​I vividly remember this incident that occurred when I was a graduate student in the US. We were having this conversation with an American on campus, when I animatedly said, “I’m so loving this!” The American then deigned himself fit to correct my English, and promptly told me: “In English, we don’t say ‘I am so loving.’ We say ‘I love.’”

This ignorant American, in his own country, seemed unaware that “I’m lovin it” was a phrase that had been popularized by the Justin Timberlake song “I’m loving it” and in a classic manipulation of culture by corporations, had become the tagline for McDonalds commercials. I said “I’m so loving” very aware of that dynamic. I was also teaching undergraduate American students. They said this all the time and I was simply borrowing a phrase from them.

A few years ago, I noticed an interesting phenomenon in the profile of applicants for language faculty positions. A number of degree holders had studied, especially in the UK, language teaching, rather than linguistics or education. This meant that the interviews revealed gaps in the candidates’ theoretical and technical grasp of either field.

​An additional phenomenon, which was more worrying, was that when we asked some about their PhD aspirations, some of the applicants were not interested in pursuing their discipline. Some wanted to go into development and related fields, others into the more attractive degrees like communication. More disturbing among the literature aspirants was that some were not familiar with the latest fiction and other artistic output by Kenyans. 

Most Kenyans are familiar with the medical appeals that seem so overwhelming, that even with all our generosity, the magnitude and frequency of the appeals are overwhelming. And yet, there is a political solution to this: universal healthcare.

​But what is happening now? The government has a private-modeled government health insurance called NHIF. The problem with reducing government involvement in healthcare to money is that it makes private healthcare practitioners greedy and beyond oversight. It has therefore meant that the government has been bleeding taxpayer funds through fraudulent claims by private hospitals.  In the end, NHIF has now pulled out of funding major care, surgeries and tests. When we initially said that NHIF was not sustainable, salaried Kenyans pointed to how nice NHIF was to pay their bills and wouldn't believe us. Our prediction has, unfortunately, come to pass.

Whether Jubilee wins this coming election or not, there's one thing that needs to go: Vision 2030. It has caused us so much grief, except for the business community and tenderpreneurs who are singing their way to the bank.

Vision 2030 was a boardroom document that did not involve broad consultation, especially with people outside the business sector. Four years after it was launched, Kenyans ratified a new constitution through a popular referendum. That Constitution should have overtaken Vision 2030 as the guiding document for Kenya's freedom and socio-economic growth. Instead, Vision 2030 remained in the drivers' seat, and seven years into the new dispensation, we have ended up with a list of sorrows.

​Once upon a time, not too long ago, a village called Kijiji agreed to have a bus financed by their contributions to transport people to work. The villagers agreed that a certain politician called Mwanasiasa would collect their contributions, and use the money to maintain the vehicle and pay Daktari, the local driver.
 
The plan started well, but soon the services started dwindling. The villagers would get to work late. Sometimes there were accidents. Yet they were still paying their contributions. 

​One day, Daktari eventually told the villagers: "this vehicle is in bad shape. I've already had accidents with it, and some of you have been badly injured. If we continue to drive it like this, it could kill us. The money you villagers contribute is enough for us to purchase more vehicles, pay more drivers and offer them better terms of service. But sometimes I've had to fix the vehicle with my money because I’m not getting everything I need. Also, Kijiji has grown bigger, so we need more drivers."

​A few years ago, in one of my first blog posts in which I openly discussed having been a cancer patient, I hinted to churches (which I doubt read blogposts) on how they could lead the conversation on universal healthcare in Kenya. So as one can imagine, one of my greatest disappointments in the #LipaKamaTender movement has been how the church failed to take the opportunity to lead the country in saving our healthcare. If the church had picked up the issue up and run with it two years ago, we may not have had the strike in the first place. 

I love Caroline Mutoko. Her wit and her no-nonsense analysis often strike a chord with me, especially when she discusses gender and education. But when it comes to her latest take on our healthcare crisis, in which she essentially tells the doctors on strike that theirs is a lost cause, I'm not entirely with her.
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I do agree with her that the danger of a strike that passes week 3 (in fact, I usually say week 1), is that the public loses interest and moves on to the next thing.  And what makes that even sadder is that a strike depends on public support. When the public does not embrace the agenda of your strike, your strike is difficult to push, because the employers give in to save their public image more than out of care for workers. I've said this many times on social media and on my blog.