1963 Was the Start of a Scam
They called it health for all. Then they built hospitals with no drugs. Hired doctors, paid them peanuts. Built clinics, left them to rot. They took donor money, flew abroad for checkups, came back to tell Kenyans to boil water and pray. That wasn’t health reform. That was organized sabotage.
State Houses Changed. Ambulances Didn’t
Jomo smiled for pictures next to empty wards. Moi sent people to Kenyatta, then boarded a chopper. Kibaki opened Mbagathi with cameras rolling, then left it to interns. Uhuru liked ribbon-cutting, but forgot to restock oxygen. Ruto tweets photos of wheelbarrows outside dispensaries while flying to Dubai for treatment. New slogans, same game.
Village Clinics Die. Palaces Get Upgrades
In Kilifi, a woman bled out waiting for a nurse who had walked ten kilometers because the dispensary van was broken. In Kakamega, children with fevers get paracetamol and a smile—because the lab technician quit last year. In Siaya, the rain leaks through tin roofs into maternity wards. In Nyandarua, dispensaries are open only when the sun is out, and only if the lone staff member isn’t attending a funeral. Meanwhile, Karen and Runda get fresh tarmac and new fences.
Doctors Get Trained, Then Flee
Ask any final year medical student at UoN. They already have Canada on speed dial. Or Australia. Or Ireland. Anywhere but Kenya. Why? A public intern doctor makes 25K a month and still buys gloves. A junior officer at KRA earns more to sign papers. The consultant you see in a referral hospital? He probably teaches in three places just to stay afloat. He could be one operation away from quitting.
Nurses Hold the Line—Until the Line Snaps
They work double shifts. Handle births, fevers, cancers, wounds, confusion, emergencies. They’re therapists, cleaners, guards. But their pay slips don’t respect them. Counties delay salaries. Housing is a joke. Promotions come slow, if at all. They get clapped for during crises, forgotten once the headlines move on.
Nutritionists Exist. But Nobody Listens
Someone in Kisumu knows how to feed a diabetic without insulin. Someone in Turkana can reverse kwashiorkor without importing anything. Someone in Nakuru understands how to use millet to fix ulcers. But no one funds them. They aren’t in political posters. No tenders for nutrition advice. No applause for dietary miracles. Just silence. So they disappear into side hustles or boredom.
Hospitals Are Still Where You Go to Die
Let’s be honest. Most Kenyans don’t trust government hospitals. Not because of superstition. Because they’ve seen real things. A patient dying after a nurse says “hakuna drip.” A mother sobbing because the son was injected with the wrong drug. A whole town sharing one functioning X-ray machine. CT scans? Wait six months. MRI? Book in Nairobi or try India. That’s not care. That’s abandonment.
You Can’t Fix a System By Blaming Workers
The Ministry will say nurses are rude. Doctors strike too much. Lab techs are lazy. They won’t mention the broken fridges. The missing reagents. The unpaid allowances. The boss who owns the supplier company that never delivers. They blame the human, not the rot. They want obedient staff, not effective ones.
The County Health Scam Is Real
Governors build shiny outpatient blocks. Then forget the beds. Or staff. Or even electricity. Some counties hire ghost workers. Others hire real ones, then starve them of tools. You’ll find a clinical officer seeing 200 patients a day. You’ll find a surgeon using a flashlight. They call it devolution. It’s just better-dressed chaos.
The India Ticket Is Their Backup Plan
They don’t care if Kenyatta National Hospital is overwhelmed. If MTRH has 30 patients on one ward. If Mama Lucy ran out of syringes. When their chest tightens, they call a foreign hospital. They don’t wait in line. They don’t even see the irony when they praise Kenya’s health “vision” while getting treatment in Mumbai.
No Budget Is Ever Enough When Half Is Stolen
Every year, health gets money. Billions. But where does it go? Check the tenders. Medical supplies from ghost companies. Equipment that gathers dust because nobody was trained. Drugs expired in storage because they ordered the wrong ones. Ambulances parked because someone forgot insurance. The money isn’t small. The theft is massive.
NHIF Is a Joke Without the Laughter
They deduct your pay. Then they deny your claim. Or delay it. Or give you one cheap hospital in the middle of nowhere. Meanwhile, senior staff drive big cars, host conferences at beach resorts, sip drinks while someone in Eldoret sells their cow for dialysis. That’s not insurance. That’s theft in a necktie.
The Real Doctors Aren’t the Ones in Suits
You’ll meet them in dusty rooms with broken fans. They’ll wipe sweat with old handkerchiefs. They’ll check vitals without a monitor. They’ll stitch you without power. No cameras. No press release. Just skill and patience. These are the people keeping Kenya alive. But nobody sees them. They don’t go viral. They just survive.
Private Hospitals Work—If You Have Money
Walk into Aga Khan or Nairobi Hospital. Clean rooms. Working labs. Functional lifts. Attentive staff. And a bill that could kill you. Quality exists, but it’s fenced off. Two Kenyas. One with options, another with guesses. You want cancer care? Better have a plot to sell.
Train More, Pay Better, Expect More
This isn’t rocket science. You can’t run a health system on desperation. If you want your people to heal, start by making sure the ones doing the healing aren’t sick with stress, debt, burnout. Train them well. Pay them on time. Equip them. Then hold them accountable.
Fund the Ministry. Then Audit It Like a Crime Scene
Don’t add money to a leaking tank. Before you pour more billions into Afya House, clean it. Fire the cartels. Stop tenders from being insider games. Make procurement public. Name and shame thieves. If someone steals from a sick person, treat them like a murderer.
Stop Thinking Foreign Is Better
That Indian hospital didn’t grow with magic. They trained, paid, built, maintained, and protected their health system. Kenya can do that too. But not with leaders who see health as a side hustle. Or as a campaign stunt. Or as a donor magnet. Build big hospitals. Not big lies. Equip them. Staff them. Respect them.
Medicine Is Not a Miracle. It’s a System
No amount of prayer replaces antibiotics. No witch doctor can fix an appendix. No motivational speech will reset a broken bone. If the government won’t build working labs, fund blood banks, pay specialists, then sickness will stay a death sentence. Every year. Every village.
This Isn’t Development. It’s Survival
Health isn’t a luxury. It’s breathing. Walking. Eating. Thinking. If a country can’t keep its people alive, then everything else is a joke. Roads don’t matter if people collapse before reaching the market. Wi-Fi is useless if the youth are dying of preventable disease. No country climbs out of poverty with sick workers.
Kenyans Don’t Ask for Much
Just find them a nurse who isn’t on strike. A doctor who isn’t exhausted. A clinic with paracetamol and gauze. A bed that doesn’t wobble. A scan that works. A referral that doesn’t mean traveling 200 kilometers. Is that too much? Apparently, yes.
Don’t Build Another Committee. Build Toilets
We don’t need a health task force. We need latrines in schools. Water in dispensaries. Soap in maternity wards. Mosquito nets that reach real households. A national ambulance system that actually answers calls.
Don’t Wait for the Next Pandemic to Panic
COVID showed how fragile the setup is. Nurses used polythene bags as PPE. Doctors worked without insurance. Some died. Nothing changed. The politicians clapped at funerals, then forgot. Until the next virus lands. And it will.
Every Health Worker is a Revolution Waiting
They’re already fed up. They know the lies. They’ve seen the games. What they need is backup. From citizens. From policies. From leadership that doesn’t treat them like expendable tools. They won’t clap forever. They’ll walk out. Or leave the country. Or snap.
WantAmNotAm Applies Here Too
Don’t say “We’ll try.” Don’t say “Next year.” Say now. Or get out of the way. This isn’t about politics. It’s survival. Kenyans don’t want drama. They want dignity. In birth. In illness. In recovery. In death.Health is not a side show. It’s the show.
No call to action. No prayer. No placard. Just this: pay health workers, fund hospitals, stop stealing. Or shut up.
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