Time and again, Kenyan politicians have had to acknowledge the fact that there are actually people out there who listen carefully to the things they say. Unfortunately, there seems to be some virulent disease that has every politician within earshot of a microphone (and the ever-attentive journalist who is prone to be hovering indiscreetly around the said microphone) unable to go for 10 minutes without doing incredibly foolish. Think of Internal Security Minister John Michuki (he of snake-rattling fame), Kiraitu Murungi (to be fair, though, he didn’t know he was recording the hit that would secure his ticket to fame [or shame, depending on how you look at it]), Ali Mwakwere (remember that little jam he got himself into a while back when he let loose on television with his garbage during the Kenyan-hostages-in-Iraq fiasco?) and you get the general picture.

I’m not sure what encourages these individuals to start spewing forth the nonsense that inevitably results in someone being embarrassed on the evening news. Just to give them the benefit of doubt, I’m tempted to believe that all those years they spend yelling their sweet-nothings into microphones at campaign rallies, typically placing everyone inside a 10-kilometre radius within 2 inches of permanent deafness, have left them with permanent tinnitus that prevents them from even properly hearing their own voices as they attempt to communicate verbally with the rest of the world. The other explanation (that we let ourselves be led by a gang of illiterate buggers, and that a troupe of monkeys with sufficient imagination wouldn’t be hard-pressed to turn in a comparable performance) is just depressing, so I shan’t dwell on it.

Why do I bring this up? You see, I consider myself an accommodating man; a faux pas here and there usually doesn’t have the stomach ulcers on a field day – indeed, error is standard configuration in the human model, isn’t it? However, every now and then, someone comes along and before you know it, you’ve stopped doing your perfect impression of a pile of some cucumbers, and your blood is boiling briskly. Take, for instance, this story on the Nation (free login required). Fred Gumo and Reuben Ndolo, Members of Parliament, decide to pay a visit to the house where our friends, the Armenians (or is it the Czechs now? I’m all for their being Martians next time we decide to change their nationality. Related: Good post by Mental here) call home. Excerpts from the article below:

To the gardener the two MPs found at the house:
Mr Gumo: You! Do not panic, I am your MP. Open the gate, you have nothing to fear; this is your country.
Mr Ndolo: Who are you and where are your white bosses?…young man, come and talk to your MPs.
Mr Gumo: Ask your bosses to come out and beat us just like they did to the police officer.

Then, the MPs’ planned course of action:

Mr Gumo and Mr Ndolo gave the Government a seven-day ultimatum to come clean on the identity of the occupants of the house and the nature of their business or else they would mobilise more than 1,000 youths to storm the house and flush out its occupants, whom they termed a security threat.

I shall be civil and not turn the rest of this post into a blood-curdling scream. But what gives these goons the impression that they can just march up to someone’s door, address a legitimately hired man in the most uncouth of manners, and start issuing threats to storm private property? You start to wonder how these guys successfully convinced their electorate to elect them to their current offices with their demeanour, their knowledge of the law, and their communications skills. For some reason, I don’t think their campaign speeches ran along the lines of “Please vote for us, or we’ll round up more that 1,000 youths to break into your houses, clobber you senseless, then march you over to the polling station, where you’ll kindly cast your ballot for us.”

Let’s get a few facts straight. Just because I work a job that doesn’t pay as much as yours doesn’t mean that you can address me as “You!”. Neither does it allow you to order me around (viz. “…come here and talk your MPs.” Emily Post would turn in her grave at this violation of etiquette, don’t you think?). Furthermore, I think it violates some sort of moral law somewhere to go over to someone’s property and demand to see someone’s “white boss”. I’d like to see Ndolo’s face when a Caucasian man pleasantly inquires with Ndolo’s housekeeper as to where her “black boss” is. No, really. He might be of the strange type that enjoys things like that. Now, fold in that part about how 2 Members of Parliament are plotting with some youths to forcefully enter private property in defiance of our very own Bill of Rights, which confirms every Kenyan’s right to own property wherever in the nation as well as every mwananchi’s freedom from arbitrary search and entry, and then we stop being friends. Granted, the alleged mercenaries are currently operating under highly suspicious circumstances, but the style of investigation that these almost crazed MPs are proposing is irregular and almost certainly illegal.

When events like these get press coverage, you’d think that news material this explosive would have the offending parties running off with their tails between their legs and in mortal fear of ever being caught in such circumstances ever again. These folks are truly one of a kind, to the point that they choose to defy simple logic like this. I say this with one eye on that time Reuben Ndolo, MP was caught red-handed on national television, calling for someone to be lynched (would he really be surprised if I told him the phrase, “Weka tyre,” stands at attention in my mind when someone says his name?). You’d think that he would have learnt a couple of lessons following the public outcry that defined the aftermath of that incident. Judging from his latest (mis)adventures, apparently not. To think that these people are meant to be the vehicles of change in our country makes for some gloomy thoughts. Effecting change in their own styles of behaviour is seemingly impossible. Such ineptitude extrapolated to matters of national importance. I think I’m going somewhere to scream now.