I should think by now you have heard what the Deputy Governor of Kirinyaga did? Or should I say you have heard what he did not do? May be I should say what he did not do because if media reports are to be believed, he was rudely ushered into A.O.B. by some contractors before the main agenda of the meeting. On the other hand, if you have not heard what he did, then it means that the two hours a day you are spending on WhatsApp are not doing much good to your education on matters raunchy, hence you should up your game and make them four.
Here is what he did. He decided to plant a tree. Why? On account of boredom at the County. Okay. Am going ahead of myself. His woes started when the DP stopped complaining about catwalks and became an ally of the allegend catwalker. Now, you know it is in the statutes that the DP shall be the principal assistant to the bigboss and shall deputise the bigboss in all matters. Well then, Kirinyaga being what it is in the rumour mills, was naturally a good place to deputise. So Kirinyaga it was. I know this is kind of irrelevant here but I suppose it gives you some background.
What is relevant is this. There wasn’t much space for the deputy governor to enjoy them, them here being the catwalks not the allies. Hence the devil’s workshop found suitable vacant premises and quickly conjures up the idea of the DG taking care of his tree. One tree is as good as another and so rather than soil his hands increasing the forest cover he decides he would plant a tree of a different kind. They met in Thika. In the DG’s subconscious, something kept telling him that something was quite not right with the arrangement. But every time she flashed her eyelids the thought would vapourise. It wasn’t long before, like the frog in the fable, he willingly bent over and let his scorpion onto his back.
So the duo booked themselves in a lodge room, locked the door and drew the curtains to keep away pesky flies and mosquitoes as it is written in proverbs 19:17 “stolen waters are sweet, and bread eaten in secret is pleasant”
Mvumilivu hula mbivu and the vulture is a patient bird. So the DG takes his sweet time by the door to change the autoreply and status on his phone to “In a Meeting“. Then he surveyed his price catch. “Not bad,” he tells himself. “Not bad at all for someone who grew up in Kanjinji village washing his one and only long-shirt that doubled as the lower faculties cover and waiting for it to dry by the Murubara river”. “Perhaps” he muses. “Perhaps he should renegotiate the terms of engagement and make this arrangement permanent”. He makes a mental note to ask his agent how much a spacious bedsitter costs in rent at Bendor estate or Section-nine estate, Thika.
And what was that his father used to say about commandments and eyelids. His left hand is reaching the Gideons bible on the desk from which he intends to make a quick reference when his reverie was interrupted by a loud bang at the door, ku!
“Ni nani?” he asked expecting the usual shrill impatient voice behind the door to say.
“Room service. Tunataka ma-bedsheet. Masaa imeisha”
It was room service alright. And the room service said calmly “fungueni, mko na wageni”.
He wonders who would dare visit his bedsitter as his paramour reached for the key. “Don’t touch the key…” he attempted to say but the door had swang open and, it became quite evident that the tree planting agenda had to be abandoned as the focus swiftly shifted to AOB.
You become philosophical when confronted by the prospects of death. The DG was not different. Motivated by the cold concrete on his bare butt, and inspired by some mean looking contractors hell-bent on encashing the wages of sin, his father’s words came back to him in a King James version.
My son, keep your father’s command,
And do not forsake the law of your mother.
To keep you from the evil woman,
From the flattering tongue of a seductress.
Do not lust after her beauty,
Nor let her allure you with her eyelids.
For by means of a harlot
A man is reduced to a crust of bread;
Can a man take fire to his bosom,
And his clothes not be burned?
Can one walk on hot coals,
And his feet not be seared?
So is he who goes in to his neighbour’s wife.
When he is found, he must restore sevenfold;
He may have to give up all in his house.
Wounds and dishonour he will get.
For jealousy is a husband’s fury;
He will not spare in the day of vengeance.
He will accept no recompense,
Nor will he be appeased though you give many gifts.
And do not forsake the law of your mother.
To keep you from the evil woman,
From the flattering tongue of a seductress.
Do not lust after her beauty,
Nor let her allure you with her eyelids.
For by means of a harlot
A man is reduced to a crust of bread;
Can a man take fire to his bosom,
And his clothes not be burned?
Can one walk on hot coals,
And his feet not be seared?
So is he who goes in to his neighbour’s wife.
When he is found, he must restore sevenfold;
He may have to give up all in his house.
Wounds and dishonour he will get.
For jealousy is a husband’s fury;
He will not spare in the day of vengeance.
He will accept no recompense,
Nor will he be appeased though you give many gifts.
And the rest as they say, is social media fodder.
I don’t know whether you can believe this but I happen to be a normal human being. A normal human being has five basic needs. At the top of the tip of these basic needs is social media. So being normal, I frequently and regularly indulge in social media. My daily dose was five hours but am now weened to three (it is called 7-24-7 seven and half minutes every hour for 24 hours seven days a week). This was after some fellows claimed that five was an addiction and bundled me into rehab. Am almost clean now, but it was while I was having my daily hourly fix that I came by this DG story. I was dismayed. But as a strong believer of the gospel, not righteous but practical, I knew I would rather err on the side of caution.
The book does say that on the day of judgement the righteous will ask of him, ” master, when did we do these things to you?” and he will answer them “whatever you did for one of these my least of brothers you did for me”. So I decided to do my good did for a brother. Not for his sake but to improve my chances at the pearl gates. I formulated a nice speech in support of the Kirinyaga DG. Then after rehearsing the speech n+1 times, I called a press conference. Okay, not quite seeing that it was me who was required to avail myself at Mucene FM for the conference. I had even composed and rehearsed a nice song (see excerpt to the right).To enjoy the song, sing it in the rhythm, tempo and beat of a song by DDC Milimani Park Orchestra, because by an uncanny twist of coincidence the words and the cantos are quite the same. Next, I donned my suit, and was on my way to Mucene F.M to support my DG when just by the gates V.O.K (Voice of Kenya), my attention was attracted by quite some racket behind me. It was Hotel boulevard!
At the Boulevard, they are asking this blue-suited hunk whether he knows how to swim. Why. Because, them being reasonable fellows, they would rather throw him into the deep end of the swimming pool rather that out of the hotel. 
The blue-suited fellow is insisting quite dramatically that he would rather finish addressing his press conference in support of his governor. To which the contractor in cyber hacker hood assures him it was is not a good idea.
Eventually, they do reach a workable comprise and my blue suited fellow ends up prostrate in the murky water puddles outside the Boulevard Annex.
Now Boulevard Annex happens to be yet another chafua joint frequented by ma-hungry. These ma-hungry are quite familiar with the seventh commandment of hyenas – Ndũgekĩre mũvũthia na kĩndũ kĩoneku – meaning never look a gift horse in the mouth. As such the philanthropic mafisi promptly relieve him of the inconvenience of his mobile phone, wallet, jacket, and shoes.
Later in the evening, I find out that the blue suited fellow was at the Boulevard to support and praise H.E. the Governor of county 47 for his excellent work. Never mind that one would think excellent work shows and therefore does not need kupigiwa debe.
It then occurred to me that supporting a politician might not always end up as expected as illustrated in the fable below.
In Ossicles, the neighbour of Jukistopia, lived Scorpie a sly youthful scorpion. He was contented with himself and his lethal sting that he unleashed at will. Well, until he heard of Jukistopia and thought to himself. “If there is Jukistopia, there must be scorpiontopia, and to scorpiontopia he must go”. His search for Scorpiontopia saw him through forests and deserts, hills and valleys, rocks and sand but he kept going until he reached a bridgeless river.The river was too wide for Scorpie to cross and he saw his journey come to an end. In a panic he frantically ran upstream and downstream in search of a cross to no avail and had virtually given up when, Frogie startled by his panting splashed into the river.
“Hei Frogie, don’t run away!” Scorpie cajoled “Would you be so kind as to give me a ride on your back across the river?”
“Nice try, Scorpie! But pray, how do I know that you won’t sting me once you are abode my back where I cannot see you?” asked the frog as he distanced himself farther.
“Because,” Scorpie replied in a voice as if answering a fool, “If I sting you, then you die. And I don’t suppose you can swim while dead, can you? Then I would drown and die too as I cannot swim!”
That makes sense, thought Frogie. But there is catch somewhere he thought. He asked
“How do I know you won’t kill me once we cross to the other side?”
“Like seriously!” goes Scorpie. You will just have helped me cross this river and you suppose I would be that unfair! Come on mahn!!”
So Frogie agreed to ferry Scorpie on his back across the river. He swam the first half of the river easily and was preparing for the strong current at the middle of the river when he felt a sharp painful sting in his back. He did not need to ask to know what had happed as a deadening numbness began to creep into his limbs.
“What an idiot!” croaked Frogie, “Now I die and you drown!
Scorpie replied “I am so sorry but I could not help it. It is my nature, man.”
And realising his folly, the scorpion hightailed into the raging river to try his luck swimming across but was promptly swept away.
It so happed that a paparazzi fish that was all along watching and wondering how this unlikely biz would conclude remarked “self-destruction is in some characters nature alright”
Notwithstanding all this, I will support a politician. I will. It is my nature. My destiny. My fate.
