In her sincerest expression of her love for waheshimiwa, Wanjiku chose to celebrate them in this year’s Mashujaa Day celebrations.
Everyone thought she had forgotten the sacrifices MPs make that she may have the most miserable life — her favourite kind of life — when on Tuesday they earned no recognition for their work.
But she was only saving the best for last, choosing to borrow a leaf from Christmas traditions by unwrapping her gift to them the next day. They were presented with the long-awaited Building Bridges Initiative report, a document its writers swear contains nothing but Wanjiku’s wishes.
It is not easy to master the art of lacking scruples. It is even harder to issue empty promises with a straight face, but the occupants of the august House do so effortlessly. Not all of them, of course. Despite all the lies and broken campaign promises, Wanjiku is demanding even more representatives in Parliament.
So the traitors who stay true to their mandate should be thanking their incompetent colleagues for the tidings that came their way. For their fibs, they deserve the 360 seats in the National Assembly that Wanjiku is said to have offered.
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And they should get more for setting the leadership bar at its lowest, and debunking the myth that there is such a thing as a call to leadership.
It is hard to say that the MPs don’t deserve more perks. Not when they have laboured to keep their tongues loose by insulting everyone else’s mothers. Furthermore, Wanjiku knows that any crook can be an MP.
All you have to do is stick your hand in the cookie jar and pocket as much loot as you can. The more you can steal, the brighter your political future.
And if you tithe your loot every week in multiple churches, you will never get caught. But if you are nabbed, you can always blame the devil for your greed as a bevvy of men of the cloth stretch out their hands and declare you sinless.
You would have to kneel, but it wouldn’t be as embarrassing as it sounds. You would be feigning humility as a charged crowd chanted “our thief!”
Later, when the dust settles, Wanjiku will reward you by letting you increase your pay. And to celebrate your gluttony, she will parade a herd of swine outside Bunge in your honour and brand you an ‘MPig’ – an accolade reserved for the greediest.
But the National Assembly is not the only House in Wanjiku’s good books; their neighbours in the Senate will also get more representatives.
For all the noise they make, they would earn 47 additional slots so that they can be more effective at their job. Not that their roles change or anything.
They would still lose their voices until the annual debate on revenue-sharing, or until their colleagues across the hallway bully them, whichever comes first.
They would also be required to play favourites when handling impeachment proceedings designed to convict or acquit our notoriously reticent governors depending on the measure of their political correctness.
What’s more, with the return of Cabinet in the other House, their summonses to ministers are bound to be ignored with more contempt.
Given their propensity to follow examples, it is doubtful that they would impeach any president, even if they were to lose their mind while in office.
Only a person who loves you, as Wanjiku loves the MPs, would view incompetence as deserving to be rewarded.