The bar of entry is low: it appears to be opposable thumbs, binocular vision and an ability to walk upright; and I’m not sure about that last one. If ndivuduals with spectacularly modest academic achievements can find work there, it should be a walk in the park for me.

The pay is stellar. Many of my friends tell me that money can’t buy happiness. Not only do I suspect the validity of this pragma, as it is invariably beheld by those of finite means, but also as a man of science I would like to verify this empirically.. The demands on the brain are modest – many of the incumbents can boast brains in pristine state, having yet to find a use for them since swearing in.
 
The chief responsibility appears to be talking. What is said does not matter, nor does it need to be coherent. Nor, for that matter, does it need to make sense. In fact, contradiction seems to be the order of the day. How else can one explain an MP saying "We must say no to the politics of tribalism and unite as one Kenya" and in the same speech later say "We must unite as a community and vote as one"?
 
Rationality and common sense are not binding. It takes a leap of some magnitude to counter a VIDEO clip of one in full cry with "I am being misquoted".
 
You can be an MP of a constituency, ostensibly to champion the interests of the residents and help them with their problems and yet spend your entire term resident in Runda, never setting foot in your constituency.
 
Just to make sure your brain does not suffer any wear and tear, before expressing thoughts and opinions you must consult your political party first for direction on what to think.
 
And even in this fraternity of those with an acute disinclination to work who prefer a state of rest, there are still opportunities to do even less. Should I get sworn in I will treat the Parliamentary Accounts Committee and the Public Investments Committee with disdain. The Security Committee will not have my mind and body. The committee I wish to join that does work of National Importance is the Catering Committee.
 
It is pity that the new Constitution says MPs cannot be Ministers, and the ministries themselves are capped. Had this avenue been open I would have offered my humble services to the Commander In Chief of the Armed Forces, Teacher, Farmer, Sailor and Athlete Number One not as Finance, Internal Security or Health Minister. My vision is much grander. I have my eye on the powerful and relevant Ministry of Vocational Training.
 
Indeed. I would not mind being an MP at all.

So the other day I made a comment about our IT industry.

It did not go down well in certain quarters.

And so I did the only rational thing – I decided to expound further. In great detail

This series, based on my experience is the result of that.

No offence folks, but I’m tired of hearing about how mobile is the new frontier.

Everybody knows this. Nobody disputes this.

And yet there are innumerable seminars / workshops / meetups / white papers / blogs / articles to tell us this.

Why?

What’s the point of answering questions nobody is asking?

It is like having events to discuss if electricity or the wheel is the next big thing in 2012.

I think we can safely assume everybody knows the impact of mobility.

Nobody had endless seminars to discuss that electricity of the petrol engine were the next big thing.

They got on with it and innovated, improved, enhanced and built.

For many years I designed and implemented some solutions for the NGO sector, and that sector my friends is at another level when it comes to answering questions nobody asks and asking questions everyone knows the answers to.

The culture of meeting about doing things rather than actually doing things is poisonous, and we in IT are fast catching up with our NGO friends.

I have nothing against folks making a good living off this particular junket, but as a great man once said

Don’t hate the player. Hate the game

The rest of us should stop talking about where the fish are and FISH

So the other day I made a comment about our IT industry.

It did not go down well in certain quarters.

And so I did the only rational thing – I decided to expound further. In great detail

This series, based on my experience is the result of that.

So last year, after 12 years of what I fondly believe to be sterling service, I left the company that had employed me to start my own company.

I enjoyed myself very much in that company, and held a number of positions as I rose through the ranks in various capacities. I would be the first one to acknowledge the company took a number of risks believing in my … unique … way of getting things done, and all things considered I like to think the risks paid off.

So after the traditional send off lunch, and speeches I later asked the HR what token the company would give me from my decade of service.

She seemed surprised and puzzled by my question. "But we got you the lunch last week?!"

I must confess I had a momentary flash of intense outrage.

And then I thought about it some more. It’s been a pleasant run. I worked with amazing folks. I found unique and revolutionary ways to solve problems. I trained some of the best guys in the industry, many of whom have gone on to do great things. The company (daringly) mostly left me to my whims and did not question my unconventional methods of getting results. It let me indulge my numerous pet interests like www.mzalendo.com.

Plus it paid my salary.

By many measures I’m not exactly sure between myself and the company which got the better deal out of the arrangement.

And so it dawned on me perhaps my sense of expectancy was mightily misplaced.

Perhaps I did not make as big an impact as I fondly believe.

That, I confess, was a difficult pill to swallow.

So it dawned on me that perhaps, in fact I was the one that got a better deal out of the arrangement.

"Never mind," I told her finally. “Forget I asked.”

This world owes you nothing. In fact you might actually owe the world. You don’t live in a war torn country. You have three square meals a day. You have a roof over your head. You are of sound mind. You are healthy. You can walk. You can see. You can hear. You have family and friends who love you.

What more do you want?

Image from DevelopKenya.com

The following statements would issue from my office in reaction to events

March 1, 2012

I wish to congratulate the PNU Alliance in selecting Gideon Mbuvi as their presidential candidate after democratic competition.

I salute PNU and its affiliates for sticking together and respecting the will of its members.

In the spirit of competition I would like to assure them of a strong campaign from my party as we try to spark a bright future for this nation.

Congratulations and may the best man win.

March 8, 2012

Dear Kenyans,

After consultations with my dear wife Ida and my sons, daughter and immediate family, I wish to regretfully withdraw myself for competition in the Presidential Elections.

I have served this country tirelessly for more than 30 years and my family and I feel it is time to retire to quiet introspection and charity work.

I wish all the candidates vying for the presidential ticket in ODM the best success.

March 9, 2012

I note with concern the collapse of the PNU alliance, and more so the updating of the ECK register to indicate all the PNU leading lights have decided to run for presidency themselves.

I urge them to respect their party structures and gentleman agreements for the good of their parties and democracies as a whole

April 2, 2012

Fellow Kenyans,

My announcement to withdraw from the presidential race has caused concern in not only my extended family, but my constituency, my county and the country as a whole.

I have been receiving delegations all month urging me to reconsider my position.

After consulting with my wife Ida, my immediate family and my spiritual advisor, I have decided to heed the will of the people and offer myself as a presidential candidate on the ODM ticket.

I wish messers Ruto, Saitoti, Kenyatta, Kalonzo all the success in their individual presidential campaigns and congratulate them in their bravery in striking out on their own.

I hold the educational system we have in a fine disdain.

I think it is a short sighted, shallow façade. And I will explain why over this series of posts.

“But you have been through the same system yourself!” You cry.

Indeed. But owning an ugly car does not keep you from knowing what an ugly car looks like.

The other day I was having a banter with one of the neighbourhood kids, a young lady in Standard 7.

It was without a doubt one of the saddest conversations I have ever had.

She wakes up at 5.00 to put in an hour of study.

She prepares herself for school and is waiting for the bus at 6.15

She has classes from 7 in the morning to 6 in the evening.

She has Saturday classes from 9 to 1.

She has homework daily. Without fail. For at least 2 subjects.

She goes to school for 3 of of the 4 weeks of her April and August holidays.

And she’s only about 13 years.

There is a word for this, ladies and gentlemen. And that word is INSANITY.

Her school bag, which he had with her at the time, was impossibly large and impossibly full. I found it troublesome to carry it myself.

I asked her what she did during her free time.

She looked at me blankly.

“When do you for example, read or cycle for pleasure?” I asked.

She was quite blunt

I have no time for pleasure.

I thought back to my childhood when I was in her shoes.

And thought about riding my bike. And reading Tintin, Asterix, Hardy Boys, Billy Bunter and Alistair MacLean.

And reading How Things Work and Encycopaedia Britannica. And going for adventures within and without the estate. And making functional cars out of wire hangers and electrical wire.

And climbing trees without thinking about whether it would be possible to climb down as well.

I have no doubt doing all these things contributed heavily to being the man that I am today.

And I am saddened that this unfortunate girl is being denied these very things. And ten years from now society will pay the price for denying her the very essence of being a kid – being a kid.

Believe me. We will pay.

Next: The Trouble with Primary Education

Contrary to popular belief, I am not one of these. I have Job-like patience on our roads. I keep my cool 11 times out of 10. Unless of course some misinformed jackass attempts to overlap and then try and force an entry before me.

This I will refuse on principle.

But I digress.

A good friend of mine, who we’ll call Abel, does have a road rage problem. He further has a rather unique way to deal with errant motorists who cut him off or hoot at him. He especially hates being hooted at.

If you hoot at Abel while within earshot, the following will happen.

The composed mien, smile of bonhomie modeled on Santa Claus and air of reserve go straight out the window.

Like Stevenson’s Mr. Hyde, Abel will emerge from his Mitsubishi wild of eye and disheveled of hair. His right fist will be wrapped around the handle of those Somali swords peddled by shifty eyed swarthy gentlemen in Eastleigh and its environs where the Kenya Police Service subcontracts security.

His left hand will be wrapped around the end a beautifully engraved cane that looks too elaborate to actually discharge its duties.

Vein pulsing in his forehead, and lower jaw jutting threateningly outwards, Abel will seek out the errant hooter. He will leave his engine running and his door flapping pathetically open in his determination.

The hooter, shocked at first and then descending into a panic will look around frantically for escape. Seeing none, the hooter will do the next best thing and roll up the window.

In no time Abel will be at the window. Things will develop as follows

1. If you hooted, Abel will knock on your closed window with the end of the cane and smile encouragingly for you to open
2. If you cut him off Abel will knock with the haft of the sword, and smile encouragingly

When I say “smile encouragingly” I do not mean that smile of SpongeBob Squarepants or Johnny Bravo.

That is the smile Abel intends to smile. What comes out is that of Chucky or Samuel L Jackson when he is in a bad mood.

Things invariably get very tense.

Reliable witnesses have informed me of grown men depositing their digested lunch in their cotton undergarments in the presence of a wild eyed man who clearly means business.

I once witnessed Abel very casually informing a terrified matatu driver that the next time he (the driver) cut him (Abel) off, he (Abel) would slice the soles of his (the driver) feet into tiny boxes that he will proceed to feed to his (Abel) cat.

This no doubt is a later refinement of filet of sole.

Just last month en route to his Church where he leads worship sessions, Abel encountered another errant matatu driver.

As his friend and mentor even I quaked as I heard Abel cheerfully inform the catatonic matatu driver that the next time he (the driver) cut him (Abel) off, he (Abel) would locate his (the driver) children and eat them with lettuce and a nice Chianti, with strawberries in sherbet for dessert.

Never a man for empty threats, Abel then leaves his mark. This ranges from a scratch on the paint from his sword to hacking off the radio aerial. Mutual friends inform me of a particularly intense event where a matatu not only cut him off but dented his fender and the driver gave a speechless Abel the finger.

Well, that vehicle had its side mirrors lopped off in two clean strokes from Abel’s sword as stunned onlookers watched.

Likely having never read Henry IV, the matatu driver arrived at the same conclusion about discretion being the better part of valour and effected a speedy exit through the window on the passenger’s side and disappeared into the night like an MP’s common sense.

And so friends, try not to overlap. You might cut off Abel. Then you will get the full Cane experience!

I think this would make Facebook a damn sight more useful. And interesting.

You don’t know meWe’ve actually met once. Chances are you don’t remember. But it’s all good. I tried very hard to be incognito during that occasion.

I wish you all the best on your recent tribulations. It must be rough being accused of all the things you are accused of. May justice prevail in the end.

There’s something I’d like to ask you.

Increasingly of late you have been saying “Tuko pamoja”, presumably as a way of indicating solidarity with we, the unwashed masses.

You probably mean well, but I find it difficult to relate with you.

Perhaps I can explain

1. You don’t pay taxes
2. As wealthy people go, you and your family are not doing too badly
3. You have a handsome housing allowance
4. Your vehicle transportation is paid for, so you won’t notice the fuel hikes
5. You fly abroad at government expense, and stay in fairly good hotels at government expense as well
6. While at the airports you make use of the VIP lounge
7. You probably don’t know where to get matatus for Komarock
8. Few of us have airports named after their fathers (JKIA)
9. Few of us have highways named after us (Uhuru Highway)
10. Few of us have parks named after us (Uhuru Park)
11. Few of us have streets named after us (Kenyatta Avenue)
12. Few of us have universities named after us (Kenyatta University)
13. Few of us have conference centers named after us (KICC)
14. Your home is palatial. (And absolutely awesome sir. Very well done!)

How then, sir, are we ‘pamoja’? On what possible fronts can you relate to the common man who has been crippled by the 9 bob rise in kerosene prices?

If I may be impertinent enough to presume to offer you unsolicited advice – I suggest you adopt another catch phrase.

I know you mean well, but it may – MAY come across as a mockery.

Tuko PamojaWarmest regards,

A Kenyan

I stand unsure whether to weep or laugh at the absurdity of Kenyans celebrating the return of possible perpetrators of the election violence. These same Kenyans for some reason don’t give a rat’s ass about the victims who lost family, friends, property, homes and livelihoods!

Please, using well annotated diagrams, in which parallel universe to we celebrate the perpetrators and not the victims?

Yes, my entire torso is covered with bird seed, chicken droppings and feathers. This is because I preferred to lie face down in a chicken coop that accommodates six dozen chicken suffering from acute diarrhoea than have to listen to another second of blasted ‘Live Coverage’ of windbags returning to the country.

I am forced to conclude that the media’s insistence on perpetuating this farce is a start reminder that perhaps the media is missing among the Ocampo 6.

Helping broadcast innuendo, tribalism and hate speech as far as I am concerned makes the media just as guilty as the perpetrators.

And to add insult to injury these guys are being covered in such detail I am reminded of a movie I heard in some obscure movie

Your head is so far up his arse you can see daylight

I mean, c’mon! Media has a responsibility to the people of this great country.

How I wish for a vibrant, responsible media with the brass cojones to collectively decide:

You know what? This story is fracturing this country right down the middle. As patriots and fellow citizens we refuse to participate in this.

But no. We are getting blow by blow description of the very personifications of impunity. It is just a matter of time before we hear

And after that colossal dump, His Excellency {bleep} {bleep} has now proceeded to wipe his backside with Rosy (2 Ply) in pink. He will then flush the toilet, belch and walk over to the corner where his discarded, slightly soiled y-fronts lie

Journalism indeed.

My resolve in relocating to the farm and spending happy periods in the presence of belching and farting bovines grows stronger as I listen to KBC talk about these Muppets as ‘heroes’. As my good friend David would say

Dude.

WTF

In preparation for my move I am quite simply boycotting any local media I see happily rushing this country to it’s doom.

Starting with

Citizen TV

The Standard

KBC

KTN

Capital FM

K24

Quite simply I am going to boycott these media houses in every way, shape and form. This includes

• Not buying their newspapers
• Not watching their broadcasts
• Not wrapping chips in their newspapers
• Not polishing my shoes with their newspapers
• Not cleaning my windows with their newspapers
• Not wrapping meat with their newspapers
• Not expressing amazement at their stunning range of Mexican Soaps

I’m hoping many of us will follow suit. They will definitely hurt if enough of us do this.

Given a newspaper is 40 bob, and I buy two every day, in a week that is 200 bob and in 53 weeks that is 10,600/-

Suppose just a million of us refused to buy the Standard for a year. That would be 10,600,000,000.

That they will feel.

Or if we refused to watch KTN/Citizen/KBC.

And the nail on the coffin – no eyeballs – no advertising. No advertiser will advertise with them.

Is it just me who is seeing the parallels between what is happening here and what happened before Rwanda exploded?

What say you?

Stop The Madness. #isupportocampo6mediablackout

I say this because such a lifestyle is infinitely more pleasurable to the absurdity that is the farce of the ICC circus.

Concerned friends thought I was simultaneously having a stroke and a powerful bout of diarrhoea as I took in the sight of Uhuru Kenyatta and William Ruto in a stadium in Nakuru being cheered on by thousands, some of whom invariably lost family in Nakuru. As a great man once asked succinctly, “Dude – WTF?”

Other concerned friends confiscated all the sharp objects around me as I digested the news that 40+ MPs, whose responsibility is making laws and looking after the interests of their constituents were electing to abdicate this responsibility to travel as paid windbags to the Hague, ostensibly in solidarity with the six. How, for goodness sake does this happen? Why aren’t these muppets in solidarity with the internally displaced?

Who will pay for these tickets? Let us assume that a return ticket is 180,000. For 40 windbags this is a travel budget of 7,200,000. Yes sir, 7.2 million iron men being wasted. We are yet to even think about accommodation, transport and meals for the 6 Alis Baba and their 40 appropriators of wealth that is not strictly speaking theirs.

I can just imagine the cumulative effect of these 40 idlers on the Dutch populace who have never seen professional time wasters in person.

One cannot talk about this matter without touching on His Excellency Stephen Kalonzo Muskoka. I had the misfortune of meeting him the other day during some innocuous event. He said to me “Good morning” and dear reader I must confess at the time to being unable to believe even those words that came out of his lips.

I wonder if there is anyone, besides his loving wife that takes that gentleman seriously (and even that is speculation).

This man has been flying around in shitshuttle diplomacy to convince other countries to back the deferral of the ICC case.

The realization that this government has probably done more to assist the Ocampo 6 than it has for the IDP victims makes me want to expand my KPIs at the farm to stripping down to boxers and wrestling with fat, greasy pigs every morning in an attempt to exercise them.

This past Sunday in a gratuitous charade of theatre show of emotion Uhuru Kenyatta’s tearful mother blessed her son and William Ruto and accused colonialists of the troubles befalling her offspring.

It is pure speculation that she later wondered why hungry people unable to get bread were not eating chocolate biscuits.

My life flashed before my eyes as the porridge I was drinking went down the wrong way and threatened to kill me when Mrs. Kenyatta promised to write a bestseller detailing modern colonialism in this country.

This reminds me of the time a some indignant hyenas and lions promised an assorted pack of wildebeest, kudu, gazelles and buffalo to write a tell all expose on dangerous carnivores in the Masai Mara.

But let us return the the matter at hand and look at the famous 6

William Ruto, aka The Corn Man

Todate William Ruto has been unable to shake off the powdery white substance that looks remarkably like flour that enveloped him while he was custodian of the country’s Agriculture ministry.

There has been intense speculation over the past few years that William has a ‘tell’ such that it is possible to know when he is lying. The tell apparently is that his lips move.

Brigadier General Hussein Ali, aka the Postmaster

Good old Brigadier Ali is called the Postmaster for the excellent reason that he is the Postmaster.

The Brigadier probably bitterly regrets ever picking up the phone and taking instructions from his Commander In Chief to nip in the bud an army career to come and run the police force.

Todate he is still stamping out crime, but in denominations of 20 shillings

Ambassador Francis Muthaura, aka Ambassador Francis Muthaura

Some small boys I regularly play football with expressed surprise when I corrected them by informing them that ‘Ambassador’ was not actually his first name.

Uhuru Kenyatta, aka AKA

Anyone with an appreciation of timber furniture especially tables would do well to be wary of this gentleman, who has a penchant for banging tables in anger. Uhuru Kenyatta is a man whom at some level I admire. Anyone who can see no contradiction between advocating for togetherness of Kenyans as a people while simultaneously speaking in vernacular and threatening those unwilling to toe the line is to be admired.

Henry Kosgey, aka The G-Man

Henry Kosgey, commonly referred to as the dinosaur of Kenyan politics is a man whose chief claim to fame is an unwillingness to use the letter C. This naturally greates a guagmire for segretaries taging digtation

Joshua Arap Sang, aka News In Brief

Arap Sang, a diminutive journalist invariably is known to many as “Habari Kwa Ufupi”. Arap Sang has cultivated my personal admiration in his attempts to get out of having to go to the Hague. Hampered by a lack of wealth like his fellow 6 he has been forced to

1. Write shamelessly to the ICC that he, a trained and professional journalist, suddenly finds it difficult to communicate in English
2. Write again to the ICC to request funds for his transport and accommodation. Nothing fancy, you understand

He has also, impressively within the same week managed to break his arm.

This is bound to be an interesting week!