Why are we harassing our Kenyan MPs?

Today, finally, my faith in Kenyan MPs was affirmed. Now I'm entirely sure they are fighting for our rights. It is evident that Kenyan MPs know exactly why they are in parliament and, from the media coverage, so do the Kenyan people who put them there in the first place.

The first story to bring this to mind was the recent move by MPs to block this grossly unfair move by the former Minister of Finance, Kimunya, to tax their meagre allowances. The acting Minister, without regard for his fellow MPs attempted to bring back this unfair measure to the parliament, and the MPs rightly promised to block government spending if this move was tabled. Just imagine, the minister was putting honourable MPs at the same level as ordinary Kenyans. Doesn't he understand they are honourable MPs. Rules for other Kenyans cannot apply to them too! I mean, how many Kenyans can be called honourable? In fact doesn't the minister understand that all MPs have funerals to contribute to and harambees to attend?

Think of it this way, if the MPs were to be treated as Kenyans then how would they go back to their constituencies and still be called Mheshimiwa. Doesn't he realize every time they go there they have to be made clan elders, have homecoming parties and goats have to end their lives for their sake! Thinking of it even the ka-fuel allowance they are given cannot cater for their expenses. They need to be given something like 300 bob a kilometre for this.

Then there is this issue of campaigns. They have spent a lot of money campaigning for ODM and PNU. In fact it was reported that a certain MP spent almost 20 million bob campaigning for ODM, and that was all the money he had. Sad thing is when the Right Honourable got in this MP was not given any ministerial post! Imagine. 20 million down the drain like that. He should have had a ministerial post or at least an assistant minister. Some people who didn't spend as much are ministers and they certainly do not deserve that.

In fact all Kenyans should support him in his complaint about ODM not giving his people ministerial posts. All that money spent cannot surely go to waste. If they do not get these posts then they should go back to the communities and move all the communities out of ODM into a new party. That will show ODM who the real power is. Maybe then the right honourable can come negotiate with them.

Then there is this Waki thing. How can anybody even imagine that honourable MPs can go to court over this. This is prosecution of their communities. After all it's the communities that were fighting for their rights. The MP as a leader was simply helping the people fight for their rights. Any attempt to arrest an honourable MP will be considered as an attack on the community and will be resisted. In fact we will move our communities out of the government and form our own parties in opposition. Who is this Waki fellah anyway to sit judgement on honourable MPs?

Indeed the MPs are in parliament to take care of our interests. That reminds me, where is the number of this Nguyai fellah. After all I come from his village, I'm sure there is a small parastatal somewhere he can fix me in. I don't want much, just a chairmanship or two. I mean we are practically neighbours...

The beginning.

In the beginning it was just a feeling, an itch, a hunch, a buzz at the back of my mind. I would wake at night and gaze at nothing, think nothing and the nothing would think back at me. Yet it bugged me, it bothered me that I can feel what I do not feel. It was nurtured through the days by the nothingness that I’d feel. It was fertilised through the night by the emptiness by my side. This something that was nothing yet was greater than the sum of somethings that I had.

I battled with myself, speaking to the ghosts in my mind. I tried to run, yet it was me that I was running from. I tried to hide, but how do I hide from myself? There was no solace in my mind for I knew what it was I was trying to hide.

In the beginning it was a fear. Of rejection. Of change. Of hurt. Of pain. Knowing that all those could happen. Knowing that all this is happening, and I was as helpless as a twig upon the ocean current. The traitor was within me, and the saviour, too, was within me. How could joy bring so much pain, acceptance bring rejection? And yet it is just but the beginning.

I told myself all this will pass, but I knew I didn’t want it to. I told myself it is a illusion, though I knew if it was an illusion then reality is not for me. I told myself I’m strong, and felt that strength lead me yet again astray. This is was is and this is what still will be.

In the beginning it was an ache, a gap, a need, an emptiness to be filled. Yet these had existed side by side without demands and now are demanding surcease from the torment. A torment they had never had. A torment that came from knowing it is possible to finally fill the gap. I gap I didn’t even know I had. I gap I’m sure I didn’t want to have.

And yet in this was my fulfillment, in this lies my content, with this I can want to live…

My cousin Obama

The whole world has been following the Obama story, and here in Kenya we have been following very keenly the developments and victory. After all Obama is a son of K'Ogelo. That village where he comes from, you know. As is common with us, we have adopted Obama, renamed streets, schools, villages, churches and even babies after our great son. Grown up men have changed their surnames and even those of us who couldn't are busy trying to see by which route Obama and family could be related to us. His Jaluo speaking grandmother has suddenly become an ambassador and now has an office, an interpreter, a spokesman, a family spokesperson and a whole new staff corps to look after her newly created status.

However we in Kenya are still completely puzzled by the American electoral system. After all we are a democratic country and we know Democracy. We know how it is done and the Americans seem to have their system all wrong and undemocratic. There is this issue of the Electoral College. We think it is akin to the Kivuitu's (Electoral Commission of Kenya chairman) of this country. But strangely they also vote. We know the Kivuitu's are supposed to arrange the elections so that the 'right' winner wins. They are supposed to read the electorate (read rig) so that the people’s choice wins. But these Americans actually let their Kivuitus vote, and more than a month after the rest have voted! So how do they read the electorate in the correct persons favour?

Then there is the campaign. None of the candidates promised anything sensible. If they had done the right thing (Kenyan style) Obama should have promised a multi-lane highway all the way from Washington DC to California. He should have promised that he will remove development away from Texas to California since the incumbent must certainly have been developing only Texas. He should have promised all government jobs would go to Californians and all government projects will go only to sons of California. He should have promised that even the dustbins in California will have electricity installed for the homeless and the council of California will stop harassing small business persons (read hawkers) so that they can lay their wares right in the doorways of the giant supermarkets that are taking away jobs from their neighbourhood.

The funding of the campaign was even more amazing. Politicians are supposed to be rich people otherwise they wouldn't be running for office. We watched with amazement as people contributed their five and ten dollars to fund the campaign kitty. How can that happen? Obama is running for the highest office in the land, he is supposed to fund the potential voters. We expected him to be liberally throwing money around to ensure voters will vote for him. We expect him to send representatives to the local bars with wads of cash to by free rounds for potential voters. We expected him to start projects just before the election in his home area to show how serious he is. We expected him to be dishing out copious amounts of cash to potential voters and promising that when he gets there more will be coming our way! How can he even accept these small amounts of money from voters!

We expect him to attend all harambees and contribute generously. We expect him to attend all funereals and promise to educate the children of the deceased. We expect him to promise that no stone will be left unturned in the search for the deceased killers. Who cares if we know he died of some incurable disease. We expect him at the same funereal not only to contribute generously but also to praise the area senator and tell us to vote for him as well since he needs him to bring development to our people.

And the actual voting? Rubbish. That was not voting. How can you have results almost as soon as the polling stations close? Where were the party agents, the missing form 16A's, the missing names from the electoral list, or even the intimidating presence of party youth to ensure you voted for the right person. Where is the agent dishing out one dollar to every person entering with dire warnings to vote for the right person? And what was this pressing on screens to vote? You are supposed to vote on paper and put in a voting box pre-filled with the correct number of votes to ensure a win! That was certainly not a real election. Where were the politicians throwing chairs at the electoral agents?

About Obama being my cousin? Certainly he is. He's my mother's sister's roommate’s ex-boyfriend's sister's mother-in-law's cousin thrice removed on her father's side by the uncle's friend's brother who was playing football with Obama's cousin's best friend’s uncle's father-in-law's cousin's ex-girlfriends who's best friend comes from K'Ogelo.

October

Not everything I've done in life has been mischievous (well almost not everything) and quite a number of them were done with my small big sister Angela (including the mischievous ones). When we were young and presumably innocent we had mainly each other for company. Dad was working, our mothers were working and our grandmother was rather too quick with the cane for us to keep around her. However she still had the knack of finding us and giving us the most odd of chores. One particular chore still leaves me smiling in nostalgia.

Angela and I loved chicken, however we never quite got round to trying out our hands at killing any. One day after we had bugged our grandmother (well out of reach of the cane) for chicken, she decided to teach us a lesson. We were informed that if we really wanted to eat chicken then we had to slaughter as well as de-feather it before we could eat. Naturally in our youthful enthusiasm we thought this would be a ball game in the park. We had watched others doing the job and we were pretty sure we knew how to do this.

We got a sufuria of hot water, and went chasing chicken. One thing I've noticed about chicken (live ones that is) is that they never seem to want to get caught. Unfortunately we didn't know that. My sister and I ran helter skelter all over the field trying to catch the chicken grandmother had shown us to no avail. After some time it dawned on us that running all over the field may not exactly have been a grand idea. I suspect my uncle's laughter may have helped us in getting to that conclusion. We decided to chase the chicken into a room and after a rather long struggle got it cornered and caught.

Now came the grand ceremony of killing the bird. I'd seen my uncle kill birds before, so I strategically put one of each foot on a wing, pulled up the neck, removed neck feathers and with a grand swipe off came the head. With a smile I hold it up to show my sister and make a small skip. Next thing we notice is a streak as the headless chicken goes off on a tangent into the shamba, knocking banana trees and each time veering in another direction. My sister and I are again off in pursuit. At this time my uncle is weak with laughter and has to sit down wiping tears. My grandmother has seen the action and is in pursuit of the two of us with her makeshift whip shouting all kinds of threats as to what will happen to our backsides if we do not catch that chicken. We certainly believed her and that added quite an impetus to our speed. To date I'm still not quite sure whether we were running after the chicken or away from grandmother.

The chicken did eventually did get caught and cooked. But by then we were too tired to take more than a token bite.

You might wonder why I called this note October and there doesn't seem to be any reference to that month? Well, sometime ago my sister succumbed to breast cancer and October is the breast cancer month here in Kenya. I miss her. We all do. But I certainly hope wherever she is she can remember the times we had, the laughter, fights, fun and life we had with her. Rest in peace Angela. I love you.