President William Ruto installs the public seal of the Republic of Kenya for the conferment of City status to Eldoret Municipality at the Eldoret Sports Club in Uasin Gishu County, on August 15, 2024. [File, Standard]
I spent the better part of Monday at the Attorney General’s chambers to “listen to the ground” about that little matter about the government’s seal that was reportedly moved so that someone could stamp and approve the mortgage of our national assets, now being sold on the hoof.
But the main reason for staking out there on a bleak Monday morning, when a gentle trickle of the rain punctuated the day was that in my other life, I volunteer for an outfit that’s registered under the AG (let’s call it my local nursery school), and we had filed documents enacting change to its katiba.
Being diligent citizens, we had booked an appointment, four weeks earlier, to document these changes. The AG’s office had confirmed an appointment. Do you have a confirmation of the appointment, asked a bespectacled woman behind the glass window. My colleague waved the email from that very office. “You need that printed out,” she said with finality.
Follow The Standard
channel
on WhatsApp
Out in the rain we walked, coiling around buildings before exiting and walking to a nearby cyber café. That’s how we spent most of the day: walking in and out of the rain, in and out of AG’s office to the cyber café to print just about everything, including SMS confirmations.
As it turned out, just about everyone had been slotted for appointment at that very hour as we. Come 1pm, all staff disappeared behind their desks, without a word to the dozens waiting patiently in the queue. Bure kabisa.
Follow The Standard
channel
on WhatsApp
President William Ruto installs the public seal of the Republic of Kenya for the conferment of City status to Eldoret Municipality at the Eldoret Sports Club in Uasin Gishu County, on August 15, 2024.
[File, Standard]
I spent the better part of Monday at the Attorney General’s chambers to “listen to the ground” about that little matter about the government’s seal that was reportedly moved so that someone could stamp and approve the mortgage of our national assets, now being sold on the hoof.
But the main reason for staking out there on a bleak Monday morning, when a gentle trickle of the rain punctuated the day was that in my other life, I volunteer for an outfit that’s registered under the AG (let’s call it my local nursery school), and we had filed documents enacting change to its katiba.
Being diligent citizens, we had booked an appointment, four weeks earlier, to document these changes. The AG’s office had confirmed an appointment. Do you have a confirmation of the appointment, asked a bespectacled woman behind the glass window. My colleague waved the email from that very office. “You need that printed out,” she said with finality.
Follow The Standard
channel
on WhatsApp
Out in the rain we walked, coiling around buildings before exiting and walking to a nearby cyber café. That’s how we spent most of the day: walking in and out of the rain, in and out of AG’s office to the cyber café to print just about everything, including SMS confirmations.
As it turned out, just about everyone had been slotted for appointment at that very hour as we. Come 1pm, all staff disappeared behind their desks, without a word to the dozens waiting patiently in the queue. Bure kabisa.
Follow The Standard
channel
on WhatsApp
By Peter Kimani