Two fraternities in this great land open their work sessions by making the sign of the cross and mumbling "Let us prey"; and for the exact same reason. One is of those gentlemen who make a living relieving you of your property and reducing your funds to manageable levels – pickpockets, muggers, thieves; known collectively as MPs, and the second – crooks. Or is it the other way? I could be mistaken
 
The other day while watching intense parliamentary debate the good lady that serves us tea observed "Not many people working there."
 
Looking at the impossibly full parliamentary chamber with Honourable Members jammed almost two to a chair I ventured "I guess it depends on what you mean by many."
 
"No," she replied bitterly, vigorously stirring her tea. "It depends on what you mean by WORK".
 
I am embarrassed to confess I would secretly love to be an MP. 

The bar of entry is low: it appears to be opposable thumbs, binocular vision and an ability to walk upright; and I’m not sure about that last one. If ndivuduals with spectacularly modest academic achievements can find work there, it should be a walk in the park for me.

The pay is stellar. Many of my friends tell me that money can’t buy happiness. Not only do I suspect the validity of this pragma, as it is invariably beheld by those of finite means, but also as a man of science I would like to verify this empirically.. The demands on the brain are modest – many of the incumbents can boast brains in pristine state, having yet to find a use for them since swearing in.
 
The chief responsibility appears to be talking. What is said does not matter, nor does it need to be coherent. Nor, for that matter, does it need to make sense. In fact, contradiction seems to be the order of the day. How else can one explain an MP saying "We must say no to the politics of tribalism and unite as one Kenya" and in the same speech later say "We must unite as a community and vote as one"?
 
Rationality and common sense are not binding. It takes a leap of some magnitude to counter a VIDEO clip of one in full cry with "I am being misquoted".
 
You can be an MP of a constituency, ostensibly to champion the interests of the residents and help them with their problems and yet spend your entire term resident in Runda, never setting foot in your constituency.
 
Just to make sure your brain does not suffer any wear and tear, before expressing thoughts and opinions you must consult your political party first for direction on what to think.
 
And even in this fraternity of those with an acute disinclination to work who prefer a state of rest, there are still opportunities to do even less. Should I get sworn in I will treat the Parliamentary Accounts Committee and the Public Investments Committee with disdain. The Security Committee will not have my mind and body. The committee I wish to join that does work of National Importance is the Catering Committee.
 
It is pity that the new Constitution says MPs cannot be Ministers, and the ministries themselves are capped. Had this avenue been open I would have offered my humble services to the Commander In Chief of the Armed Forces, Teacher, Farmer, Sailor and Athlete Number One not as Finance, Internal Security or Health Minister. My vision is much grander. I have my eye on the powerful and relevant Ministry of Vocational Training.
 
Indeed. I would not mind being an MP at all.

Suppose I was advising Raila Odinga, only without the ego and hat.

Image from DevelopKenya.com

The following statements would issue from my office in reaction to events

March 1, 2012

I wish to congratulate the PNU Alliance in selecting Gideon Mbuvi as their presidential candidate after democratic competition.

I salute PNU and its affiliates for sticking together and respecting the will of its members.

In the spirit of competition I would like to assure them of a strong campaign from my party as we try to spark a bright future for this nation.

Congratulations and may the best man win.

March 8, 2012

Dear Kenyans,

After consultations with my dear wife Ida and my sons, daughter and immediate family, I wish to regretfully withdraw myself for competition in the Presidential Elections.

I have served this country tirelessly for more than 30 years and my family and I feel it is time to retire to quiet introspection and charity work.

I wish all the candidates vying for the presidential ticket in ODM the best success.

March 9, 2012

I note with concern the collapse of the PNU alliance, and more so the updating of the ECK register to indicate all the PNU leading lights have decided to run for presidency themselves.

I urge them to respect their party structures and gentleman agreements for the good of their parties and democracies as a whole

April 2, 2012

Fellow Kenyans,

My announcement to withdraw from the presidential race has caused concern in not only my extended family, but my constituency, my county and the country as a whole.

I have been receiving delegations all month urging me to reconsider my position.

After consulting with my wife Ida, my immediate family and my spiritual advisor, I have decided to heed the will of the people and offer myself as a presidential candidate on the ODM ticket.

I wish messers Ruto, Saitoti, Kenyatta, Kalonzo all the success in their individual presidential campaigns and congratulate them in their bravery in striking out on their own.

I won’t mince words.

I hold the educational system we have in a fine disdain.

I think it is a short sighted, shallow façade. And I will explain why over this series of posts.

“But you have been through the same system yourself!” You cry.

Indeed. But owning an ugly car does not keep you from knowing what an ugly car looks like.

The other day I was having a banter with one of the neighbourhood kids, a young lady in Standard 7.

It was without a doubt one of the saddest conversations I have ever had.

She wakes up at 5.00 to put in an hour of study.

She prepares herself for school and is waiting for the bus at 6.15

She has classes from 7 in the morning to 6 in the evening.

She has Saturday classes from 9 to 1.

She has homework daily. Without fail. For at least 2 subjects.

She goes to school for 3 of of the 4 weeks of her April and August holidays.

And she’s only about 13 years.

There is a word for this, ladies and gentlemen. And that word is INSANITY.

Her school bag, which he had with her at the time, was impossibly large and impossibly full. I found it troublesome to carry it myself.

I asked her what she did during her free time.

She looked at me blankly.

“When do you for example, read or cycle for pleasure?” I asked.

She was quite blunt

I have no time for pleasure.

I thought back to my childhood when I was in her shoes.

And thought about riding my bike. And reading Tintin, Asterix, Hardy Boys, Billy Bunter and Alistair MacLean.

And reading How Things Work and Encycopaedia Britannica. And going for adventures within and without the estate. And making functional cars out of wire hangers and electrical wire.

And climbing trees without thinking about whether it would be possible to climb down as well.

I have no doubt doing all these things contributed heavily to being the man that I am today.

And I am saddened that this unfortunate girl is being denied these very things. And ten years from now society will pay the price for denying her the very essence of being a kid – being a kid.

Believe me. We will pay.

Next: The Trouble with Primary Education

I think this would make Facebook a damn sight more useful. And interesting.

Dear Uhuru Kenyatta,

You don’t know meWe’ve actually met once. Chances are you don’t remember. But it’s all good. I tried very hard to be incognito during that occasion.

I wish you all the best on your recent tribulations. It must be rough being accused of all the things you are accused of. May justice prevail in the end.

There’s something I’d like to ask you.

Increasingly of late you have been saying “Tuko pamoja”, presumably as a way of indicating solidarity with we, the unwashed masses.

You probably mean well, but I find it difficult to relate with you.

Perhaps I can explain

1. You don’t pay taxes
2. As wealthy people go, you and your family are not doing too badly
3. You have a handsome housing allowance
4. Your vehicle transportation is paid for, so you won’t notice the fuel hikes
5. You fly abroad at government expense, and stay in fairly good hotels at government expense as well
6. While at the airports you make use of the VIP lounge
7. You probably don’t know where to get matatus for Komarock
8. Few of us have airports named after their fathers (JKIA)
9. Few of us have highways named after us (Uhuru Highway)
10. Few of us have parks named after us (Uhuru Park)
11. Few of us have streets named after us (Kenyatta Avenue)
12. Few of us have universities named after us (Kenyatta University)
13. Few of us have conference centers named after us (KICC)
14. Your home is palatial. (And absolutely awesome sir. Very well done!)

How then, sir, are we ‘pamoja’? On what possible fronts can you relate to the common man who has been crippled by the 9 bob rise in kerosene prices?

If I may be impertinent enough to presume to offer you unsolicited advice – I suggest you adopt another catch phrase.

I know you mean well, but it may – MAY come across as a mockery.

Tuko PamojaWarmest regards,

A Kenyan

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, “Dude – WTF?”

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 “Good morning” 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 Kenyatta’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 ‘tell’ 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 ‘Ambassador’ 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 “Habari Kwa Ufupi”. 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

1. Write shamelessly to the ICC that he, a trained and professional journalist, suddenly finds it difficult to communicate in English
2. 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!

Here’s the thing.

If you call someone and they don’t pick, and you call them again and they don’t pick, DON’T CALL A THIRD TIME.

Really.

Calling a third time makes you look like a complete doofus, and every time after that increases your DF (doofus factor) exponentially.

Some people, like me for example, take it as a challenge to see how many times i can ignore your phone calls if you call more than twice in a row. I have successfully artificially evolved the gene that removes the urgent need to answer a phone call and say "hello" as soon as the phone rings.

This makes me unpopular in particular with people in the sales profession, who think I am kidding when I say "Don’t call me, I’ll call you". Attn. those folks peddling mortgages, credit cards and loans from Barclays etc. Don’t call me. Really.

If you call someone twice and they don’t pick it is because of one of two reasons

1. They cannot pick the call (in a meeting, driving, being mauled by a hyena etc)
2. They do not wish to pick your call (you are a stalker, you are owed money etc)

Whichever the case may be, calling for the 40th time does not increase your chances of hearing " {Click} Hello?" If anything it steels the determination.

If you know you’re not No.2, just wait after your second attempt. Your call will be returned. If not — well, try physical stalking.

Also, by the way, joining chocolate teapots and powdered water is the question "Why weren’t you picking my calls?"

Don’t ask that question, because there are only two possibilities and only one answer

1. Person could not pick the call because they were in a meeting, driving, etc. In which case they will tell you they were unable to pick the call
2. Person did not wish to pick the call because you closely resemble Onyancha. In which case they will tell you anyway they were unable to pick the call.

In summary, there is only one answer to this question, so don’t bother asking it. Save time. Save your credit.

And if you are an adult of sound mind and body, are gainfully employed and are still flashing folks … may you wake up in the Middle of New York with Osama Bin Laden’s face grafted onto your own. You are, in colloquially correct Kiswahili, a "shenzi type!"