Michael Logan

Novelist, Journalist and other things ending in -ist

The hunt for a vaccine

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As a journalist working in the developing world, I often find myself writing about creaking healthcare systems, but I have never been personally affected. Until now.

My wife Natalie last week gave birth to our first child, Charlotte Elizabeth. We are lucky enough to be able to afford to got to a private hospital for the delivery, but this did not help us when it came to getting a BCG vaccine, for there were no doses available.

Kenya has the 13th-highest prevalence of Tubercolosis in the world. The WHO reported 140,000 new cases in 2008. Yet it has now been suffering a shortgage of the BCG vaccine for around three months, putting tens of thousands of infants, including my daughter, at risk.

The vaccine is now the holy grail for parents, who are scouring Nairobi looking for it. Favours are being called in and rumours exchanged via text message. Gangs of furtive parents are lurking in doorways outside hospitals and offering wads of cash to passing doctors.

I was told that a private clinic was selling it for 20 euros – shameless profiteering since the vaccine is supposed to be free in Kenya. Nonetheless, I went there ready to pay. When I asked, the receptionist appeared to glance furtively around the room and announced loudly that she had no vaccine. However, she then had me write down my name and number and said she would call if any came in. I couldn’t help but wonder if she was being clandestine since they are probably selling vaccine obtained through government channels in a corrupt manner. She hasn’t called yet.

I now have another lead, which I am chasing up on. I can only hope that I get there before the other parents who would no doubt elbow me over a high railing or drop kick Charlotte over a fence to make sure they got the vaccine for their child. And who can blame them?

The question has to be asked why there is no vaccine in the country when donors have been pouring money into anti-TB programmes. The answer could lie in incompetence – which would not be a great surprise to anyone who has dealt with Kenyan government officials – or the old problem of corruption. The Global Fund to Fight AIDS, TB and Malaria has in the past suspended funding to Kenya for disappearing millions of dollars intended to buy ARVs through fraudulent NGOs, and that wasn’t even considered a big corruption scandal.

I have been too busy changing nappies and trying to get the vaccine for Charlotte to look into it properly yet, but it wouldn’t surprise me to find that somebody is putting children at risk in order to fill their pockets.

How not to pay bribes to cops in Kenya

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A few months ago, somebody told me the best way to avoid paying bribes to cops in Kenya is to be polite and waste their time, which they would rather be using to collect bribes from more cooperative people. I got the chance to try it out last week, when a cop pulled me over in Kilimani at lunchtime. The following is the abbreviated exchance, leaving out the call he took from his girfriend and attempts to gain sympathy for having a cold:

Cop: “You are displaying a duplicate insurance certificate. That is an offence in Kenya.”

Me: “Oh, I’m very sorry. I just bought this car and didn’t know.”

Cop: “I understand, but we will have to go the police station. There will be big fine, and it will take a long time.”

Me: “OK officer, no problem.”

Cop: “Do you know where the Kilimani station is?”

Me: “Yes, it’s just round the corner. I’ll meet you there.”

Cop: “Ah, no. I can’t let you drive off. I will have to impound the car and we walk.”

Me: “Well, jump in and I’ll give you a lift. You can impound the car there.”

COP CASTS FORLORN GLANCE AT OTHER, JUICY POSSIBLE BRIBES GOING PAST, BUT DECIDES TO PLAY IT OUT

Cop (IN CAR, LOOKING AT MY LICENCE, GRINS): “Ah, you have not signed your licence. That is also an offence in Kenya.”

Me: “Oh, I’m sorry officer. I didn’t know. We can sort it out at the station.”

Cop: “That will be another fine.”

(SIGNIFICANT PAUSE).

Me: “No problem.”

Cop: “It will be very expensive.”

Me: “Fair enough.”

(CONFUSED PAUSE)

Cop: “You are a very cooperative person.”

Me: “Well, I need to have respect for the laws of Kenya and the officers who uphold them.”

Cop: “The fine will be at least 5,000 shillings for each offence.”

(SIGNIFICANT PAUSE, ACCOMPANIED BY EVEN-MORE SIGNIFICANT LOOK)

Me: “If that is the penalty, then I will have to pay it.”

(CAR IS APPROACHING POLICE STATION, COP IS LOOKING THOROUGHLY STUMPED)

Cop: “Are you sure you want to go through all the trouble?”

Me: “The law’s the law.”

(SILENCE, CAR ONLY 50 METRES FROM STATION)

Cop: “I tell you what, why don’t I just give you a warning this time? We can just pull this off.”

(COP PULLS OFF INSURANCE STICKER, WHICH IS THE EXPIRED ONE SO COMPLETELY IRRELEVANT. THE CURRENT STICKER IS PERFECTLY LEGAL)

Me: “Thank you very much officer, I appreciate your kindness.”

Cop: “It is no problem. You will know next time. So, where are you going now?”

Me: “I am going to the office. Do you want me to drop you back at the junction?”

Cop: “Yes, please.”

(I DROP COP OFF AT JUNCTION. HE LOOKS AT THE ONCOMING TRAFFIC, READY TO POUNCE).

How not to pay bribes to cops in Kenya

by

A few months ago, somebody told me the best way to avoid paying bribes to cops in Kenya is to be polite and waste their time, which they would rather be using to collect bribes from more cooperative people. I got the chance to try it out last week, when a cop pulled me over in Kilimani at lunchtime. The following is the abbreviated exchance, leaving out the call he took from his girfriend and attempts to gain sympathy for having a cold:

Cop: “You are displaying a duplicate insurance certificate. That is an offence in Kenya.”

Me: “Oh, I’m very sorry. I just bought this car and didn’t know.”

Cop: “I understand, but we will have to go the police station. There will be big fine, and it will take a long time.”

Me: “OK officer, no problem.”

Cop: “Do you know where the Kilimani station is?”

Me: “Yes, it’s just round the corner. I’ll meet you there.”

Cop: “Ah, no. I can’t let you drive off. I will have to impound the car and we walk.”

Me: “Well, jump in and I’ll give you a lift. You can impound the car there.”

COP CASTS FORLORN GLANCE AT OTHER, JUICY POSSIBLE BRIBES GOING PAST, BUT DECIDES TO PLAY IT OUT

Cop (IN CAR, LOOKING AT MY LICENCE, GRINS): “Ah, you have not signed your licence. That is also an offence in Kenya.”

Me: “Oh, I’m sorry officer. I didn’t know. We can sort it out at the station.”

Cop: “That will be another fine.”

(SIGNIFICANT PAUSE).

Me: “No problem.”

Cop: “It will be very expensive.”

Me: “Fair enough.”

(CONFUSED PAUSE)

Cop: “You are a very cooperative person.”

Me: “Well, I need to have respect for the laws of Kenya and the officers who uphold them.”

Cop: “The fine will be at least 5,000 shillings for each offence.”

(SIGNIFICANT PAUSE, ACCOMPANIED BY EVEN-MORE SIGNIFICANT LOOK)

Me: “If that is the penalty, then I will have to pay it.”

(CAR IS APPROACHING POLICE STATION, COP IS LOOKING THOROUGHLY STUMPED)

Cop: “Are you sure you want to go through all the trouble?”

Me: “The law’s the law.”

(SILENCE, CAR ONLY 50 METRES FROM STATION)

Cop: “I tell you what, why don’t I just give you a warning this time? We can just pull this off.”

(COP PULLS OFF INSURANCE STICKER, WHICH IS THE EXPIRED ONE SO COMPLETELY IRRELEVANT. THE CURRENT STICKER IS PERFECTLY LEGAL)

Me: “Thank you very much officer, I appreciate your kindness.”

Cop: “It is no problem. You will know next time. So, where are you going now?”

Me: “I am going to the office. Do you want me to drop you back at the junction?”

Cop: “Yes, please.”

(I DROP COP OFF AT JUNCTION. HE LOOKS AT THE ONCOMING TRAFFIC, READY TO POUNCE).

Nairobi slam poetry

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I went to my first slam poetry night in Nairobi on Friday. It was in one regard not too different from such nights in other countries. The poets were a mixed bag, ranging from the awful to the inspired.

What the poets all shared, though, was an energy and fire to get their political message across. The themes concentrated on many of Africa’s problems, from Kenya’s post-election violence to the colonial legacy.

The only spoiler on the night was created by an American teenager, who seemed like an escapee from every teen movie every made. My friend shushed her after she decided to screech about spilling her drink on her precious blouse while one of the poets performed. Cue catty remarks, much tossing of teased blonde hair and a cascade of dirty looks. She even forced her poor uncomfortable boyfriend to come over and ask for an apology. He clearly knew she was being a buffoon.

Some people should be locked up in the malls they clearly belong in.

Nairobi slam poetry

by

I went to my first slam poetry night in Nairobi on Friday. It was in one regard not too different from such nights in other countries. The poets were a mixed bag, ranging from the awful to the inspired.

What the poets all shared, though, was an energy and fire to get their political message across. The themes concentrated on many of Africa’s problems, from Kenya’s post-election violence to the colonial legacy.

The only spoiler on the night was created by an American teenager, who seemed like an escapee from every teen movie every made. My friend shushed her after she decided to screech about spilling her drink on her precious blouse while one of the poets performed. Cue catty remarks, much tossing of teased blonde hair and a cascade of dirty looks. She even forced her poor uncomfortable boyfriend to come over and ask for an apology. He clearly knew she was being a buffoon.

Some people should be locked up in the malls they clearly belong in.

Kwani Litfest 2008

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I just found out that I am going to miss much of the Kwani Litfest 2008, which has workshops run by such luminaries as Chimamanda Adichie, whose novel, Half of a Yellow Sun, won the Orange Prize in 2007.

Suffice to say I am very disappointed at missing out on the opportunity to meet and learn from authors of this calibre.

I get back on the last day of the festival in Nairobi before it moves on to Lamu, which means I will miss the long workshops.

Ever the optimist, though, I am going to contact the organisers and see if I can blag my way into the tail-end of one of the workshops.

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