Government Efficiency? And Faith

Hi all,

It’s been a good while since I did a real blog post. A lot has happened this week. I spent 3 days in government offices, 1 day on ‘tour’ with grade 9 students, 2 days in schools following up on Rafiki Link connections, and many hours quietly mourning the loss of Faith.

GOVERNMENT EFFICIENCY - An Oxymoron?

What I’ve been thinking about recently is this concept – which often comes up in my travels – of ‘efficiency’.

The District Education Office is an oddly placed office with advertising calendars posted on walls, type-written circulars curling at the edges, curtains brown-ridged with dust, and desks re-strengthened with shiny metal braces. During previous visits I’ve wondered what activity exactly takes place there. Resigned-looking visitors wandered from room to room, looking for an active staff member.

Since the elections, things have changed. The typewriter, in daily use at most schools, has now been replaced by a modern desktop computer [the secretary, relaxed and a bit dusty, is still exploring the exact use of this typing machine]. Walls have been removed, new partitions erected, hand-painted signed erected above once-blank doorways.

This is what happens post-election. Things are re-arranged, re-organised, as new officials take over new budgets. And the improved productivity is appreciated by all! Except, of course, those who had conducted any business prior to the new regime.

My government approval for ‘Teachers Without Borders’ is probably in the filing system somewhere, I have been assured – but there was not yet a filing system in place at that time, apparently. And the government official I had spoken to in the Ministry of Education – was not the correct official. I should go back to the Department of Quality Assurance, they said – a necessary protocol before issuing the teacher invitation, apparently.

So on Tuesday I spent my day from 9am till 3pm in ‘Jogoo House’, the Ministry of Education building. I visited every single floor between floor 5 and 9. Most of my time was spent waiting (for a meeting to end; for a man to return; for lunch to end; for internet to work; for the letter to be signed). I was complimented on my patience. And in the end, I emerged triumphant with - a beautiful letter 'authorizing' our workshops (god, how many times have the durn things been authorized now?) and with 2000 Ksh less in my pocket. No, it wasn't a bribe; yes, I have the receipt. In order to get an approval I had to fill a 4-page application form, submit info about facilitators' credentials (I used application form info), and include TWB letterhead info & my introduction letter from last fall.

I took that letter back to the district officer who is now very happy that all due protocol has been followed. In his defence, the procedure I followed this time was much more official than the previous!

All I could think to myself was – in Canada, this would have been conducted by email. The waiting, typing, editing, printing, copying – all would have been done with a touch of the mouse. No dusty filing systems. No 'come back on Thursday with an other draft'. Just an email, an attachment, a response.

These small inefficiencies cost so many hours, so many days of travel, so many hours of the lives of compotent professionals.

MOURNING FAITH

While the Ministry of Education does not usually a matter of life or death, the Ministry of Health does. And this week I have reason to feel anger and frustration with this country’s ‘health care’.

Faith Wanjiru was an incredible woman. A community leader, fiery woman with a passion for justice & a desire to help others. She led a disabled persons’ group in Maai Mahiu; a group which brought disability out of the closet – literally – and into the forefront of community dialogue.

She had a generous heart and cheerful spirit. Though she couldn’t have been over 5 feet, she gave a big warm hug and handshake with every greeting.

Her generosity extended even to mzungus – in my first few months in Kenya, she was my most adamant Kiswahili teacher, even donating a Swahili-English book to my cause.

She was an amazing individual, someone I was proud to know and always meant to know better.

I can’t believe she is gone – I keep expecting to see her passing through the town, on her way somewhere, hunched over but ever-smiling.

What gets me most is that her death this was, in my view, completely unnecessary. There is no national health care in Kenya. The local hospitals are underfunded – to say the least – and next to impossible to get treated at. She died of pneumonia, they say. I can’t help but think that if health care were free & reliable, she would have been diagnosed and treated so much earlier. She would have visited a doctor before Monday; she might not have passed so quickly Tuesday morning.

She has left behind a young son – grade 7 – who was the apple of her eye. A complete genius, to hear her tell it – though his grades as of yet don’t quite show that potential. Who will pay for his high school, now? Who will counsel him, love him, guide him? Where will he go at school holidays? He is one of so many orphans in this country. Children raised by uncles, aunts, grandmothers.

She was 51, they say. I think the average life expectancy in Kenya is 53 years. Can you imagine – 51 years as an expected life span? Most baby-boomers are beyond that age, by now, expecting at least another 20 years of life. At the age of 51, children born at 35 are only 16 years old. Is that what high school should be about – experiencing the death of both parents, and then being unable to pay school fees? A double abuse of human rights – the right of an adult to a full life; the right of a child to a basic education.

Faith will be mourned by many, and I am among them.

Mali