperable tear in our heart muscle. Now, our heart is failing.

See, even though the missionaries taught us that perfect love casts out all fear, our first response to impending disaster is always anxiety. Case in point? Covid-19. Rather than respond with faith in our government, or love for our fellow man, we out here spreading fake news, buying tissue paper, bottled water, hand sanitiser, and face masks, all the while advising each other to wash our hands in the blood of Jesus. It’s a right, viral mess.

 

That notwithstanding, people die when their time comes. No one and nothing can get in the way. Not governments, plagues, nor diseases. Which is a comforting thought, especially in times like this. Death is something that happens to everyone.

The best we can hope for is a peaceful, painless transition, knowing full well that even that is not guaranteed. What can I say, this world is often unkind. And this is why the least we can do is make the experience just and fair for all mankind.

Ms Masiga is peace and security editor, The Conversation