By Ted Malanda

In our illustrious history, politicians have set up lofty goals such as ‘water for all’ by 1980. Most times, the timeframe came without the set goal being realised.

This will not be the case in 2030 when our own Vision 2030 is unveiled by a grinning ceremonial Mhindi President and a Turkana Executive Prime Minister whose lineage will be half Kuria, half Meru with a spoonful of Taita and Teso.

His will practically be a kitchen cabinet with half of the team comprising women. Except that none of them will recall the last time they stepped in the kitchen. And within that cabinet will be three self-confessed gays.

Not that it will be a big deal. Gay bashing will be a thing of the past with the minority group having long been anchored in the constitution, together with the right to abortion and same sex marriage.

I will have chewed salt, lots of it. At 60, I will be the oldest soul in the village. With life expectancy having hovered around the early 50s for decades, all my age mates will have bitten the dust. I will therefore be something of a national celebrity, the subject of rave press interviews.

"And what has kept you going this long, sir," young reporters will continuously pop the ten million dollar question. "A little brandy for digestion, nyama choma and beautiful women," I will respond with a naughty wink.

My village, as I remember it now, will be just a figment of my imagination with not a farm in place, the land having long been swallowed up by a burgeoning population. In Kisii, people will be jam-packed in storey houses with not the space for a footpath.

The hub of the national economy will no longer be Nairobi. Coffee and tea will be historical relics akin to the Zambia copper mines, their survival having been guillotined by global warming, a fate shared by the nation’s once vaunted wildlife resources.

Instead, the country’s seat of power will be Isiolo and Lodwar, cities awash with dollars and bustling with sweaty foreign tourists, courtesy of abundant petroleum resources. Together with the once forgotten and sleepy coastal town of Lamu, they will constitute the Promised Land.

Not that the locals will be full of excitement. For ten years, they will have raged a brutal guerilla war, kidnapping oil executives and foreign tourists at will. "Our resources never benefit the community. They are consumed by others while our own people die of poverty and hunger," their firebrand leader will thunder before being given a massive bribe and a powerful Government post and told to shut up.

In the interim, Coast Province will have seceded, then forced back to the fold when its new government couldn’t contain vicious civil wars pitting the coastal Arabs against indigenous tribes, another between coastal people and ‘outsiders’ and yet another among the indigenous tribes themselves.

The year 2030, by the way, is also when proponents of the 2008 post-election violence will be released from jail at The Hague.

But they will leave behind a Mungiki ‘general’ and his Baghdad Boys and Kalenjin warrior acolytes whose combined stab at power led to the slaughter of hundreds of thousands before an incensed president of Somalia sent in his army, suppressed the insurgents and restored order.