I was walking lazily towards Old Nyati’s house early on a Saturday morning when I heard someone shouting for me to stop. I looked behind to see an obese man walking hurriedly and waving his hands in the air. I stopped, wondering who the stranger was. “My name is Dodge Dadalwa,” he said, gasping for breath. He was sweating profusely. I could tell he was not used to much physical exertion except, it was clear, when he was feeding.
“I am a very important politician from Kenya,” he wheezed out. I was not surprised by the self-important introduction. In our village, we had become used to the pathological hubris of Kenyan politicians. “Feel honoured,” continued Dodge, “to show this VIP to Old Nyati’s house... I want to spend a few days in your village pondering the uproar caused by my pronouncement a few days ago.”