They are strong like weeds....

I am often challenged on the 'rawness' of some of the things I write here so on this occasion I am forewarning you in advance. The next story will make for uncomfortable reading.


It has been quite a challenging time since arriving here.


Following the traffic incident involving the young boy yesterday, Ali (the workshop manager here) and I came back to the hotel. I was honestly quite traumatised by what I had seen and how I had not been able to intervene. Gayl and Lothar, the two Camara coordinators who had arrived in the morning, were up and about so we all had a welcome chat about the Camara program starting in a weeks time when the volunteers arrive.

Ali then took Gayl and Lothar for a walk around the area. I went to my room to have a shower (there had been no water or electricity in the morning).

There was still no water so I lay down and waited and drifted off to sleep.

I was woken by the sound of shouting in the corridor outside my room. The shouting was in Swahili so I could understand very little but it was certain that a huge argument was taking place. The next thing I heard was clearly the sound of blows, then screams and shouting and then the sound of leather belts being lashed off the marble tiles.

I waited till things quietened down and then left my room. At the end of the corridor I could see the feet of a middle aged man lying prostate on the floor. The man was badly beaten and there was blood everywhere. Moments later two men unceremoniously lifted the man by the legs and arms and carried him outside.

I followed them downstairs and met the woman who ran the hotel in the lobby. She explained that the man had been caught stealing from one of the rooms and so deserved all he got. Once he had been 'outed' as a thief a mob came together, belts were taken off and the man was beaten within inches of his life.

I went outside. The 'thief' was lying face down in a side entrance with a tire around his neck. The mob was screaming and fighting about whether he should be given a necklace. This is where the tire is filled with petrol, the mans hands are tied behind his back and the petrol is lit.

Thankfully the police arrived. The man was then dragged to the middle of the street in full view of everyone. Apparently this is done as an 'example' to any other would be thieves.

Children looked on aghast at what they were seeing. Looking at the man in his crumpled disheveled state I began to suspect that he was dead. From a distance I could not see any visible signs of him moving or even breathing.

At this stage I had to intervene. I asked the Police could the body of the man be moved to a less public place to take it out of view of the gathering children.

The policeman looked at me.

'This way they learn' he said.

A man beside me, still holding his leather belt in his hand and clearly keen to administer more punishment (to someone) asked me what I was doing.

'He did not deserve to die' I said far to quietly.

The man laughed.

'He is only pretending to be dead' he said eyeing the man on the ground.

Sure enough, as two policemen picked up the man I could see him breathing. They dumped him into the back of the police van. It was probably the safest place for him for the time being though God knows what was going to happen to him once they got him to the station.

I was relived to know that he was at least alive. The man holding the leather belt had the final say.

'See they are strong' he gloated.

'They are strong like weeds'

Then laughing he walked away putting his belt back on.

An 'investigation' later that evening discovered that the man had stolen 500 Kenyan Schillings from a room. Thats about 5 euros.

'

From the Mansion House to Mombasa

I am writing this note from the Skomara Digital Hub in Mombasa. Today is Sunday. A lot has happened in the last few days...in particular over the last few hours.

Last Wednesday evening, at the kind invitation of the outgoing President of IBEC, I found myself in the Mansion house at a black tie dinner, addressed by the Taoiseach, listening to the challenging economic circumstances Ireland faces over the coming few years.

In attendance were a group of the most influential people in Ireland. Heads of companies, senior civil servants, former secretary generals and CEO'S etc all listening to the sobering perspective that we will have to tighten our belts over the next few months if we are to manage the economic turbulence ahead.

There is not doubt that we will face more difficult economic times than we have over the last 15 years, and that we will have to face some relative hardship, however, let me put this all into perspective....

Whilst in the taxi on the way to the hub here, I passed by an awful traffic accident. A young boy (probably about the same age as my son of 12) had been knocked down by a vehicle on a street known as 'black street'. Many people are killed or badly injured on this stretch of road because of the close proximity of the slum buildings to the busy street.

The child was lying in a pool of blood convulsing on the ground. A group of people had gathered around watching in horror.

The taxi driver (who I know well and trust) knew what I was thinking and told me that we could not stop. This was an extremely poor area and that if I got out, even with the good intentions of trying to help, I would most likely be mugged and robbed because of my skin colour. He said that 'emotions' ran high when children are knocked down.

I asked could we make sure an ambulance was called.

'The city only has a handful of ambulances and there is none for this area' he answered.

'The child's only hope is that somebody else stops and brings him to hospital even though they may not be trained in how to lift an injured person...'

As I sit here writing this note,I wonder should we have stopped. I am only 24 hours in this country before I am reminded of what real problems truly are. And it seems they all begin with a total feeling of powerlessness.....