Meria
Elder Lister
*Copied*
*Kiambu County. We are sitting on a time bomb*
I had two funerals last week. One was in a place I worked 20 years ago. A parish in Gatundu south. In 2002, I was a deacon, most of my pastoral duties was conducting burials. I thought it would be a deja vu. Not quite.
Then, young men thronged funerals. All tipsy. Most drunk. Many intoxicated. The community detested this. I would talk about it. There was always an embarrassing moment at every funeral.
Then, my question, indeed everyone’s concern was, where will this end. It was cheap liquor. The after effects were lethal. We watched young people waste away from poison.
20 years later. The young men were few. What would take minutes to do. Returning soil to the grave took longer. They looked tired or dispirited as they did this chore.
I was keen. No one held the spade for more than a minute without catching a breath. They were emasculated. No one had muscles. All with alcohol faces and fatigue.
The other funeral was at a place near Ruaka. My auntie lives there. I grew up there. Every school holiday I would show up there. My cousin had died.
I gave a lift to my cousin who lives in Banana Hill. This place had a youth bulge in the 90’s that was worrying. The matatu stage had no less than 100 young men anytime, everyday.
Nowadays, the small town is clear of young men. What happened? Anyway, when we got to my cousins home. I was met by her son, my nephew. He is 2-3 years younger than me, but boy!
He has never had a sober day in his life. I got to learn that he takes marijuana and a drug called “cosmo”. His question was “ Do you remember me!?” This is a question that is common to many of these…
It comes from the realization that they have changed so much. It also stems from low self-esteem they suffer. It can never be easy for the families and them.
He asked me to give him 200/- for a hair-cut. I obliged. The mother was aghast. She told me, there is no way he will shave his hair. As we sat and talked. He came back, unshaved in cloud nine. High as kite. Oozing confidence and bravura.
My cousin asked me. What can I do about this? We have taken him rehab and it did not work. We have prayed for him. We provide food for him…I am sure these are sentiments shared by many families.
I told her she has done all she could do and she should never blame herself. They have reached their faith’s end.
A whole generation is lost. Parents are burying their kids like there is a full blown war. The casualty list is a sad watch.
If the transformation I have seen in twenty years in Gatundu and Kiambu is anything to go by, this is a disaster whose disastrous proportion cannot be quantified or predicted.
I do not know of anything that can have such cataclysmic impact on a community as this, a war at the heart of young people in their peak!
No country should fly its flag full mast when its young men are dying this way… ~@PadreMusa the Tweeting priest.
*Kiambu County. We are sitting on a time bomb*
I had two funerals last week. One was in a place I worked 20 years ago. A parish in Gatundu south. In 2002, I was a deacon, most of my pastoral duties was conducting burials. I thought it would be a deja vu. Not quite.
Then, young men thronged funerals. All tipsy. Most drunk. Many intoxicated. The community detested this. I would talk about it. There was always an embarrassing moment at every funeral.
Then, my question, indeed everyone’s concern was, where will this end. It was cheap liquor. The after effects were lethal. We watched young people waste away from poison.
20 years later. The young men were few. What would take minutes to do. Returning soil to the grave took longer. They looked tired or dispirited as they did this chore.
I was keen. No one held the spade for more than a minute without catching a breath. They were emasculated. No one had muscles. All with alcohol faces and fatigue.
The other funeral was at a place near Ruaka. My auntie lives there. I grew up there. Every school holiday I would show up there. My cousin had died.
I gave a lift to my cousin who lives in Banana Hill. This place had a youth bulge in the 90’s that was worrying. The matatu stage had no less than 100 young men anytime, everyday.
Nowadays, the small town is clear of young men. What happened? Anyway, when we got to my cousins home. I was met by her son, my nephew. He is 2-3 years younger than me, but boy!
He has never had a sober day in his life. I got to learn that he takes marijuana and a drug called “cosmo”. His question was “ Do you remember me!?” This is a question that is common to many of these…
It comes from the realization that they have changed so much. It also stems from low self-esteem they suffer. It can never be easy for the families and them.
He asked me to give him 200/- for a hair-cut. I obliged. The mother was aghast. She told me, there is no way he will shave his hair. As we sat and talked. He came back, unshaved in cloud nine. High as kite. Oozing confidence and bravura.
My cousin asked me. What can I do about this? We have taken him rehab and it did not work. We have prayed for him. We provide food for him…I am sure these are sentiments shared by many families.
I told her she has done all she could do and she should never blame herself. They have reached their faith’s end.
A whole generation is lost. Parents are burying their kids like there is a full blown war. The casualty list is a sad watch.
If the transformation I have seen in twenty years in Gatundu and Kiambu is anything to go by, this is a disaster whose disastrous proportion cannot be quantified or predicted.
I do not know of anything that can have such cataclysmic impact on a community as this, a war at the heart of young people in their peak!
No country should fly its flag full mast when its young men are dying this way… ~@PadreMusa the Tweeting priest.
