Sunday, 12 January 2020



DIE EMPTY



A ship in harbor is safe; but that is not what ships are built for." -John A. Shedd


Death.
What a word.

It is defined as “the act of dying”, “the end of life”, or more medically, “ the total and permanent cessation of all the vital functions of an organism”.

What a word. It fills us up with dread. Scary. Unimaginable. Unthinkable. It is pungent. It hangs up in the air like a dark, ominous cloud, ready to engulf us in its total blackness, and stillness, and its nothingness. The end of life. The end of an era.

The bereaved are engulfed in an abyss of the wheels of grief, asking questions whose answers, no human knows, in indescribable pain that racks the entire mind, body and soul, sometimes numbing, and without warning, crashes over you like a tidal wave. Sobs rent the air without the ability to offer any consolation.

This is how I understand physical death. Death of body.

Yet, as sure as we were born alive, the other sure thing is we shall die. Someday. Nobody knows the day nor the hour, but to each and every one of us, it shall happen.

What about death of mind, death of soul, death of spirit?

I ask, until the day comes, why do we operate as if we already died, and only wait for our physical death to catch up with our mind, soul and spirit? What has us so dead inside, so hopeless, so downtrodden, so despaired, such that sometimes, physical cessation of our existence would serve as a relief?

Let us reflect deeply, truly and honestly. This life is beautiful. We wake up, the sun shines, and in the end of the day, the sun goes down and moon takes up its shift to illuminate for us in the dead of the night. And the cycle continues.

Horrors abound too. Hunger, poverty, illness, calamity, disaster, disempowerment, among other obstacles all serve to dim the sun, in a way that we do not feel its rays on our face.

Each of us who get to wake up each day, has a purpose laid out for them to fulfill in this universe. 

Each one of us has a talent. A gift. Something they are good at. Something that fulfills their spirit, and nourishes their soul. Something good. Something that gives them joy, and hope in equal measure.

Eliminate all the hurdles that stand between you, and your true north, the purpose for which you feel your existence is based on. Try. Start to try. Shake the fear off.

Do it, and do it now. Do not procrastinate. Do not second guess yourself. Do not over analyze. Take a deep breath and jump in. do not flinch. Lift your arms and start swimming as hard as you can. Get as much help as you need along the way. The journey is for all of us. 

Cut the cord from anyone or anything holding you back from achieving your true purpose, without fear, or favour. You owe yourself your truth, and speak it clearly, and respectfully, but shoot straight. 

Be strong. You shall overcome.

Smile. Laugh. Travel. Eat. Drink. Love. Dance. Kiss. Run. Exercise. Meditate. Cry. Journal. Swim. Hike. Drive. Sing. Plan. Organize. Strategize. Perform. Mobilize. Evaluate. Repeat.

Do this each time you get a chance. Be intentional in creating time for yourself. You can only give what you have. Be kind to somebody else. Offer help. Be there. Be present.

Give vanity a wide berth. Chasing the wind is of no use.

This way, you will be living, and your life will be full of life.

Finally, when we die, we shall have lived.

#DWM





Thursday, 2 February 2017

CBA 7: Patriots For Human Dignity

Raia,
Ingawa sheng' hainelemeangi saaana, naomba kuandika hii post na ile Kizungu kiasi natambua..

This is because what I am about to reflect on touches me to the core.

My head is currently on the pillow, about to drift off to sleep. I have prayed for a goodnight sleep, and hope for a beautiful tomorrow.

Just as swiftly, I can't stop thinking about the CBA 7. I wonder if they are awake. Each one of them. The two wonderful ladies and the 5 valiant gentlemen. 
They are fathers,mothers,sons,daughters, and Kenyans just like you and me.  They do not know what tomorrow holds. They don't know if the night will be spent in the warmth of their beds, or on a 1 mm size mattress in a cell. 

They sleep alongside other prisoners, howling in fear night after night, nightmare after nightmare. Their crime? Standing on their feet, instead of living on their knees.Tired of burying their heads in the sand, supervising death, disability and long term suffering of some of their fellow citizens.

They wonder if all this will pan out in the end. Even though they know doctors are with them 100%, they wonder if their tribe of unionized gallant doctors and foot soldiers will keep vigil, and wait for 30 days, and if Kenyans will finally get up and actively do/say something. I know the doctors will hold on. WE are them, and they are WE.

They have done no wrong, except to love their colleagues so much as to agitate for their rights, to uphold the human dignity of a Kenyan patient, and to demonstrate a level of patriotism for this country that has never been seen ever.

Raia, by now, you should be knowing what the CBA entails. And how it affects each one of us, directly or indirectly, by a ripple effect. We marched in the scorching sun, singing and creating awareness about the plight of healthcare.

Majority of motorists slowed down, read the contents of our placards, and honked their horns in solidarity. Others swerved away from us in annoyance. One in a well air conditioned Range Rover pulled his window up, but not before sneering and rolling his eyes. The passers by clapped their hands and cheered us on. The police walked by our side, and nobody, I mean NOBODY, gave them any reason to show force.

WE are fighting for universal healthcare for each one of us. Death is certain for all humankind. WE just want it to be in dignity. WE want to have done our best to avert it, using our enhanced skills,knowledge, expertise, motivation, proper tools and facilities. Is that too much to ask, for the life of a Kenyan?

As we register voters, one thing is clear: Vote ya mama Mboga, na jamaa wa mkokoteni, na hiyo wa Range Rover, wa hawa daktari, kura zote zinatoshana uzito. The votes are all equal. One man, One vote, One Value. Or so we hope.

So why is their health and dignity, unequal?

Tafakari ukiota.

Goodnight. DMay God bless our beloved +254.

#DWM

Thursday, 15 December 2016

Our Healthcare System : What A Shame!



For the last five years, the country began to actively watch on their news screens, about the doctors' strike. Myself included. It was seemingly, the very first time it was aired continously on mainstream media, as families forked down mouthfuls of ugali, nyama na spinach, with their eyes darting furtively between their plates, and their television screens.


WE have news for you. This struggle is not five years long. It has been on for the last 53 years. Since independence. I was not born yet, neither were my siblings. The struggle got passed on from generation to generation, with strikes as an end result after all dialogue would break down. 1994. 2011. Doctors took to the streets, and things went from worst, to worst.

This frustration started in many doctors' minds way before it presented itself on your screens. It started from the moment this doctor, went to primary school, often without shoes, and without books required to cover the syllabus. It started when this doctor had to borrow those books from other class members in order to finish homework before trekking home, barefoot, and under the scorching sun. It started with this doctor having sheer determination to get proper grades, in order to find a way to propel their family out of abject poverty. It started with this doctor reading in the wee of the night, at a time when rural electrification was a mirage of a dream in this country; and reading from the glow of a tin lamp, dozing off from time to time, and taking care not to burn his tattered books, awash with dog ears on its edges.
What a shame.

Then KCPE came, and WE scored anything above 550 marks and more, out of an impossible maximun of 700 marks. These were marks that got students hoisted on the backs of villagers and family, in celebration and ululation. If the current TV questions existed then, just as they exist now, on what they would like to be when they grew up, they would shyly say,along with the judges, the lawyers, the engineers and the architects; "I'd like to be a doctor. Or a cardiologist. Or a neurosurgeon." The same kind of answers WE see today being uttered by the achieving children of 2016.  On prime time news. There never misses a child who aspires to become a doctor.
What a shame.

This doctor then goes to a National Secondary School, and the struggle is real. He engages in little (if any) extracurricular activity, because he chooses to keep his eye on his prize- to take care of the health of humanity. Mostly, he is on a scholarship, or some form of bursary, having beaten all odds. He is hopeful, and visionary. He truly wants to make a difference through servitude.
He scores A's in pretty much all the subjects, and, is hoisted up in the sky by his hopeful relatives back in the village yet again. His dream of going to medical school is within his grasp now.
What a shame.

He joins the University of Nairobi, and his other peers go to Moi Teaching and Referral University Medical School. Unfortunately, there are a few slots to study medicine, (inspite of stellar perfomances). In pursuit of their dream, some apply for scholarships, and go to nearby Uganda, and some as far as Russia.
What a shame.

Medical school is hell on earth. It is clearly and literally defined by these three words: Blood, Sweat, and Tears." 

The size of books the doctor carries to class will cause one to break a sweat. Reading each ginormous book and putting all the information in your head because Medical exams have no "Mwakenya" requires serious, actual sweat. The amount of blood involved from Year 1 (from cutting up a dead body  to study on how a human being looks inside), all the way to Year 6, is like a flowing river. And the tears? And WE mean, "machozi". Tears everywhere. Tears when you have to retake an exam, and realize just how much effort is involved. Tears when a colleague commits suicide after the hopelessness associated with failing the grueling exams. Tears when you pass and are recommended to proceed into the following year and you remember how you read from dusk to dawn, and on to dusk. Tears when you read so hard for your exam, while in the parallel program where fees cost Kshs 500,000/-, and the shamba your mother was meant to sell in time for exams has no buyer, and are thus forced to repeat another year. Tears  when a five to six year course becomes eight, nine or ten years. Sad tears. Relief tears. Happy tears. Painful tears. Hot, stinging, tears.
What a shame.

Only to finally complete medical school, a degree is awarded, the title "Dr." is prefixed on OUR surname, and WE all unanimously take the Hippocratic oath on the graduation period. WE are then posted by the government for internship, to serve the human population.
What a shame.

Without missing a beat, the drama begins.  We hit the ground running. Shock therapy!
Improvisation is the order of the day. Not enough gloves, machinery, infrastructure, human resource, sleep, rest, recreation, family time, no weekends, no weekdays, poor salary, delayed salary, no salary, stopped salary, no drugs,few drugs, short expiry drugs, third hand generic drugs, dirty linen, tattered linen, flimsy, "hand-me-down over the decades" linen, on-off electricity, poorly maintained stand-by generators, lack of proper supply of water, food, fuel, blood for transfusion- you name it- its is lacking. It is not there. It is out of stock. Hakuna.
What a shame.

And should the doctor decide to go back for post graduate training, best believe that it is an "out-of-the-frying-pan-and-into-the-fire" scenario. The grueling schedules are worse than anticipated, with more years of study slapped upon them. The dream becomes more elusive, like the faintest blip on a radar. And after completion, the same lack of moving parts in the health sector beckons, in worse condition and shouldering more responsibility.
What a shame. 

The only thing in abundance is the steady stream of patients, all with gut wrenching ailments, looking up to you to alleviate their suffering. They depend on us 100% , and do not know how many times WE have cried in a corner of the hospital, feeling so sorry and angry, after having to break news of death and suffering to relatives, over things that could have saved the day, only if the system was serious about the Kenyan's health. Little do they know that WE are on their side, and always have been. That if WE could, WE would bite into our wrists like vampires, and transfuse our dying patients', our blood if only it was possible and ethical. Yet it is not OUR fault that the blood banks are dry.



Little do they know that WE are so sick from time to time due to poor infection control in the wards, and have swallowed a cocktail of pain relievers just to come back in the fold, hang in there and treat others. Little do they know how many times WE have pricked ourselves accidentally with needles, frantically trying to save a pregnant mother, or a road accident father-of-two in theatre, who also happens to be HIV Positive.

Little do they know how many times WE hold the hands of infective Tuberculosis patients as they cough smack in OUR faces. WE "work part time" in private hospitals, smiling painfully and taking care of middle class patients with medical insurance, whereby WE offer treatment that WE cannot afford.
What a shame.

WE improvise, until it does not work anymore. Until WE finally realize that WE are not meant to improvise to begin with, since for 53 years, WE have an independent country, that has a budget, aid, a constitution, agendas, 40 million Kenyans, a political class who are the custodians and servants of its citizenry, and Millenium Development Goals.
What a shame.

Following the previous strike, WE entered negotiations with the government, and WE signed a legal and binding Collective Bargaining Agreement (CBA), in 2013, to be implemented. Three years from the inception of the CBA between the doctor and the Government, it has been a wild goose chase getting them to honour their end of the deal. Now, its intimidations, lies and propaganda in media, that is taking centre stage.
What a shame!



WE are now witnessing a real time, live episode of " Tom and Jerry." And not the funny, rib-cracking kind. What a shame.

WHAT A SHAME.. WHAT A SHAME!!!

The time has come. It is long overdue. The time is now.

Let us all intentionally purpose to fix our health systems. A time may come, where we may ALL need it to work for all of us.



#DWM

Monday, 23 January 2012

Appeal To The LawMakers


"No matter where you go, remember the road that will lead you home.."




There was this child, called Mtoto. He/she had been born in the gutter, they had gone to school barefoot for like endless kilometres in sweltering heat, they had been molested by the very people trusted and designated to take care of them, they had studied and done homework in tattered exercise books and in dim light from a tin lamp,they had taken care of cattle,fetched firewood and water,and climbed hills that look like steep staircases back to their grass thatched mud houses.


And yet,when Mtoto got home,he/she would finish his/her chores,and run outside to play with a football made out of paper bags and a flimsy rope..They would eat tadpoles in the name of "fish", drink dirty brown water,and after play, go home, eats measly food, look for the sack which is his mattress, blanket and bed cover all rolled into one, and amazingly, blacks out and sleep like a child...Imagine such humble beginnings, painful in the eyes of the parent due to feeling the failure to provide, but oh so beautiful in the eyes of a child? 



What innocence,and faith for a better tomorrow? 



Fast forward to present day, somehow,by the Grace of God,he/she makes it. 

Makes it big
Becomes a mogul. A CEO..a politician.. a top manager. A kingpin. A big deal.



So, Mtoto suddenly is thrust into a world he has never seen before. His ideologies about life, and how he knew it are obscured like an eclipse. He knows only the language of money, and fame, where he realizes that he can own absolutely anything. Including people. People treat him like a king,in turn he realizes that these people can,and indeed do not mind being treated like his subjects. They become a commodity,to run and fetch and bring. They can almost kneel. And you know what? These 'self-made' subjects do exactly that. Mtoto climbs higher and higher, feeling like he/she is the only one who matters, and everybody else is a subject...no one but Mtoto. His/Her way,or the Highway.

This,my friends,is the turning point. The moment of choice. The moment of reckoning. Allow me to tell you a folk story that I read when in Class Two.

"There once was a tortoise. It had a smooth back,shiny and beautiful..It, however envied the eagles that flew into the sky,swooping up and down. It started to cry. The eagle came and asked him,"Why are you crying Tortoise?" 
He told him of how he really wanted to fly. The eagle felt sorry for him and called all the other eagles,and each eagle donated a feather for the tortoise. They stuck the feathers with glue,and set out to fly the following day. 
That day, they flew, and the tortoise was up,up in the air!! He had never felt such a feeling like that in his life!! It reached a point where the eagles couldn't go beyond a certain altitude and told the tortoise that that was the maximum height they could fly at. The tortoise declined and continued to fly higher. After a while,the higher he went, the sun grew hotter...needless to say,the sun melted all the glue on the feathers, and the tortoise came tumbling down, hit the ground and broke his back.



Everything in life is a choice. Every little thing. You choose to treat people good or bad,and what you give is what you get.In equal,or more measure..Today, tomorrow, or someday.




Mtoto is you, and I. Time and chance happens to us all, but what we do or do not do defines us, in the face of humanity.

I am not saying that we should be poor. King Solomon, who had everything in life was full of wisdom and discernment to say in Proverbs 30:9,"Lest I be full, and deny You, and say, Who is the LORD? or lest I be poor, and steal, and take the name of my God in vain."
 A whole King! 

Let us take care of one another. Big and small, rich and not so rich. Let us aim to arrive together, as much as possible. 
Otherwise, we will all fall, 
And all the King's horses,and all the King's men,
Will not put Humpty Dumpty together again...

#DWM

Friday, 2 December 2011

Elastic Limit

Even the best fall down.
The healthcare system almost always never fails to disappoint sometimes, and its not funny improvising all the time. I am a human being. I have all faculties in order. I am no super hero. I cry, I tire, I laugh, and above all, I get sick too!

I am only as human as you.

So somebody please explain to me, why I shouldn't throw a fit because I literally spend day, night and the next day in theatre.
To the patient, he/she is a single case, but to the doctor, its 20 to 25 new, different cases, all needing undivided attention. I am clad in the same raggedy scrubs the nurses left me in last night when their shift was over. I am the sleepy nagging doctor who is asking to be transported home because I am tired, yet it is broad daylight.
I feel like collapsing by the roadside, hungry and burnt by the sun, for people to scamper towards me trying to bring me back into consciousness. I am too tired to process my surroundings. With this level of fatigue, I am now a hazard to myself, and to my patients, if I do not get some food, and some sleep.

Is this what is called a "calling?" Is the calling to serve, also a calling to suffer?

To the patients' relatives, they are hounding me down the corridors to write them a mandatory discharge summary against medical advice, without properly understanding the implications of their decision, despite the explanations. Worse, they too are swamped with economic burden, and we all stare at each other, helpless.

To my landlord, he wants to kill me for delaying my rent and I can't tell him that my mandatory expenditure exceeds my insult of an income.The phone is ringing, every second, louder and louder, different callers with different needs, all needing attention at the same time!!! I let out a loud shriek, look at my run down phone and with all my might, I throw it against the concrete wall as hard as I can..,and watch it disintegrate into a million pieces..

I walk slowly to the wall,pick up my SIM card and walk away, as the nurses, patients, relatives, orderlies stare in shock and disbelief. I am noble, I am supposed to keep my cool. Instead, I let the scene play in my head, and to the rest of the world, I smile and walk away.. slowly.

Yes.. the time has come.

But, whom am I angry at? Certainly not to the patients..nor the relatives..after all, aren't they the same people being mistreated by bureaucracy? Ati you can't go to theatre unless you buy your own nail and screws? Unless you buy your own tube for inserting in your chest? Unless you buy your own Plaster of Paris and bandages if you ever wanna walk again? 
Aren't these relatives the same ones who have to rush home, do spot harambees, or sell the remaining cow or goat, or give your log books and title deeds to a shylock just so that your loved one can be attended to? Don't we feel the same frustration? I feel the same way! I feel it too. I am the patient. I am the relative too.


I totally feel how weak the health system is...every single day.
Same script, different patients.

Because I run out of gloves, I touch you, the patient with my bare hands. You feel better, you go home and I spend 28 days swallowing anti HIV medication because I handled you. But you never get to know that. Now you do. The reason I shall contemplate to stitch your bleeding hand, with minimal resources, is because I either watch you bleed, knowing full well there is no blood to transfuse you if you bleed further.
 To the pregnant mother giving birth, I try my very best even as I intercede for you under my breath, for divine control. You hate me sometimes, but you fail to realize that I am on your side. I wake up every day to help you.

I can't write enough on this topic. I can go on and on forever. I am noble, but everything reaches a breaking point.
I can't continue playing nice, and adapting. I cannot in all consciousness, continue supervising death due to lack of life saving supplies. I cannot allow those who died, to have died in vain.
I am done. As well as every other doctor.

Which is why, I, Daktari Wa Mtaa, on behalf of every Kenyan doctor, apologizes in advance, for what is about to happen.. I will take to the street on Monday, and shout for you. And lobby for you. And open your eyes. And survive. Let me do this. let me help you, the way you truly deserve. In turn, help me too. After all, I am only human.

I will show you exactly that... On the 5th Of December, 2011. I will go blue!

In memory of a 29 year old doctor, Dr. Henry Gatune, a super brilliant doctor who died of complicated malaria, simply because he could not afford a tube in time to save his kidneys, and the system only rushed him through the KNH rickety lifts towards the Dialysis Unit just because he was breathing his last. Yes, a full blown doctor died in the system, serving the system, for the system.

You did not die in vain, Dr. Gats...THIS IS IT!!!

And we will die trying.

Long live the Union.
Long live Kenya.




Tuesday, 15 November 2011

Days Of Our Lives

" Like sand through the hourglass, so are the days of our lives..."

I walked down the stairs from my apartment and bumped into my neighbour, attempting to jumpstart his run down automobile. He looked up, and with a broad  smile on his face, chirps, "Morning Daktari?"
"Fine, thank you,"I replied cheerfully, and walked past. However, there was nothing fine about anything. My car had broken down, and instead of the mechanic fixing and bringing it back yesterday, he had decided to turn it into a taxi for the night.
But, I cannot say that. So, my neighbour asked to give me a lift to work, and I almost reminded him that his car is as dead as mine, but I bit my tongue. I continued on, and he continued about his business.


I hurriedly but carefully sauntered through the estate,careful not to break my high heels as I am not used to having this corporate look to work. I did not even know how to balance properly. Wearing heels was just painful. But I was required to look the part. Daktari had to be smart, polished and articulate. Not a bad mood, not a bad word, not a hair out of place. I rubbed my eyes and squinted into the sun, worried about the eyebags; as a result of two hours' sleep, since I had to locum the whole night. I had to locum to survive.


Locum...this is the equivalent of a DJ in a nightclub, every other weekday, having worked 9 hours or more, on the regular day job.
The only difference, was that "The sound of Music" was indeed the sound of monitors beeping, children screaming, parents yelling, ambulances howling and making their way into the hospital, carts being wheeled around in the dead of the night.
On the TV perched next to the ceiling, covered by a metal grill to avoid being stolen, an "AfroSinema will be back-oh" show would be on, sometimes muted, sometimes on with nobody caring to listen or watch.


Locum..the part time "McDonalds" for doctors where they earn an extra buck per hour just to supplement their sad, sometimes disillusioned lifestyle. It's like "kuomba squadi ya makanga"..I believe any chap from Eastlands will understand what I mean. I mean, working beyond measure, all nervous and looking over your shoulder fleetingly,eyes darting each time as if waiting for a time bomb, all in the name of putting food on the table..


Back to present day..


So, I got to work, groggy eyed, and walked straight to the Dr's Room. I put on my labcoat, place my name tag and straighten the stray strands of braids off my face as I gaze into the mirror. Red eyed, fatigued to the bone, and trying to block the mental image of the numerous number of men, women and children sitting at the waiting bay.


"This is really going to be a long, long day," I thought wearily to myself.


"Please send the first patient in", I talk into the telephone.
Shortly, a burly man walks in,and says he wants a sick-off due to vomiting. He is a walking saturated human alcoblow, I'm not sure if he is even aware of where he is. I gently scold him about the effects of alcohol, as he rolls his bloodshot eyes and peers into mine as if to question if we are sailing in the same,drunken rocky boat. Defeated, I sort him out. Next, a woman with two babies walks in, and one has a fever. "Okay, this one is ill.."I mutter to myself. I examine, investigate and prescribe medication.


And the beat goes on.
At lunch hour, my rogue mechanic clad in oily overalls brought back the jalopy, slapped me with a hefty bill, and casually told me that "gari imewasha taa sababu alitumia ile mafuta yote ilikuwa kuenda test drive".


The rest of the day rumbles on, and at 4pm, my shift is over. I clock out of work and drive back home at 30 km/h, too tired to place my foot anywhere, even on the accelerator pedal. Yes, I am the one you hoot at for 'being slow and stupid' on the highway. I get home, climb up the stairs groggily, turn the key in the lock and stumble into the house.


I slump into the chair, numb with fatigue, and as I drift off to sleep, hungry as hell but too tired to open my mouth, the last thought trailing in my mind is this..


That, I, Daktari Wa Mtaa, after the struggle, I am tired, hungry, disillusioned and broke. 
That I have worked 38 hours today (in a 24 hr day), non-stop, on my feet, with pay that can make one wail and gnash their teeth.
That I have been insulted, jeered at, puked at, thanked by some (read few), walked out on, and said nothing...all in order to stay and remain noble..as is required of me.
That sometimes I think I was crazy and out of my mind to even dare to pursue a career in medicine, if the trade off was to work like a horse and feel like a slave.
That I have to dig deep, and keep it moving, to balance between caring for my patients and pay for my bills.
That something has got to give. 
That I need a break.. and time to rest..if I can afford it.., in an attempt to afford to live..or die trying..everyday..
That, tomorrow, I have another locum, so I better cancel all my dates, because duty calls..
They say it is a calling..


Help me God, before I become the patient..


#DWM
The Journey Of A Thousand Miles

My Fellow Human,
I can totally attest to the fact that writer's block exists. You start writing, hit the cursor and before you know it, you have drawn a long line on your page, then hit the delete and the close button simultaneously.. and log out.


What we fail to realize is that time and tide waits for no man. We die way before we say the things we have always wanted to say. We transfer ,leave, exit, end, walk away,with all the things we should have said that we never said.

So, today, for my first blog, I wanna dedicate it to the sum total of people and events that have shaped me into who I am, who I can be, and to whom I will be.

  • To my parents, whom without them I simply would not exist, and to whom I believe they would have laid down their lives for me to live. To my siblings, who I grew with, fought with, learned from, emulated, and aspired to have even a fraction of their good qualities within me.. I wonder what would become of me without this crazy family.

  • To my friends, who I have been with in school,in the estate,from childhood truancy to high school crushes,to campus heartbreaks and to glimpses of true love,all contributing to the conclusion of my beliefs and the philosophy that I uphold today..I love you all, my friends. Blood may be thicker than water, but friends,indeed, are the family I choose.


To my perceived enemies, trolls if any, real or imagined, even if for a short period of time, or over the years, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. I bear no grudge. You have been a milestone in my life,a blessing in disguise. You have tested my strength and patience far beyond the horizon..you have sharpened me,refined me and enabled me to endure hurdles I did not fathom I could go through.
  •  You made me stand tall, and stay strong. Why? Because it was the only choice I had, and still have. Today, I love you with all of my heart. Peace be unto you.


  • Over and above all, I thank my most valued clients, the friends that I am making, and will continue to have a relationship with for years to come- and that is..my patients. Each and every one of you teaches me something invaluable. I am in every way, just like you.
  •  I hurt,I bruise, I feel pain, I cry, I have sleepless nights, and I need answers and solutions just like the ones you ask from me. I hope I remain and continue to make a positive difference and impact in your lives, while remaining as real and as human as possible. Science is powerful.


I believe in the Most High God,without Him, I would be dead. In more ways than one.


Join me,as I navigate through the life and times of Daktari Wa Mtaa.
Buckle Up!!!!


#DWM