If you thought Valentine’s Day was just for desperate men buying overpriced bouquets on Koinange Street, the Kenya Police Service just proved they can play the game too. At Nyayo Stadium, during the World Rugby Sevens Division 2 Tournament, officers decided to swap their rungus for red roses. It was a calculated charm offensive designed to make us forget that these are the same characters who usually greet us with teargas and “kitu kidogo” demands.

The sight of uniformed personnel weaving through the terraces handing out flowers is enough to make any seasoned Nairobian squint in suspicion. We are being told this “breaks barriers” and fosters “community connection.” Please. A rose doesn’t suddenly erase the memory of being shoved into the back of a rusty Land Cruiser because you forgot your original ID at home. It’s a classic distraction, a floral filter over a very grainy reality.

This performative kindness reminds me of the AU’s New Foreign Policy: Five Suits and a PDF Won’t Save Us. Much like those high-ranking officials who think a well-formatted document solves systemic poverty, the police think a wilted rose from a budget-store bucket solves the deep-seated mistrust between the public and the boots on the ground. It’s all optics, no substance. A rose lasts three days; the fear of a midnight patrol lasts a lifetime.

I’d love to see the procurement papers for these flowers. While we are told there’s no budget for forensic kits or enough fuel for patrol cars in the estates, suddenly there’s a kitty for Valentine’s decor? It’s a PR masterclass in “look at the left hand so you don’t see what the right hand is doing.” They want the photo op, the “warm interaction,” and the viral tweet to prove they are “part of the community.”

The fans at Nyayo might have cheered, but that’s just the rugby high talking. In the cold light of Monday morning, when you’re being harassed by a cop who hasn’t had his breakfast, that red rose won’t mean a thing. We don’t need flowers; we need accountability. We don’t need “photo moments”; we need a service that doesn’t view every youth in a hoodie as a walking ATM.

Next time, keep the roses and just give us a day where we don’t have to look over our shoulders when we see a blue uniform. That would be the real Valentine’s gift to Nairobi. Until then, I’ll take my flowers from the street vendors - at least with them, the transaction is honest.