Sodom & Gomorrah Building that is Bunge?

Surely, I expect you to understand why I am “sufficiently motivated” to do a Special Edition this week due to the momentous revelations that have laid bare our peculiar “Kenyanness” at the domestic, regional and international religious, social, economic and political stages.

It began innocuously with a simple recording that was kept under lock-and-key, until somebody started playing with the volume knob and the small room’s walls that are ornately decorated with what Bishop Githii called ‘devil worship figures and figurines’, started shaking uncontrollably.

Then it occurred to me that perhaps, Prophet David Owuor’s prediction of an earthquake whose fault lines would pass near Sodom & Gomorrah Building might just have come true.

The good prophet even had some time back convened a crusade at Uhuru Park next door urging members of the august House to seek Prayer and Repentance. But they were hard of hearing and wore bricks for hearts stuffed inside their stiff necks.

Some of the Sodom & Gomorrah Building Housemates found the prophet’s gospel hard to comprehend and tried their hand at raising chicken using British-bred chicks; others sought land near Lamu to learn how to fish and drive dhows; yet others enrolled in driving lessons to be better placed to become locomotive drivers.

Others decided that the job market in Nairobi was too crowded and re-located to their home counties to help wananchi build roads, write laws and since many voters are challenged on literacy and arithmetic matters, they would also help them count the pocket money remitted to them from Mother Treasury, who works in Nairobi.

When “mchele” became too readily available and Kanjo started raiding the city’s pulsating Red Light District, flesh peddlers and related business thinned. Even socialites raised the cost of doing biashara.

So some of our dishounourables tried their hand in the undergarment business but still found that getting samples, even from their colleagues, only got their hands in a twist, so they took off to the Diaspora. Whilst there, they employed night-time, stealth Ninja tactics to get some underwear samples but were again repulsed by kali, kali no-nonsense Oriental watchmen.

Neighbours across the border took too keen an interest and started sneaking into Kenya to partake in the bonanza, but our folks did not want to share. They voted to build a wall, taller than the Tower of Babel to keep the competition out.

Soon, the Main Preacher was spotted running helter-skelter shouting himself hoarse. What a rendition by a true Lonely Voice in the Wilderness! He urged his people to repent. He begged them to take a break. A sabbatical even, for the wrath of the one who sits in judgement would smite them all down.

The wananchi who watched in horror at the goings-on in the Main House and listened to all that was uttered in tapes, in secret and at public funerals are still waiting in rapt attention to see whether the dreaded earthquake will sweep the dishounourables down to the sea, or whether a bolt of lightning will strike down the socialites of Sodom & Gomorrah Building.

For even as the prophet and the Main preacher made entreaties, the rumbling in the distance caused the Sodom & Gomorrah Building to shake under its foundations and was said to be sliding across the Thin Red Street, a House of Shame desperately clinging to its List of Shame, hoping that it will halt the slide into the gaping Abyss yonder.