Meru Tops HIV Charts: A Trophy Nobody Asked For

A Picture depicting alleged sex workers. Photo/Daily Nation.

My People from Meru, My Meru People, Antu ba Meru – how many times did I call you? Three times. And you know what that means: today we must talk, face-to-face, no sugarcoating.

This week, Meru County has been trending in the news. Normally, we’d be celebrating – miraa in one hand, keg in the other, shouting tûrî Iguru (we are the best). But this time? We’re trending for all the wrong reasons.

Kenya’s PS for Health, Salome Beacco, dropped a bombshell: Meru is now leading in HIV prevalence. Yes, my friends, we have officially snatched the crown from Nyanza. Over 22,000 Kenyans have been infected this year alone, and guess who’s topping that shameful chart? Meru. My heart breaks as I write this.

Not all trophies belong in a cabinet. Some belong in the dustbin.

Now, the big question: when did the rain start beating us?

Let me report live from the ground. I am born and bred in Meru, raised in Makutano – and I can tell you without fear, the findings don’t lie.

You see, Makutano by day looks like any other busy town. But when the sun sets, that’s when the day truly begins. While other counties are snoring, Makutano is clocking in for the night shift. The streets light up with music, cheap drinks, and characters straight out of the Bible’s most scandalous chapters. Sodom and Gomorrah would actually take notes here.

Here, nightfall doesn’t mean rest – it means auditions for early graves.

Let me not even start with the dressing. Or rather, the lack of it. Ladies, draped in threads thin enough to pass as mosquito nets, prowl the streets. Take Bilbo, for example – the one who almost trapped me before I caught her vibe. Around here, stories are common: a girl trading herself for nothing more than a pint of keg. And men? Instead of shame, they gather at local joints to compare notes. “Eh, me too, I’ve feasted on her.” The way they brag, you’d think it was a chama project.

Men, you’re not hunters – you’re pallbearers carrying your own coffins.

We used to be famous for miraa, our green gold. Once in a while, we’d even win trophies for alcohol consumption. Funny? Maybe. Harmless? Sort of. But now? We’re leading in HIV infections. That’s not a record, that’s a death sentence.

This is not heritage, this is heartbreak.

And the stigma is biting. These days, introducing yourself as “from Meru” is almost like confessing you’re radioactive. Ladies and gents are avoiding Meru bachelors like expired milk. And you know what? I don’t blame them. We’ve given them enough reason.

And remember, HIV isn’t our only monster. For every 20 cancer cases referred to Kenyatta National Hospital, 8 are from Meru. Add this new HIV crown, and suddenly our county looks less like a land of promise and more like a hospital ward.

At this rate, Kenyatta Hospital should open a branch in Makutano.

So here’s the gospel truth: There is no medal for being the best in bed. No award ceremony for “Most Active Bachelor of the Year.” If you can, keep your zip firmly closed. And if you must, for heaven’s sake, rubber up. Otherwise, we’re heading straight into a future darker than a blackout in Kangeta.

As for me? After this shocker, I’ve chosen celibacy. Call it kutu, dry spell, whatever you like – but no one has ever died of it. HIV, on the other hand? A ruthless, undefeated killer.

 Dry spell is temporary. HIV is permanent.

Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

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About the Author

Felix Kinyua is a communications professional, freelance journalist, and unapologetic satirist from Meru. He writes with humour sharp enough to sting and truths hard enough to wake even the most stubborn. His mission: to entertain, provoke, and challenge his community to do better.