These are very strange times!

This is an email is from a tired old drunk who had just been arrested for drinking during ‘the forbidden’ hours. 

Ni kazi tu! So after paying a bribe of a round of drinks to the officers who went on to indulge in the same crime, he takes his time to write:

We live in very strange times in these so called JPM era; times of wonder and amazement. How odd? Some crazy politicians are telling us the economy is growing at some strange percentages.

Dear Mary, mother of Supernatural being; whose economy is growing? The economy of our pockets is already dead plus the ever increasing taxes! Even if you are crazy have mercy on us, Mr. Politician. 

Amazingly in the mid-day heat of Rock City Mr. Politician is in a suit and a tie proclaiming the good tidings; we have discovered new deposits of gold, gas, uranium and many other things. 

He is speaking of industrialization, when our taps have no water. Shamelessly he speaking of building a mid-income country while giving seeds to our farmers that don’t germinate.

When there is a small bumper harvest, Mr. Politician goes completely senseless imposing all sorts of road side taxes and countless silly regulations.

“Do not sell to Kenya, I will jail you if you sell to Uganda, oh don’t sell at all preserve it for draught is coming, government won’t help you.” 

A man who has never grown a plot of mchicha in his life commands. It’s just crazy. 

He is talking of growing the middle income class and many other western miracles on hoax budget. Of course, he is crazy we know. 

“But Mr. we beg to ask, what has our diamond at Mwadui, the trophies at Nyamong’oo, the land and forest done for us so far? What happen to our colonial heritage, Mr. Politician? The train with it’s some many vibrant rural stations, the ferries to Bukoba, Kisumu, Musoma, Portbell……….

Mr. Politician, that isn’t just a fraction of the story of your greed, nepotism and corruption for the last 50 years. 

Yes, you have built for us schools without teachers, hospitals minus beds and a strong army of unemployed youth whom you now want to jail for playing pool. 

Mr. Politician just imagine suddenly one day you receive an invitation to that seaside mansion. Guess what? Just out of the blue; you have been appointed to be the new DC of some district. Just imagine Sir!

You thank the Almighty for that great blessing that comes to you during the Holy Month of Ramadhan. You wonder how the Almighty acts in mysterious ways.

Then just imagine although you are not such a religious person you offer pars to the poor around your neighborhood and throw a party to your relatives and friends.

“Your turn to eat has arrived!” You celebrate. You are especially thrilled upon hearing that the Boss has picked his team with extra care and you are one of the lucky few.

You look at the presidential letter of invitation and then a glance at your wife for a decade plus and all you see written all over her are expire dates.

Surely she does not fit the title “Mrs DC.” You say to yourself she will be among the first things to delete in your coming glory. You arrive at the colonial mansion, all ready to be honored by the Big Boss himself. Suddenly when the ceremony is about to begin a lady Judge takes the podium and reads out your name. The adrenalin in you shoots through your veins like heroin in an addict. The lady announces very strange words, that you are in fact an unwanted guest’ a boil to be precise. 

You were invited by mistake. Thus you should leave immediately before your pus infects others. No time for politics “Hapa ni kazi tu!”