Ratu's Coffee

"I don’t know," Safari said, briefly studying the steam rising from the coffee on the table. The sun cast a warm glow on their faces, though the road below had already succumbed to the evening shadows. Ratu’s Coffee, a four-story haven, allowed patrons to bask in the sunlight like tourists, overlooking the city below.

“I think that’s strange,” Ogolla affirmed, his disbelief evident. “I don’t think the government can be doing that!”

“But that’s what’s happening,” Safari defended. “We’re back to square one, back to the days when mothers couldn’t give birth for free!”

In their beloved Kenya, a recent policy change had dismantled Linda Mama, a program designed to assist women in giving birth at hospitals without financial burden.

“The government claimed it was to prevent maternal and infant deaths under midwives' care,” Ogolla explained. He, a professor at JKUAT, shared a history with Safari, who had once worked at the university.

“I don’t buy that,” Safari interjected. Adjusting himself on the reed and sponge seats that had become oddly familiar, he continued, “Here’s a thought, especially since you love reasons and thought processes. Listen to this.”

Ogolla leaned in, intrigued by Safari's sudden confidence.

“I'm thinking the government wanted more workers to build the nation, then” Safari explained. “but currently, it's becoming harder to provide for everyone, and in this case every child. And that's why they've halted Linda Mama, fearing an influx of babies with nowhere to live and nothing to eat.”

Ogolla squinted, absorbing Safari’s unexpected perspective.

“Challenge me if I'm wrong,” Safari prompted, “but I can't see any other reason for the government suddenly not caring about maternal deaths or the fate of newborns.”

Ogolla sipped his coffee, pondering Safari’s words. They carried weight, a perspective from a different angle.

“Wouldn’t that lead to more deaths?” Ogolla questioned.

“There certainly will be a handful of bodies,” Safari acknowledged, nodding in agreement.

“But consider this,” Safari continued, waving his hands to illustrate.

“How do you control a population? How do you redirect them from crime or drugs, especially in impoverished areas?”

Ogolla listened, sensing a rhetorical question.

“Fear of crime!” Safari exclaimed.

“What’s that?”

“Take our corrupt government, for instance. They steal billions, and the punishment is fines. I read a paper where a guy was fined thirty million after the loss of billions. Isn't that encouraging corruption and crime?”

“It is,” Ogolla agreed, leaning back as the sun dipped behind the mountains. An orange hue painted the skies, transforming the clouds into silhouettes of various shapes.

“But what if, for once, they sent one of them to prison? Or took the most untouchable to court and made him plead guilty to his crimes — like they're doing to Donald Trump. Imagine if he gets convicted and sent behind bars. Wouldn’t that make everyone worry about their crimes?”

Ogolla hesitated, “That's different, and I doubt it would work.”

Safari stared at Ogolla, giving him time to rearrange his thoughts.

“Let’s return to the impoverished places,” Safari suggested, rubbing his hand on his knee.

"You and I understand that there comes a time when insecurity is so high that police start shooting people to make them afraid of staging robbery with violence. If five bodies are shot close to the market, mothers of thieves still alive are going to warn their sons and daughters to avoid getting killed. Isn’t that right?”

Exhaling, “Yes, that sounds about right,” said Ogolla. Interest building up like his rising heartbeat. He wasn’t sure where Safari was taking the conversation, and as he tried linking it to babies, his thoughts scrambled, leaving him no choice but to listen to his old friend.

Known Safari for five years, and not a single day did he say anything without conviction. He always came prepared to any verbal fight.

“With Linda Mama, there will be more and more children, and thanks to that program, we’ve now forgotten about midwives. More children are born in healthy environments, and the spreading of HIV at birth is greatly reduced,” continued Safari.

“But then, we have a much bigger problem. Food is becoming a problem because most of those children came from aspiring middle class and the lower class. The economy is getting tougher so to speak, and funding everyone’s education will be a problem for the government if the status quo prevails.”

A waiter at the restaurant strolled past them, headed to the edge of the rooftop where he pulled a transparent tent that would shield everyone from the strong winds that started prevailing. Evenings at the rooftop were characterized by cold, and being at the rooftop, the cold froze their customers.

Ogolla and Safari paused as they figured out the waiter’s intentions to approach where they were seated. It was at the furthest corner, the only place with two seats facing the city. All the other seats didn’t have a clear horizon because of synthetic aesthetic plants that blocked the view once seated. Those were all over.

“And that’s why doing away with Linda Mama, unplanned births and teenage pregnancies are going to be greatly reduced. Those who will have kids should be prepared from the word go. They are sure they will pay once the child is born – at the hospital – and keep up with the feeding and everything else,” said Safari in a hushed but audible tone.

Ogolla delayed answering as he stared at the waiter who walked back to the main restaurant.

“Habari za jioni,” he greeted with a polite wave.

“Mzuri,” answered Ogolla, courteously smiling back before turning to Safari who responded to the waiter with a nod.

“So you’re saying the government is threatening its citizens!” beckoned Ogolla.

Safari agreed. “And it’s a bittersweet situation!”

When the night is young, stars that defy the odds usually sprinkle across the sky. They may be two; or three; or more as the orange hue fades to black. Staring at the changing part of the day brings calmness and a reassuring feeling that not everything is unpredictable. Such beauties can be counted on each day as long as the sun shines.

Ogolla smiled at Safari, understanding that it is indeed hard to control a people, especially when they can’t tell the right way. But who’s to decide what is right and what isn’t? Shouldn’t the majority win? Is that the law?

“Speaking of control, how much control does the government have over its people?” probed Ogolla.

Safari, lost in the skies, shifted his head, facing Ogolla, who sat across his shoulder. The table holding their coffee cups now sat between them, providing more legroom.

“That’s a hard question to answer,” said Safari, a dilemma carved into his furrow.

“Why is it the case?”

“Right now there is a lot of controversy in all matters. Speak of health, transport, security; everything feels like a political affair. Different leaders using their influence to either stall or tamper with important policy changes and government initiatives.”

“That’s interesting,” encouraged Ogolla.

“Take a look at the Privatization Act of 2023,” explained Safari, “some leaders are against it, and I’m finding myself asking fundamental questions. Why are they doing it? Who’s to really benefit from it because privatization could mean something good for those companies.”

Ogolla processed Safari’s claims and said, “What do you mean by politicalizing matters? And what are those questions?”

“I mean,” paused Safari, taking in Ogolla’s questions. “I watched the news one day, around last week, and the opposition talked about blocking the move to privatization simply because the government didn’t go to the public. They’re seeking a referendum for it, and I asked, isn’t privatization what the country needs?”

Ogolla leaned with interest.

“We’re cash-strapped already, and some of those parastatals are suffering serious financial blows, don’t you think?”

“Indeed they are,” answered Ogolla. “But a building like KICC that houses MP offices shouldn’t be the first choice.”

“Maybe you are right,” noted Safari, “but let’s take KPC, the supposedly healthy corporation. Why haven’t they invested in an oil refinery – or revive the one rotting at Mombasa? Would it be cheap to import crude oil and refine our own oil?”

Ogolla’s interest spiked, the sky completely dark, exposing a bubble of stars against the moonless night.

“It took Nigeria’s Dangote to build a refinery, not the government. At least here, the government looks like it has a plan to make everything better. Strategic investors for KPC could consider reviving the refinery,” elaborated Safari, “the same way they did with KWAL, which was bought by a South African company. They’ve now built a four-billion manufacturing facility. Aren’t those jobs?”

“I never knew that,” admitted Ogolla, visibly impressed.

“Me too until recently,” said Safari, his eyes brimming with enthusiasm. “And that’s why I think privatization could heal this country. Safaricom is making huge profits too; all coming back to the government’s pocket!”

“And speaking of profits,” added Ogolla, “there's been a concerning trend of how many businesses with the white man’s hand thrive more than those we run ourselves.”

“That’s what I’m talking about,” jumped Safari, “it’s like we’ve become incompetent ourselves. All companies, even Equity and Naivas, have done so much better after there are outsiders involved in managing the company. And I believe it boils down to integrity.”

“Of course, it’s integrity,” assured Ogolla, “when was the last time you heard we’re a corruption-free country?”

Safari chuckled.

"Everyone wants a piece of the pie, and there are many mouths to feed,” Safari agreed. “And I think the president, after taking a handful share, is trying to close those loopholes. He strikes me as a man who can be greedy but effective at making sure the right thing is done, at the very least.”

“I find him too greedy. Honestly,” rejected Ogolla, “the man loves talking and hardly does anything for the nation. Too much taxing.” In the past month, his pay slip had too many dents that he saw being lost in corruption scandals.

“That is true, but I think how we relate with each other, on a cultural level, is where the problem is at,” said Safari.

“Why do you say that?”

“Do you recall when we were young and our parents,” breaking to restructure his thoughts, “Say you have a son in your university, and they end up being in a lot of trouble? The kind of trouble that can make them get expelled from the university. What would you do if you knew about it, and could do something to prevent such a fate?”

As if Safari knew, Ogolla’s son was caught up in a scandal where girls were supposedly raped at a college party. Ogolla had long talks with his son as he tried to get to the bottom of the situation, and his son stood his ground. He didn’t do it and blamed the girls for faking it. His wife, Elena, tried talking to his son, and all of them came to the same conclusion.

“I’d try to salvage the situation,” admitted Ogolla.

“And that’s where we all come from,” said Safari with impending doom, “we have more of that, I think, but lack what it takes to be functionally integral. Too much of anything is poisonous, right?”

Ogolla nodded.

“We’ve normalized rubbing hands as a show of goodwill,” addressed Safari with assuredness, “and it’s costing us seriously because we cannot see the bigger picture anymore. We’re too focused on not crossing the elite’s boundaries at a time we shouldn’t.”

“You know the elite are not as wealthy as they look,” interjected Ogolla, “if one owns a million-dollar company, how that company is valued includes assets, and that isn’t something the owner could brag about!”

Safari’s confusion brightened.

“But since the company is ongoing, there is a promise for cash. The bigger the company, the bigger the income, but their wealth will be attached to the value of their shares in their company. So many of them could be worried sick if anything happens to the economy. Such people could own houses and everything else, but they’ll feel bad if their companies go bankrupt, a possible reality.”

“That’s why they’ll fight to the death to protect their influence,” reflected Safari, “because their influence is what brings them money in the first place. I’m thinking that’s the same reason Rafael Tuju went to the East African Development Bank to get a loan worth billions to fund his business, I suppose.”

“That you are right,” agreed Ogolla. He had taken a loan because of his influence.

Regret washed over Safari as he said, “Sometimes I wish we could be integral on the crucial things. At least enable everyone to enjoy the good things in life.”

"But humans are strange,” revealed Ogolla, “we have desires and needs to be met. Sometimes it gets blurry when meeting either.” There was a loophole in the girls’ story on who raped them. They first said they didn’t see because they were drunk, and then later said it was all of the three boys at the party of five. Also, what they didn’t tell everyone is that they admittedly confessed to two of the boys that they had a crush. Ogolla’s son was excluded. He was there as a lonely man in a double date, and that’s why Professor Ogolla pushed for a punishment. His son was given a one-year suspension, and come back when things have cooled down.

And the two friends continued with their chat for one more hour as they let the clock strike at eight in the night.

“I’m afraid I’ll have to go now,” then said Ogolla, “the days of extending into the night are long gone for me.”

“Me too,” agreed Safari, “I cannot imagine wasting the night. I need enough sleep!”

“My reason is my wife,” shared Ogolla, “she cooks good food when I’m around. I better hurry before I get no food at all!”

They laughed. And the sky twinkled, their hearts jumping with elation as they left the restaurant. It was a long day.