The entertainment award of the year goes to MPs and activists

I missed the action in the National Assembly. Had I been in that House during the fracas, I would have stealthily moved to where my rural MP was and punched him hard on the nose.

Chances are nobody would have noticed. He is not “fearfully and wonderfully made”. And nobody notices him anyway, least of all the folks at the constituency who feel let down by him. It’s bad enough he has an unfortunate nickname that translates to “rabbit”.

Of all people, Gatundu South’s Moses Kuria, who certainly knows what is to be “fearfully and wonderfully made,” has more bragging rights. I hear he coaxed the Kenya Power to connect electricity to poor constituents for a mere Sh1,100 instead of the usual Sh35,000 connection fee. Now, that’s good work, better than slapping a Lakeside lass. Or – and this is mere allegation – driving the good lady to do something on the floor of Parliament which young hipsters call “commando”.

Seriously, though, I have a sneaking regard for the “rabbit” and his totally undercover life. I have never seen him hold a press conference or participate in any. I kind of admire the way he avoids drama in his political life. It’s probably clever. Kenyan politics is marked by too much exhibitionism anyway.

If the politicians imagined they hold the monopoly of public entertainment, they should think again. Having followed the exploits of civil society, I have come to conclude this is where the real excitement is. These guys are professionals in public theatricality.

It takes quite a creative – or perverted – mind to scour the city outskirts for a herd of donkeys, load them into a lorry, brand them with political slogans, and let the dozy beasts loose on Harambee Avenue in the city centre.

Were the animals picked from Limuru, perhaps? And did their owners, who sometimes leave them grazing on roadsides, know of the scheme? Who removed the donkeys from the city and where were they taken?

MKOKOTENI VENDOR

I am told the beasts earn for their owners more than a mkokoteni vendor makes. Were I such an owner, I would have demanded from the activists a very tidy sum, knowing once my donkey hits Nairobi streets I may never see it again.

Yet the donkey stunt, and even the much earlier and equally dramatic one of depositing pigs on Parliament Road, is nothing compared to the latest innovation activists have dreamt up.

This one involves rats, which symbolise plague. (How you collect them beats me). The plan was to release them inside the Makueni County Assembly, where MCAs had become such pests the county government is now facing dissolution.

I can imagine the masterminds of the rat invasions, if allowed the opportunity, would dearly love to sneak a sackful of rats into State House to make their point.

You can rest assured the very sight of the rodents scurrying along the corridors of the big mansion would mortally frighten dear First Lady Margaret like nothing before in her life.

I can picture the delicate lady activating her lately acquired marathon skills to flee for dear life all the way back to her dad’s native Murang’a County, leaving behind a disconsolate husband and an even more distraught mother-in-law wondering whether all this presidency business was worth it.

Some months back, I met one of the activists behind the pig saga when I went to watch a play at the Alliance Francaise. It’s not that he is disagreeable on a personal level.

He just lives in some world of fantasy. He was shifty while avoiding talk of the pig story. Oddly, he was very eager to inform me of his acquaintance with an American journalist I know.

I used to think the journalist, who is with a Big City newspaper, had a lot more sense about who to take seriously.

[email protected]