By Tom Odhiambo

There is an ubiquitous sign in almost all Government institutions or offices that reads: "This is a Corruption Free Zone." Yet year in year out the most corrupt sector of this society happens to be the Government and its affiliated institutions.

Every year, Transparency International, the Kenya National Human Rights Commission, the Controller and Auditor-General and the Public Accounts Committee, among other institutions, regale us with tales of ‘eating’ in the Government. So, what type of eating, or rather order of eating, is Michela Wrong talking about in It’s Our Turn to Eat: The Story of a Kenyan Whistle Blower?

Wrong’s book will lead many readers into a cul de sac. Indeed many Kenyans I have spoken to who have read the book say it disappointed them. They lament the whetted appetites that get massively hungry for details that never seem to emerge. Not that there aren’t juicy parts to the tale; it is just that if you are in the know, and many Kenyans for sure do know a lot about Government corruption, then the hype about Githongo’s story is just that — hype! But probably that is reason enough to read the book; it adds spice to a humdrum tale of our national thieving.

First, I think it is necessary to emphasise that this book is the story of John Githongo, as told by Wrong. It is not, in many ways, a tale of corruption in Kenya simply because it hardly gives a single instance of how much money was (mis)appropriated, by who, when and where it was stashed. Much of what you will read in the book are vignettes of ‘what may have happened’ presented as what actually happened. And the reason for this kind of representation of the ‘eating’ alluded to in the title is simply because Githongo himself is absent as a speaker in what is supposedly his story.

His absence then raises another question: If the Anglo-Leasing scandal is the mainstay of Githongo’s story, then wouldn’t we have been told, at the least, who exactly are the players in the Anglo-Leasing team? Where are the names? Who exactly are the Kenyan faces of Anglo-Leasing? In other words, beyond the names that were mentioned in the media and are in circulation on the Internet, how come we do not get to know the history and structure of Anglo-Leasing. One would have hoped for a reconstruction of the birth and maturity of this unwanted child called Anglo-Leasing.

Also, given that Anglo-Leasing had British connections, why is it that we do not read much about British citizens who had or have links with this rip-off? One would also have expected to read a little bit more about which banks in Europe or on small island tax havens accept to keep looted resources.

Another shortcoming of the book is the several detours that the author makes in the book apparently to provide a background to the reader about Kenya. For instance, the chapter ‘The Call of the Tribe’ projects itself as providing a rationale for why the Kikuyu feel entitled to state power and wealth in Kenya. What emerges is a clipping of the Mau Mau narrative and how the story of the anti-colonial struggle in Kenya has been manipulated to prop up the Kikuyu elite in the struggle with the elites of other ethnicities over power and resources in the country. Yet, the danger in the continued regurgitation of this ‘stereotype’ is that it actually contributes to the (re)presentation of the larger Kikuyu group as the ‘eaters’. And this is the biggest quarrel I have with Wrong’s book.

The book purports to be a take on corruption in Kenya, and especially a critique of how a small group of individuals — politicians, power-brokers and civil servants — conspired to steal from the national coffers, and yet her choice of the phrase ‘it’s our time to eat’ almost characterises this group as representative of the larger whole. This phrase as the book title has contributed to the sensationalisation of a subject that is key to the future development of this country. Probably, one feels, the book was written with a non-Kenyan audience in mind, and given that stories on Africa need to be juicy to appeal to Western audiences, then the martyr-like story of Githongo would surely sell.

For if martyrs were to make up the collection of characters in the dark drama that is ‘corruption incorporated’ in Kenya, then Wrong would have actually given some more space to the Goldenberg case and especially to the late David Sadera Munyakei, the whistleblower on the earlier rip-off. Although Wrong refers to Munyakei as Githongo’s alter ego, she characterises him as ‘prickly and awkward’ highlighting the class distinctions between Munyakei and Githongo and thus betraying, in the ‘Epilogue’, how and why Githongo’s story would, therefore, appeal compared to Munyakei’s.

On the whole I found It’s Our Turn to Eat a worthy read, especially for purposes of reminding us that the python of corruption does not easily get its fill. It is equally a worthwhile testimony to Githongo’s efforts to change the course of this country’s post-colonial realities. It has many anecdotes about the intrigues in power circles and some insights into socio-economic class formation and structures. It also provides abridged versions of Kenya’s colonial and post-colonial histories, which would interest those of us who have little time for those long-winded history texts.

However, if you are looking forward to ‘hot stuff’ about the real actors in the corruption industry, then disappointment is what you will experience at the end.