Thank God for ICC, Uhuru now knows Outer Ring

Last week was a beehive of activity. Of course you know we are talking about President Uhuru Kenyatta and the ICC.

As his supporters, as political reporters would say, sang themselves hoarse, some other people were looking at other things. When he landed at the Jomo Kenyatta International Airport, employees had the perfect excuse for getting to work late: traffic jam. Word is even some Thika Road users got to work late and served up the excuse of the day, the Presidential convoy inconvenienced them as he made his way down Jogoo Road, tens of kilometres over.

But the lot that was thanking the ICC for small mercies must be Outer Ring Road users. This is the road that puts car companies to shame. It quickly exposes those supposed off-road vehicles being dubiously sold as all-terrain, as an ill-disguised sham.

Heck, only those rusty looking Land Rovers used to ferry miraa in some parts of Meru would stand a chance here. Otherwise everyone else would be left wondering if the apocalypse happened and they landed on the surface of Mars. But these Land Rovers are a special breed, tough as nails and built back when cars were made from proper metal, this fiberglass business is overrated.

 Pimped up jalopy

These are the vehicles you stay away from any time they make a special appearance on a proper road. If you get into any accident with them, your pimped up jalopy will look like it has been sat on by an elephant.

Anyway, Outer Ring Road users were counting their lucky stars because Kamwana would feel what they go through every day. The image of his limousine stuck halfway in a crater, its belly being washed clean by raw sewage in the middle of the road would not have been exactly remote. It is not after all by mere chance that Outer Ring Road has a garage every few metres; they make a killing replacing parts for vehicles that find the going tough.

The prayer was that he would quickly summon the Roads department chaps immediately he retrieved the keys to his office from Ruto. And as they filed into his office, he would hopefully line them up against the wall, no seats, no sir!  Preferably near the window where they would have a clear view of the car park. He would let them shift from one leg to another as they ran through likely scenarios, like Karangi and his men making minced meat of them. He would walk quietly to the window, pull back the curtains and point out his limo in the car park, seated on its haunches like a wounded rhino.

Then he would growl:  “Who is going to pay for those shock absorbers?” and watch them squirm.