Whenever I hear of William Ruto, Uhuru Kenyatta, Joshua Arap Sang, Francis Muthaura, Hussein Ali, Henry Kosgey, Hague, ICC, Ocampo etc I get the powerful urge to hand in a heartfelt yet relieved resignation and retire myself to a rustic existence in a distant farm in the periphery of the country, where I will spend happy days doing glorious duties like shoveling the dung of assorted barnyard animals, administering artificial insemination to large and angry horses and being the go-to man when the time comes to administer a variety of suppositories to the beasts of the field, winged and hooved.
I say this because such a lifestyle is infinitely more pleasurable to the absurdity that is the farce of the ICC circus.
Concerned friends thought I was simultaneously having a stroke and a powerful bout of diarrhoea as I took in the sight of Uhuru Kenyatta and William Ruto in a stadium in Nakuru being cheered on by thousands, some of whom invariably lost family in Nakuru. As a great man once asked succinctly, â€œDude â€“ WTF?â€
Other concerned friends confiscated all the sharp objects around me as I digested the news that 40+ MPs, whose responsibility is making laws and looking after the interests of their constituents were electing to abdicate this responsibility to travel as paid windbags to the Hague, ostensibly in solidarity with the six. How, for goodness sake does this happen? Why aren’t these muppets in solidarity with the internally displaced?
Who will pay for these tickets? Let us assume that a return ticket is 180,000. For 40 windbags this is a travel budget of 7,200,000. Yes sir, 7.2 million iron men being wasted. We are yet to even think about accommodation, transport and meals for the 6 Alis Baba and their 40 appropriators of wealth that is not strictly speaking theirs.
I can just imagine the cumulative effect of these 40 idlers on the Dutch populace who have never seen professional time wasters in person.
One cannot talk about this matter without touching on His Excellency Stephen Kalonzo Muskoka. I had the misfortune of meeting him the other day during some innocuous event. He said to me â€œGood morningâ€ and dear reader I must confess at the time to being unable to believe even those words that came out of his lips.
I wonder if there is anyone, besides his loving wife that takes that gentleman seriously (and even that is speculation).
This man has been flying around in shitshuttle diplomacy to convince other countries to back the deferral of the ICC case.
The realization that this government has probably done more to assist the Ocampo 6 than it has for the IDP victims makes me want to expand my KPIs at the farm to stripping down to boxers and wrestling with fat, greasy pigs every morning in an attempt to exercise them.
This past Sunday in a gratuitous charade of theatre show of emotion Uhuru Kenyattaâ€™s tearful mother blessed her son and William Ruto and accused colonialists of the troubles befalling her offspring.
It is pure speculation that she later wondered why hungry people unable to get bread were not eating chocolate biscuits.
My life flashed before my eyes as the porridge I was drinking went down the wrong way and threatened to kill me when Mrs. Kenyatta promised to write a bestseller detailing modern colonialism in this country.
This reminds me of the time a some indignant hyenas and lions promised an assorted pack of wildebeest, kudu, gazelles and buffalo to write a tell all expose on dangerous carnivores in the Masai Mara.
But let us return the the matter at hand and look at the famous 6
William Ruto, aka The Corn Man
Todate William Ruto has been unable to shake off the powdery white substance that looks remarkably like flour that enveloped him while he was custodian of the country’s Agriculture ministry.
There has been intense speculation over the past few years that William has a â€˜tellâ€™ such that it is possible to know when he is lying. The tell apparently is that his lips move.
Brigadier General Hussein Ali, aka the Postmaster
Good old Brigadier Ali is called the Postmaster for the excellent reason that he is the Postmaster.
The Brigadier probably bitterly regrets ever picking up the phone and taking instructions from his Commander In Chief to nip in the bud an army career to come and run the police force.
Todate he is still stamping out crime, but in denominations of 20 shillings
Ambassador Francis Muthaura, aka Ambassador Francis Muthaura
Some small boys I regularly play football with expressed surprise when I corrected them by informing them that â€˜Ambassadorâ€™ was not actually his first name.
Uhuru Kenyatta, aka AKA
Anyone with an appreciation of timber furniture especially tables would do well to be wary of this gentleman, who has a penchant for banging tables in anger. Uhuru Kenyatta is a man whom at some level I admire. Anyone who can see no contradiction between advocating for togetherness of Kenyans as a people while simultaneously speaking in vernacular and threatening those unwilling to toe the line is to be admired.
Henry Kosgey, aka The G-Man
Henry Kosgey, commonly referred to as the dinosaur of Kenyan politics is a man whose chief claim to fame is an unwillingness to use the letter C. This naturally greates a guagmire for segretaries taging digtation
Joshua Arap Sang, aka News In Brief
Arap Sang, a diminutive journalist invariably is known to many as â€œHabari Kwa Ufupiâ€. Arap Sang has cultivated my personal admiration in his attempts to get out of having to go to the Hague. Hampered by a lack of wealth like his fellow 6 he has been forced to
- Write shamelessly to the ICC that he, a trained and professional journalist, suddenly finds it difficult to communicate in English
- Write again to the ICC to request funds for his transport and accommodation. Nothing fancy, you understand
He has also, impressively within the same week managed to break his arm.
This is bound to be an interesting week!