Life. Seasoned with perspective.
“A reflection on the quiet integrity of honest public servants and the importance of recognizing those who choose to do the right thing. It reminds us that trust is rebuilt through everyday acts of honesty, often carried out without applause or recognition.”
My youngest daughter had an interesting moment this past week.
While playing in the garden, she found a one shilling coin. Excited by her discovery, she rushed into the house and proudly announced to her mum, “Mum, look what I found!”
“Where did you get it?” her mum asked.
“I picked it outside. It is mine,” she replied confidently.
When asked what she intended to do with it, the answer came without hesitation.
“I will buy sweets.”
It was one of those seemingly ordinary parenting moments that quietly shape a child’s understanding of the world. It would have been easy to smile and let her keep the coin. After all, it was only one shilling. But her mum chose a different lesson. She explained that the money probably belonged to someone who had unknowingly dropped it. The right thing to do, she said, was to go back outside, ask whether anyone had lost it and, if possible, return it.
That conversation stayed with me.
Perhaps because, a few days earlier, I found myself dealing with something that tested the very lesson we had been teaching at home.
I had travelled upcountry to sort out a matter that required visits to several county offices. To be honest, I had prepared myself mentally for the worst. Like many Kenyans, I have heard the stories. Missing files. Endless queues. Officers who are suddenly “not in.” Requests to return another day. Delays that mysteriously disappear the moment someone suggests “something small.”
I even gave myself five days to complete what I feared would become a frustrating process.
What happened instead completely caught me off guard.
I arrived at my first stop shortly after nine in the morning, only to find the officer I needed preparing to leave for a meeting. I thought I had already run out of luck. Instead, he paused, listened patiently and resolved my issue in less than fifteen minutes. He wrote the necessary instructions, signed the documents, stamped them and wished me well.
As we walked out, the person accompanying me asked whether I had given him anything.
You know exactly what he meant.
I told him I had not.
He insisted that I go back and ask whether there were any charges. I returned, partly to satisfy his curiosity, and asked whether I was expected to pay anything.
The officer smiled politely and replied, “No. This service is free.”
That answer was as refreshing as the service itself.
The next office was no different. I had been warned that retrieving the records I needed could easily consume an entire day. Instead, I was welcomed warmly, assisted without hesitation and left within twenty minutes carrying the documents I had come for.
My final stop was with a senior officer who patiently explained every remaining step. She even handed me a pen and paper so I could write down everything I needed for the next stage. There was no rush, no irritation and certainly no expectation of a favour in return.
By eleven o’clock that morning, barely two hours after I had begun, everything had been completed.
The remaining four days I had set aside suddenly became free time. I spent them at home with family, catching up with neighbours, walking around the village and enjoying conversations that probably would not have happened had I been stuck chasing files from one office to another.
As I reflected on the experience, one thought refused to leave my mind.
Perhaps we have become so accustomed to stories of corruption that we rarely stop to acknowledge honesty when we encounter it.
The truth is that our public service is made up of human beings, just like every other profession. There are those who abuse their offices, and they deserve to be held accountable. But there are also many who quietly report to work every morning, serve people with integrity and return home without asking for anything they have not earned.
Unfortunately, they rarely make the headlines.
We are quick to share stories of disappointment. We forward videos exposing misconduct. We complain when systems fail us. Yet when an officer serves with honesty, efficiency and professionalism, we often walk away silently as though they were simply doing what is expected.
Perhaps that is true.
But perhaps appreciation also has a place.
Recognizing honest public servants does not excuse corruption. If anything, it helps us distinguish between those who betray public trust and those who honour it every single day. It reminds us that integrity still exists and that it deserves to be seen.
Looking back, I realized the lesson my daughter learnt over a one shilling coin was never really about money. It was about choosing to do the right thing even when no one is watching. The officers I met that week made that same choice in a different setting. They could have delayed the process. They could have demanded something extra. Instead, they simply did their jobs with honesty.
Perhaps that is how trust is rebuilt, not through grand speeches or sweeping reforms alone, but through ordinary people making honest decisions every single day.
And maybe we should talk about those people a little more often.
The Weekend of Things will be taking a short break. Thank you for making this journey worthwhile. I look forward to sharing more stories and reflections with you soon.
About the author:
Kibisu Mulanda is a media executive and strategic communicator with over 20 years of experience in television, NGO storytelling, and youth-focused content. He is the Acting Head of Switch Media Ltd and teaches media at the Kenya Institute of Mass Communication (KIMC). A Certified SIYB Trainer, he blends storytelling with strategy to drive social impact.
About the Author
