The French connection affirms art of romancing without finance

By Peter Kimani

French President Francois Hollande’s flagging popularity has received a slight boost following reports that he has been having a fling with, to use the term currently in vogue, a sex siren named Julie Gayet.

The application of the term “sex siren” here is not a lazy choice, picked just because sex was involved, but because of the revealing images of Gayet doing their rounds on the web.

But that is not the most sensational aspect of the story; what’s more fascinating is how Hollande managed serious manoeuvres of sneaking regularly out of Elysee Palace to the love nest where Julie was waiting.

Although the “borrowed” flat that the two used for the tryst was only yards away from the palace, Hollande arrived at the flat on scooter, helmeted and all.

Perhaps he could have developed a smoking habit and wander off the palace to arrive at Julie’s doorstep, but that would have meant discarding the helmet that offered a convenient cover.

Hollande had his bodyguard deliver croissants for the morning after.

The French public has received the news of their philandering leader with indifference; three in every four of them think what Hollande does in his bedroom, or that of a nearby flat, is his private business and should remain so. Even the meddlesome French media respected that edict and did not probe into the matter when they encountered Hollande, save for inquiring if Hollande’s regular girlfriend, Valerie Trierweler remains the First Lady, and how she was responding to treatment for emotional distress.

Hollande is twice divorced; he left his last marriage, which produced four children, for Valerie. Her friends said she was willing to accept and move on if Hollande committed to leave Julie.

There are many enduring lessons from the French experience. One is that politics is too important a business to be buried under heaps of pettiness.

Secondly, and critical to our political leadership, one does not need to break an arm and a leg, especially those of poverty-stricken Kenyans, to carry out an affair.

As Hollande proved, it helps to know friends with flats close to official government residencies. That way, our flag-bearing politicians need not hold up traffic, and guzzle copious amounts of fuel criss-crossing the city just to see the other woman.

Neither do Kenyans need to pay small fortunes for outside catering services when bodyguards can dutifully deliver mandazi. The other benefit that should accrue from such catering is the absolute lack of paper trail that could be incriminating.

The other lesson is that one need not ruin a country just to keep a mistress. If Julie Gayet were dating a man in top echelons of our society, I suspect she would have been granted the tender to build the railway, and you and I know where that could have led us.

Besides the project ending up as a white elephant, actual elephants would have lost their trophies to poachers masquerading as railway builders, while hard drugs would have been imported for repackaging before export – all under the guise of railway construction hardware.

Finally, Hollande has taught that a beautiful mistress can also add a little fritz to bland politicians, leaving many postulating how he could have drawn in charming women when his temperament and deportment did not hint at the potential for success with the ladies.

That, too, is a useful lesson worthy of emulation by our politicians. It is not too late for them to go the French way.