Dennis NEEDS your HELP; The Journalist Who Has Cancer And is a Victim of Captivity in India

What makes your heart cringe with pity, hopelessness, empathy, and lack of words? What makes your tears just stream forth like the rain of spring?

What tugs at the chords of your kindness and mercy when you see someone in so much pain? What moves your soul to the seat of mercy to help another soul?

As I write this, am sitting by the palm tree in my father’s compound looking at it wondering what kind of lessons it holds therein, what kind of advice it might have for a soul in pain like mine. What mistakes can it share with me to help me navigate this life?

Its leaves are turning from brown to green as the water gets into the soil and the earth takes a breather from the hot, dry and dusty weather. I wonder how it survived the repugnant weather. Such a resilience plant. Just like the human spirit. You can be amazed at what we can stomach and stand when push comes to shove.

Tears are lingering in my eyes. My heart is heavier than a pregnant elephant. My soul feels restless and my spirit is distraught. My thoughts are with Dennis Omondi. A brilliant young journalist that I had the pleasure and honor to meet while we both worked at West FM Media Studios in Bungoma and Nairobi. He is a fascinating young man with a brilliant future. His grasp on matters journalistic is amazing. It was easy to connect and enchant one another with our passions.

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As life happens, I moved on to my own dreams and ventures and Dennis continued with his. As it is, we all got busy, only touching base when we needed to on matters current affairs or when we met in Bungoma for a cup of tea and roasted maize, which was rare. Life for me has been tough, been busy, but wondering if I have been productive or someone else is taking the efforts of my sweat. As such, I was minding my own when I was met with this video of my old friend on my twitter timeline asking for help, from India in captivity.

My heart broke into a thousand pieces. I didn’t even think that was possible. Life has been tough, Nairobi has taught me how to harden, as such is the only way to survive. But my heart broke and my mind went into overdrive. How we take a lot for granted. I wondered if that was me, who would help? Am I helping enough to even qualify for help from others? I panicked and I think I still am panicking because I am yet to find a solution to my friend’s dilemma.

My friend’s illness and the current fluid situation in India has sent me on a path that is not only tricky but puzzling. I keep wondering what next for us young people, who live from hand to mouth. Who lives in a country with a broken healthcare system. Who lives in a country where those charged with the responsibility of ensuring a better healthcare system seek treatment abroad.

A story is told of a rich, powerful Kenyan politician who is in the current government who flew to South Africa for Specialized treatment and while there, he was asked if he wanted a local South Africa doctor or a foreign doctor and he said, he wanted a foreign doctor and a foreign doctor was called for him. A specialist for whatever he was ailing from at that time. Lo and behold, the doctor that was called was from Kenya and was known to him. That story is told everywhere to mock just how our leaders are killing our public healthcare system for their own private gains. The doctor treated him and he was discharged.

Now how many of us can afford the option of local or foreign doctors being at our beck and call. How many of us have our taxes at our disposal to