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Why I envy Uhuru in his military regalia

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Uhuru Kenyatta

   President Uhuru Kenyatta with the Chief of the Kenya Defence Forces Julius Karangi salute in the                                       honour of those officers who perished in Somalia during the KDF day at Lanet in Nakuru on 14-10-2014             PHOTO:BONIFACE THUKU

 

The first time I saw a picture of President Uhuru Kenyatta in military uniform was a couple of weeks ago. He had a wide grin on his face as he strode along State House corridors.

Then there was last week as he stood next to top military brass saluting the brave soldiers we lost in combat, his bloodshot eyes fixed straight ahead.

The last time I saw the picture of a president in military uniform it must have been Moi in some ceremonial red tunic, the army’s I believe. Until Uhuru stepped out in his combat uniform and those desert army boots.

The image stirred something in yours truly. Growing up, the careers many young men aspired too had something to do with the disciplined forces. Any time either the police or army was recruiting the stadium would be packed to capacity.

Growing up in Isiolo with a significant military presence must have played a role. Plus of course, the hostile environment of bandits every now and then and gunshots that punctuated dinner conversations. Many people who grew up in Isiolo in the 90s know someone who was gunned down.

For those who fancied themselves law abiding, joining the police or army seemed like a good option. A lot of these ended up teachers and nurses, but that is story for another day. A few made it though.

 Serve my nation

The smarter chaps who did not have any qualms got themselves guns on the black market. Anyway, most of the young men I grew up with have at one time or other nursed the ambitions of joining the military. And that goes for this writer too.

So every time, the armed forces, as they were called then, called for cadet applications, mine was among the many that ended up at the Department of Defence, I hope. Or got lost somewhere in the maze that is the post office.

I will never know if the big shot in charge of personnel or something like that, ever came across my “humble plea to serve my nation”, or if it was thrown out with the trash even before it got to his desk. I would like to know what he thought as he read it. But I never got in.

The rumour at the time was that you had to know someone, and I clearly did not know enough people. Other rumours have it that the last recruitment saw fewer people turn up as the image of duty free alcohol was replaced by Al-Shabaab marksmen.

Anyway, as the years went by, the applications dwindled and eventually stopped. But then when Uhuru stepped out decked like a seasoned hand, I reckoned my dreams were still valid. He got his uniform at 52 after all.

 

 

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