Fly on the Wall…

I was just a fly on the wall…

Leave me alone.

This (leave me alone) has been my go-to phrase for everything for such a long time, it is a wonder no one has bought me a T-shirt with these words yet. You see I have seasonal phrases, and interestingly, they die out as soon as someone points them out. For a while, I used to say ‘interesting’ all the time. Then someone pointed it out and I stopped. Then it was ‘how convenient’. Same thing. Then it was ‘I don’t understand’. This actually made it into a t-shirt. But I also stopped. What hasn’t stopped despite the constant bugging is ‘leave me alone’.

I have written and rewritten this piece in various ways. I wrote it for memory purposes. Then as an experience sharing. Then it was for the sake of explaining myself. Then I wrote it as a poem – I still think I could be a poet if I stop being lazy. And many more versions. Some finished and some unfinished. Those will never see the light of day. Today I will merge two versions. One more recent, necessitated by recent activities and one slightly older, as an experience sharing bit. All in all, I am writing and actually posting this so that people can leave me alone.

I mean it.

And no, its not a request. I really do need people to leave me alone.

Last year during the December holidays I was hanging out with my cousins and one discussion led to another. At some point, we dived into the cost of living. Then out of nowhere, one of my cousins said, “You can’t complain about the cost of living when you are the one who put him in power”.

This pissed me off. I mean it is the kind of statement I have had to deal with almost every week if not day since 15^th August 2022. You would think by then I would get immune to it, but I was pissed.

My other cousins, who had no idea what the comment was about, asked what happened and the first cousin gave a very gruesome narration of how I handed power to President Ruto. This went on for a while and my rebuttal was ‘leave me alone.’ I tried explaining that I was working. That I was there not with any political party, and not even with the IEBC. But I was working.

Then the other day, I posted a short video of me enjoying some relaxing moment in some swings. A former classmate that I haven’t spoken to in years replied to that status and said, “Unajua day nilikuona nyuma ya Chebukati ndio nilijua wewe ni deepstate”.

There is no response to this. The status and the reply were in no way related.

As if I had any control. As if I had more votes than you all. As if I run Kenya. As if I know people who run Kenya. As if they know me. As if I haven’t felt, directly I must add, the attack of the government on my loved ones (Story for another day). As if I live in State House. As if I have powerful people on speed dial.

As if I wasn’t anything other than a fly on the wall.

See, since 15^th August, there have been so many stories about what happened on that day. Why was I at Bomas? Where do I work? How did I end up behind the President-elect then?

It was an ordinary day if I could say so. Or at least from my perspective. The week / days leading up to 15^th August 2022, for me, were so busy and chaotic that it seemed normal to me by then. The whole country was counting the results alongside the media. Everyone hoping their preferred 5^th, fifths. I was no exception. Then suddenly, the TV screens froze, and there was extreme tension in the country. Media stopped ‘counting’. But the political alliances kept it up. It did beg the question, who is winning? The Blue army laid down carpets at KICC… The yellow army had its own perceived celebratory preparation…

I was working, as I still am.

On that day, we walked into Bomas, and were shown into a waiting room just behind the auditorium. I was in the accompany of key religious leaders in the country. As a technical person (I was working in Communications at the time – this has since changed). Welcoming us was the commission chair, vice chair and the other commissioners. They then left and we were left to our own devices.

From where we were, we could see all the political big wigs. They were walking around with a myriad of expressions on their faces. Some were making phone calls. Some were laughing as they caught up on one or two things. Some were pacing.

And the choir was singing.

The room we were in had no network and no TV. The entire place had poor network and as such we had no idea that half the people who had welcomed us were not there anymore and were in Serena.

I should mention that we were in Bomas from around 11AM, having had a light breakfast. We were in the holding room for close to 4 hours. Doing nothing but talking. There were whispers here and there. I kept hearing words like ‘Rerun’ ‘Ruto’ ‘Raila’ ’50 plus one’ over and over again.

Eventually at around 3PM, we were offered some snacks in the adjacent room. That room had a TV breaking the monotony of playing solitaire on my phone. The first thing I saw when I walked in was James Orengo speaking on TV. Last I saw him, through a crack in the doors, he was pacing the corridors while on phone. The TV had no audio, but looking at his expression as he was addressing the media, he was not happy.

We served our snacks and left the room.

The next time I saw a TV screen was inside the auditorium. At that point, my phone battery was at 10%. I could immediately tell the atmosphere in the auditorium was not friendly. So, I sent a text message to my mother and told her in case she needed to reach me, she could do so through my boss’ number.

There was also no sign of Raila.

The team we were with were given the seats directly behind the IEBC officials (these were the executive seats), while we were given the seats behind them (normal seats). Unfortunately for me, the place our seats were located was raised and therefore in the direct line of sight of all the cameras in the auditorium. It didn’t matter who was speaking, as long as they were at the podium, we too were going to be visible. Interestingly, the auditorium screens were only showing the people seated on my right. I felt safe, and invisible. How wrong I was!

While we were sitting, waiting for the Chairman, I turned to my colleague and jokingly said, “Where we are sitting is kind of advantageous. In case chairs start flying, they’d fall on our feet and not our faces”.

I did not know how true those words were about to be in a moment’s time. What happened next was what everyone saw on their TV screens. Chairs flew. And for sure, one landed right in front of me.

My phone was at 5%.

Flight. Fight. Or freeze. I respond with all these, but my response is always based on the situation. After initial assessment, I then figure out what next.

At that time, there was literally nowhere for me, or us to go. So, I stood my ground and just watched as things unfolded. Someone jumped on the table. Someone threw the podium. Someone uttered such vulgar words I can’t even begin to type them out. Someone pushed two people ahead of me.

I just stood still and even watched as the Chairman was rushed past me. I stood still while the honourable members of parliament did their thing. I stood still while the entire country watched the nation come to a temporary stand still. I stood still, and I watched.

I was just a fly on the wall, remember.

I only moved when my boss pulled me away. Moving between him and the other people, we found ourselves in the safety of the police. Or was it the army. I can’t tell. Either way, we were kind of safe.

Keep in mind, at this time we didn’t know what was happening elsewhere. We had no idea part of the commission was at Serena (We had just noted that they had not walked in with the chairman). We had no TV access and the Internet connection horrible. Even WhatsApp was a problem. Even while I was kind of secured, I tried to gain access to view what was happening on the other side of the auditorium. I was immediately stopped by a few people I can’t defy.

While behind the auditorium, I got a call from a colleague asking how we are and that is when she mentioned that the other commissioners were issuing a statement at Serena. That answered the question of why they were not present. But it raised more questions. What changed since our welcome and then?

After a couple of minutes behind the main auditorium, we were ushered back into the main area. A few of the people we had come with had run outside so they didn’t join us back, including the one who was sitting directly next to me.

When we resumed, the security was tighter. And the auditorium tense.

But the choir was still singing.

With the podium down, the initially placed microphone was damaged. A new one was brought, but it was in the hands of an important person in police / army gear. The man, from what I saw, walked up to the Archbishop of ACK, placed the microphone on his hands, and told him, “Anzisha na maombi”.

What happened after that, you all witnessed.

While I acknowledge how emotional this day was and still is for the country, this is what I saw. This is what I heard. And I was there because I was working.

And no, I don’t work with IEBC.

You know what’s interesting is, I didn’t know how much that experience had affected me until several months later. There was a national dialogue conference on the 2022 General Elections, and the only songs playing were patriot songs. I kept telling the DJ to change the songs, especially when a particular one came on. But he was adamant that he had been told to play just gospel and patriotic songs. Why then couldn’t he stick to just gospel? It was only days later that I realised the songs were the same as the ones that were being sang at Bomas moments before chairs started flying.

Goodness, to date I can’t stand patriotic songs. This is in no way to say I am not patriotic. I am, in my own way.

In 2027, if I am still in the same line of work, you may see me again. Will I still be a fly on the wall? We’ll see.

In the meantime, leave me alone.