How the Strikers Stole Christmas!

(or tried to. The story isn't over, and I'm too tired to finish the poem, but this first part goes out to all my colleagues at Kijabe)

All the docs at Kijabe were working a lot

But the ones living just East in Nairobi were NOT.

Those doctors were on STRIKE! For the whole Christmas season!

Now, please don't ask why, No one quite knows the reason.

It could be their income left their budget too tight

It could be, perhaps, they weren't treated quite right

But I think that the most likely reason of all

May have been that their vision for health was too small.

But whatever the reason, their salary or their dues

Their posters and slogans made Kenyan news.

They sat in their homes with stubborn strike frowns

While the docs at Kijabe ran themselves to the ground.

For every doctor there hustled, doing more than their share

To handle the patients who came seeking some care.

They were hanging IV lines 'til casualty was all clear

Though Christmas was nearing, it was practically here.

The government held meetings while the patients kept coming

The poor people suffered while protestors marched drumming.

Oh to find some way to regain those employed!

For tomorrow they knew all the sick girls and boys

Would wake bright and early and rush OPD

And then, oh the noise, oh the patients to see!

Every one, young and old, from the greatest to least

Would expect to be treated, cured, and released,

While normal folks sit down to a great Christmas feast

The Kijabe docs will cover for their colleagues to the east.

Yes, they'll keep working, on the worst tasks of all,

From paperwork to surgery, on the tall and the small

They'll stand together, united, to each other clinging

As beepers alarm and phones keep on ringing

And maybe, just maybe, they might even sing!

Because in the end, this frustrating strike thing

Must eventually end, and then, how they'll sing!

Why for nine straight days they've put up with it now.

Kenya must stop this strike from continuing. But how?