“Aiaiaiaiaiaiai…” our spanking new Prezzo, Man UK, murmured as he took the podium at Kasarani on Wednesday, shaking his head in quiet consternation.

It’s unclear whether it’s the roiling humanity that he found confounding, especially when they delivered the well-choreographed dance footie fans call the Spanish wave, rising in unison with arms outstretched before relapsing in their seats in perfect synchrony.

Man UK – it shall be a while before we get accustomed to the idea of Prezzo UK – took no time to grasp the idea. He is, after all, well versed with sports razzmatazz having played rugby in his early life.

“Wakenya mpo?” (Kenyans are you there) he bellowed. Hardly a presidential chant, one might say, especially when delivered with the full lungs of a well-fed man. But when one is Prezzo, I suspect there is a measure of freedom for one to be oneself without inhibition.

The response to Man UK’s question was a thunderous clap by some 60,000 fans whose coarse chant threatened to lift paint off the walls of Kasarani.

“Wakenya mpo?” Man UK bellowed again then paused for response. It was raw cry, a lilting thrill filtering in the incantation. It was not a question to confirm Kenyans’ presence in the stadium; that was evident to all who could see or feel. The invocation was an invitation for Kenyans to reaffirm they shared in the merriment.

In that moment of hesitation, as Man UK awaited his fans’ supporters, perhaps mumbling “aiaiaiaiaiaia” under his breath, it was easy to imagine him going down memory lane. A decade earlier, in the same venue, it was Man UK who delivered the Spanish wave to salute Nyayo, the Man from Sacho.

Then, Man UK was a political lightweight in the true sense of the word. He was a lanky youth with a funny goatee, Kijana, as Nyayo called him. He instinctively sprung to his feet swiftly flashing the one-finger salute associated with Kanu when Nyayo looked in his direction.

Internal Journey

“Aiaiaiaiaiaiaiai” Man UK repeated on Wednesday, perhaps marvelling at that internal journey, while regaling at the beautiful displays specially delivered for him as the country’s fourth president.

Man UK spared the best for last, and confirmed that Nyayo was on his mind: “Na kwa hayo mengi (with those many remarks), he intoned, echoing Nyayo’s signature tune “na kwa hayo machache…” (with those few remarks…) which Nyayo delivered, without a sense of irony, even after hours of speech.

The simple importation of Nyayo’s unconscious exhortation was Man UK’s confirmation of his debt to the Man from Sacho. The other debt, Man UK told us, he owed his father and the founding father of the nation, good old Jomo. Man UK’s voice as he thundered his greeting was chillingly reminiscent of Jomo’s own delivery 50 years earlier: “Harambee,” he had cried then vowed to eradicate poverty, ignorance and disease.

This week, his son offered laptops to children joining school next year, and free maternity services to those bearing more babies in public hospitals.

Nobody questioned why everything has to do with children, or if he thought of Kenyans as eternal children. Those in stadium responded with a Spanish wave to signify they were in full agreement, and were unanimous in their enjoyment of the moment. Or perhaps to say they were simply there in the stadium, basking in Man UK’s moment of glory. Their dramatic displays would hypnotise a generation happy to share in the moment. Aiaiaiaiaiaiai.