Jaguar’s song has been ringing in my head for some reason. Not because Jaguar is known for his lyrical prowess but because of the “vuka border” bit. We have all started looking at the borders rather jealously. Don’t get me wrong. I’m a proud Kenyan. The thought of living amongst polite, Swahili spewing Tanzanians tickles me. Uganda is not an option. I can’t live in a country where walking to work means I’ll end up in the hospital. I also find it annoying that they try to convince me to say ‘Champala’ when it’s clearly written Kampala. We can read dummies. Fork jembe.

But the last week has just been a sad one to be Kenyan. While everyone was busy awwwing over the royal wedding and high fiving each other over the death of some random guy who likes to play with matches, things started falling apart. We are a country under siege. The Ugandans are trying to steal our islands. It’s like a weird case of toys at the playground. Uganda is that petulant kid who just wants stuff that doesn’t belong to them. Up north, Ethiopians are busy massacring Turkana residents and our response to this is to write a protest note. What in heaven’s name is a protest note? I’m imagining the president tore off a paper from his exercise book and quickly scrawled, “By the way tumejamabout hii story ya kudedisha wasee wetu. Sareni.”

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