IS THERE HOPE FOR MY CITY?

I have struggled to write this piece deeply.
Not because I don’t have words, but because the weight of what’s happening in my city is unbearable. Nairobi, the city I love and live in, is currently overwhelmed with unrest. Demonstrations against police brutality have intensified, and with them, so has the grief. The grief of losing young lives, brilliant, promising lives, cut short in the most brutal ways.

My heart is heavy. There is a sadness that I cannot describe. A sadness that sinks deep into your bones when you see what we’ve witnessed in recent days.

During yesterday's demos about a teacher who was killed while in police custody, a 22-year-old young man was hawking face masks to make ends meet. Alone. Unarmed. Standing just a few meters from a group of police officers. Maybe he thought he was safe. Maybe he believed standing at a distance would shield him from the chaos. But in broad daylight, and full view of the public, he was confronted violently. The same people meant to protect him turned on him. They rained down on him with boots and shot him at close range.

He survived. Barely. Reports say he’s in the hospital, fighting for his life. And while we pray fervently for his healing, the truth is that something in him, and something in us as a people, has been shattered.

We are bleeding.

Our leaders have been silent, conveniently deaf to the cries on social media and blind to the masses risking their lives in peaceful demonstrations. Our constitution grants us the right to protest. To speak up. To demand better. Yet, those who exercise this right are met with violence and intimidation. The stench of impunity is suffocating. The lies? Deafening.

And so, I ask:
Is there hope for my city?
Will we ever see meaningful reforms, reforms that touch every sector of our society, not just in empty promises, but in action?

Will our leaders ever rise to truly serve and not to be served?
Will corruption, injustice, and lawlessness ever be met with real consequences?
Will the perpetrators finally be brought to book?

Our national anthem declares:
“Justice be our shield and defender.”
But when justice becomes selective, when it’s compromised by heavy pockets and political interests, how can it truly defend us?

Nairobi is more than a city. It is a heartbeat. A hub of innovation, business, education, tourism, and culture. It holds so much promise. So much beauty. But that promise is being dimmed. That beauty is being bruised.

When we destroy peace, when we loot from the public purse, when we normalize violence and corruption, where are we heading? What kind of legacy are we building? What will the generation after us inherit, not just in infrastructure or economy, but in values?

I still believe in Nairobi. I still believe in us.
But belief alone is not enough.
We must act. We must speak. We must hold the line.
Because yes, my city is hurting. But maybe, just maybe, there is still hope.

Hope in the brave youth who refuse to be silenced.
Hope in the mothers who mourn yet still pray.
Hope in the few honest leaders who remain.
Hope in every voice that rises for justice.

Let us not let this moment pass in silence.
Let us be the change we seek. For Nairobi. For our country. For our future.

Yes! there is hope, because I am here.