Life at Jiji Ndogo has not been easy, but the last four years have been tough for everyone in the entire country since it’s been one disaster after another. Just as we were celebrating the end of the Covid pandemic, Putin just had to go and pitch tent in Zelensky’s backyard, ruining the whole world’s barbecue.
On its hills was the always tense election period. True, there was no violence to speak of, but with the supposed looting of the nation’s coffers as former occupiers fled, the economy tanked and everyone had to tighten their belts and dig deeper into their pockets to fund the regime.
Then came the floods. Farms and structures swept away in the space of a month. Whatever little Uncle Sam (as they call him in the land of Mr. McDonald the clown) left behind, went into reconstructing a semblance of normal life.
This is what Ponda Mali tells us from his podium on his second visit to our village bearing even less than he had brought the first time around.
He continues: “And as hard and difficult as that sounds, we still need to do more. Our country is like a vehicle. Some of you have cars so you know what I’m saying.”
A member of the audience shouts, “Wengine hatuna hata baiskeli.”
“I understand and empathise, but I was only giving an example. Okay, let’s talk about a bicycle. Even a bicycle needs maintenance. It needs…” He turns to a member of his entourage who whispers in his ear. “Yes! It needs grease in the…”
His assistant says, “Hubs.”
“Grease in the hubs,” Ponda Mali echoes. “And…”
“Air pressure.”
“Yes! A bike needs air pressure.”
“And oiling the chain.”
“Thank you. And oiling the chain. To oil a bike’s chain, you need money. That’s why we need you to dig deeper a little more. Your country needs you.”
“Na wewe?” shouts one woman who, given her soiled hands, seems to have been interrupted in the process of mudding her house. “Na wewe country yako haikuhitaji?”
Ponda Mali looks surprised. His hand on his heart, he says, “Whatever do you mean? I’m always on the move trying to make my constituents’ lives better. I can’t remember the last time I had supper with my wife and kid.”
“Kids, sir,” his assistant whispers. “You have six of them?”
“Six?” he shouts before getting a hold of himself and returning to his audience. “Yes, my wife and kids. I’ve been sacrificing—”
“Sacrificing what?” bellows a particularly angry man. “Look at your entourage. Why do you need 20 petrol-guzzlers and 50 people around you?”
Ponda Mali looks around. “I don’t have 50 people with me. My escort is only…”
“It’s 56, sir,” the assistant chimes in.
Ponda Mali grimaces and swallows. “Okay, that might seem like a lot, but everyone, every one of these men and women behind me is important to the mission of representing you, my people.”
Chomelea, the guy responsible for all the patches on plastics in Jiji Ndogo steps up. “Wait a minute. Si ule ni Chekesha? Why do you need to travel with a social media star on our bill?”
“Oh, him? Uhm… he’s part of my… You know what, I don’t have to explain everything. You elected me and I’m doing my job the best way I know. You people think leadership is easy? If you think this is too much, consider the alternative.”
Chomelea rubs his chin. “And what is the alternative?”
He shrugs with a coy smile. “None, I guess?”
“That may be true, but only for the next four years.”
Source: theStars .co.ke
Original writer: