Kenyan Politics: The Dream Sequel - A Preview

Wherever the ancient Greeks traveled, they took their culture with them. More than two thousand years ago, in settlements as far apart as Spain, North Africa and Asia Minor, communities spoke Greek, performed Greek plays, and built temples the Greek way. It was all Greek to them. This was much owing to the sexcapades exploits of ∑ Alexander the Great conquistador.

Wherever many of our ancient Kenyan Politicians travel, however, they more or less leave muddy footprints all over polished floors, their thendecular tubas fumigating the Freshmatiq hewaz, rewarding their hosts' hospitality with a lingering bad taste in the mouth. As little boys and girls, though, I would bet my right thendeck that not even the most mutated permutations of our current crop of political fatwigs' dreamlike conspiracies could have painted a Picasso of an easier ball to kick around than we the faithful Kenyan electorate. The only flaw in that analogy being that while the ball will not stand a chance to kick back, we do, we just seem to think it's never that serious come election day.

It's safe to say that unless something psychotically and Hellonistically major happens, the Kenyan Political status quo will continue to wallow in a state of putrefaction, exhibiting an Arungalike affinity for utter self-disrespect. I mean, think this weekend...Sunday Nation's front page: State to Pay for Ali and Muthaura and Ali defense. Yes, Ali will need double defending. But huh? Am I missing something here? Kina State wanalipa na taxes za nani?

You see I have a dream. It occurred to me only yesterday that I do - appropriately in the same week as MLK day. And in this dream, a good majority of the August House joins some enthralling little cult. Otherwise, and you will come to see why further on, we ain' goin' nowhere!

Were my dream to come to fruition, then perhaps Hellon Earth could Arunga some of the preponderance of euphemisms for Kenyan corruption Kenyan Members of Parliement into offing themselves before the world ends in 2012. Ok, maybe that's a little on the grand extreme of things...then again so is their tomfoolery, effiecient as it might be.

 But seriously, Hellon, if you're reading this, a land Far Far Away ™ would do. Like upeleke ujinga wao Mbali Mbali Sana™, tena mara tharra.that! It's rather unfortunate, though, that you and I both know my dream will not self-actualize; neither will all the world of good and a massive barrage of positivity it could possibly bring along with it. Which is why I have decided to one day barter trade my commonsense of common decency for the billions of cents, Olympic pool-size Jacuzzis and Hurlingham harl*terry that is the preserve of our MPs. Beneficial trade-off, if you ask me.

Unfortunately, as one Mike Sonko may attest – assuming he really is being framed – getting in could also prove to be quite a bit hazardous. It’d be a quite a bit of an uphill climb; literally. You will find that the hyenas political order has established itself strategically on a massive hilltop. Any war general will tell you that such a position, coupled with long range artillery – in the way of their self-sustaining greed cycles – as well as an immense territorial advantage, makes them virtually invincible. But only just virtually.

Anyone can sign up to the mantra of wearing proud ignorance on their sleeves when the citizenry hardly cares to see it; MPs could wear a BS hat tipped at a bendover degree angle, yet even if a flashlight were to be trained on them in ‘mulika mwizi’ fashion whilst they were clad in that black and white striped jail suit, tripping over chained cannon balls fastened to their ankles, we’d somehow still find a way to pat them in the back for a job well done, and serve them hefty helpings of extra terms in office. That, my good people, is the magnanimity of our collective stupidity and bendover business as Kenyans. Yes, once again I said it. Yet even my sitting here philanthropically hurtling into little scathing metaphorical parallels will do little to deter us all. After all, si it’s never that serious?

Any who. It’s just a little boy's dream. Dreams are such dainty little lenses to view life through. And when we do, we find ourselves staring at the world through new eyes, astonished – verily so – by what the little buggers can now see. Which is why – now – bombarded with the tedious superlatives of a deeply introverted life, I sink into my bunk and close my eyes. After the grueling day I’ve had, it seems barely conceivable that this alone might make the merits required to graduate slumber cum laude; but sure enough, Morpheus soon teleports me to the all-new Journeycom Pirates Coliseum. 



It’s the inaugural match on this newly state-of-the-art playing field. Ironic, the homage our very own little pet project pays to Rome; am sure if you squeezed a handful of dirt picked from it, we the corporate thug’s victims would have our blood ooze from thence in its pints.

∑ To be continued...