Good morning Brother Steve, also known as Wiper, Vice President of the Republic of Kenya, Minister for Home Affairs and Member of Parliament for Mwingi North.
I hear tomorrow is a great day for you. In fact, the English have a term for it. They call it Silver Jubilee as you are marking 25 years in Parliament.
Brother Steve, if you may allow that informality, although I like Wiper more, I want to congratulate you from the bottom of my heart (isn’t that what Christian brethrens say) and say hongera! (congratulations).
As a matter of fact, I was hopeful that some like-minded (don’t we like that expression) individuals might join me in sponsoring a page or two to send you congratulatory messages.
You know the sort where serious-faced Kenyans appear wearing imported suits and plastic smiles, the size of the picture confirming the order of seniority, (the bigger the higher) followed by a repetitive message that starts and ends with, "Your Excellency…"
Knowing the sort of cynicism people inject in such words, I am constrained because I haven’t quite forgotten that "pecking order" tiff you had with Tinga.
Now that you are all meeting Prezzo together, as you did yesterday, is a sign of good things to come.
I do not intend to make this message unnecessarily long. I know it has been a long time since you went to Bunge, and I expect a major party in Mwingi.
Although I had not been invited (you must appreciate that parliamentary tradition of alerting your host before touring their area), I did make a trip to Mwingi last April.
Had I known about this impending milestone, I would have waited to visit with you, although I must confess the mission was rather urgent. Some of your constituents were facing a slow death through starvation, and we decided to appeal to fellow Kenyans to come to their rescue.
I do not want to ask serious questions today, like why the people you lead don’t always have enough to eat, for the simple reason you don’t make rain.
Rather, my inquiry is quite simple, if not simple-minded. In the spirit of unity, and the Christian brotherhood that I hear you profess, would you consider inviting gracious lady Charity to the fete? After all, she is your neighbour from Kitui Central.
No, this is not an airbrushed Internet download. It is a genuine picture of an electric post in the middle of a road somewhere in Antubetwe market in Igembe North District. The engineer’s probable rationale was that his business began and ended with the ground and left the skies for the birds. Only in Kenya! [Photo: francis marangu]
There was this famous dance, Wathi wa Mukamba, that Michuki once claimed Charity was fond of dancing, and I think it would add flavour to your tamasha.And just imagine what Charity would have to say if you allowed her to dance and speak? She would smile in her coy way, then raise her eyebrows, eyes shining and say, "show us, Kalonzo, what you have done for 25 years…"
Will you, or is your journey the destination?
Good neighbourliness fosters bad beer
Ugandans are learning all the bad manners from their Kenyan neighbours, and I think it has got something to do with Migingo.
Where else would they have known that lacing brews with methanol can give it a proper kick as only Kenyans can stomach?
I suspect during those days politicians were flying over the island, hoisting a flag or bringing another down, the people were having a genuine conversation over the meaning of the East African federation. Kenyans may have sensibly proposed a number of ways of making the waters less bitter – by adding drops of methanol into Ugandan gin, waragi.
As Kenyans know all too well, the trouble with methanol is that it’s an industrial compound that refuses to be domesticated by way of allowing harmless ingestion. The little drop that one consumes can be harmful to their health.
Hence the need to dispense with that Migingo issues once and for all, and miminise any contact between Kenyans and Ugandans. That’s the only way to keep waragi safe.
Searching for our founding fathers
Now that the Ethiopian peasant Ato Lema Ayanu, feted as our national hero is gone, we need to urgently look for another.
We are so short of heroes that we actually import them. Too bad Brother Barry has not been quick to come home, just to see how Kenyans love him to bits, to use an expression currently in vogue. Or perhaps out of vogue.
Incidentally, what became of Ayanu’s DNA results? Apparently, no tests were taken. A physical examination confirmed he was not the Mau Mau General. Why? He was not cut, a ritual Mathenge had undergone.
Picture worth more than thousand words
Picha Mtaani, an exhibition of images taken by Boniface Mwangi during Kenya’s moment of madness, when mad men and women organised death and destruction (now called post-election violence), has been running into trouble rather too often.
First, it was Nakuru, and now Kisumu. Residents who cannot stand the images that capture them perpetrating the violence, or benefiting from it wanted the exhibition pulled down.
Other images showed police brutalising citizens. Now it was the citizens brutalising the exhibition crew. Shame on them.
Reading the fine prints of ‘katiba’
Prezzo, Tinga and Wiper met yesterday with a team of church leaders to discuss katiba, and a committee was established to drill the issues further.
I thought we were told there is nothing to discuss since Smiling Amos is going to publish the document as is, and subject it to a referendum. All amendments would only happen after they are passed into law.
I thought Prezzo and Tinga said as much, so why are they entertaining further meetings? And aren’t Church and State supposed to do their bit independent of the other?
Commercial break at ivory tower
It’s a pity this katiba (constitution) business is distracting university lecturers’ strike. You know, such things provide comical relief, seeing Francis Atwoli antics (minus the rhythmic dances and bling bling), delivered with more eloquence and clarity.
But what I love best are those untamed goatees (intellectuals are too busy reading to shave, aren’t they), and the bellicose that accompanies their argument.
Perhaps their ideas aren’t persuasive enough, for whole notion of academia is to be insulated from the daily tedium of making bread and butter, and contemplate why buttering both sides of the bread triggers heart diseases among urban workers than their rural compatriots who otherwise start the day with a pile of mlima (mountain).
For those who haven’t been to Stage CafÈ in Kakamega, it’s the place where the mishmash of bone meat served with brown ugali sells out before sunrise. The locals sleep, dream and eat mlima.
Perhaps in their self-granted sabbatical, the dons should consider conducting a survey on the Stage CafÈ.
They might make some important discovery, such as their colleagues in the ivory tower could be consuming a lot of mlima, hence their obsession with unga (flour).