A LEADER’S DIARY IN KENYA - (An award winning article)

Out of tilt the universe is. Maybe so, there will be more hours during the day for me to plan my diary. And so on a very graceful day as such I see no other better revitalization to enter into my schedule but an indulgence in a random day’s fantasy. After all, building castles in the air has never caused a remission of tax or rent. And so in my reverie I see myself a leader, honest and just caring for the needy and establishing robust reforms like no other in Kenya; a country of splendour and beauty; peace and continuity. The sun sets and rises and I am a grown up cultured African, educated in all aspects of professionalism, leadership and stature. If you asked the kindergarten kid or the high school teenager you will be interested to learn of how admirable in every aspect I turn out to be. Yearning for a more lofty position than just the currently pre-occupied senate seat, I venture into pursuing my dream.

But an ancient aphorism holds that time and tide waits for no man. Responsibility sets in. Middle age is taking toll on me. The feared crisis that comes at the middle of life did just strike and I am beginning to feel like I should have been something different, maybe a high school teacher or a humble janitor. I now have a wife, not as beautiful as I wished but modest in her own way. I have some juniors who take much after me, right from my long ears to my radical temperament. Then I realise a portion of the fantasy may not come true; because I weigh heavier, unto my previous mass I now have dependants.

An honourable opportunity to serve in a ministerial post comes by. I am not certain which exactly it is because I am not interested in the details and deliverables contained within it. All I know is that I need money. I do not mind accepting a bribe, because it is the order of the day in this line of duty. Neither do I mind retrenching the public servants to allow for a larger pool of unused money. More of the reason is that my wife, from whom I have stayed away for long, has cancer. She needs treatment.

It is barely past mid-day in my life and behold an opportunity to be president strides by. Just then I have a revelation and so have to do only but one thing. Who am I to do away with the old formalities of doing things? Have they not proven to be ideal in the attaining of self-aiding goals? Fast movement calls for solitude, further coverage of distance requires a team. But I need to ascend to the peak of politics quick, some blood has to be shed. But still I need people. Who shall chop off the heads? Who is stone hearted enough to kill the mothers as their children watch?

Being the schemer I am, I know that it would harm if I dared not double-check my plans. And so I knowingly deny them their rights as an oppression strategy to make them vote for me. The region under my senate who bear not my tribe feel the gall taste of my schemes. Knowing the demographics of the marginalized districts, I am certain of a double birth rate this year. And so all projects concerning the hospital I had promised to renovate along the new ones to be built, I halt. Consequentially, pregnant mothers die giving birth at home.

Further on I twist their arm. The jobs at hand, as now an accustomed norm I give to my tribesmen. What then takes pre-eminence is a short-term idleness which leads to social vile as a means to fend for the needy families. Knowing too well that the latter vice may result into a rise of HIV patients, I make a call to the port to delay the anti-retro-viral cargo in a bid to shoot up the price within pharmacies. And as a final blow, using contacts I delay all water projects, I disrupt the railway and port infrastructure. Trade becomes sluggish, time is still moving and economic reports, both local and international have it that it will be decades before Kenya economically matches her neighbours, once our equals.

And with such a brilliant plan I win. But my hands reek of blood. My past is misty and bushy and my present in nigh. And with my ego, I am placed at a social stratum that is too lofty to be reached. With that, a lonely old age comes early, and the sun is soon setting on me. I must have lost count of the years I was in power and what I did with it is nothing much but a foggy collage of memoirs. I must make one plea to my attorney to be succeeded by my grandson. Only that this round, I make it clear to him, not to do as I did, and to write his diary more carefully and to bring every good schedule therein into execution. Only by this he can keep pace with the swiftly changing moments.


I care the least; my doctor’s report screams that I only have five months left to live. Having learnt my lesson the bitter way, I know that I have not the time for self-pity or dejection. I have to plan on how to repay for all my deeds within these five months. I have planned but I will not execute. It is only two weeks after imprisonment and it seems that all agenda in today’s diary is done. He who lives by the sword dies by it. I just met an old foe in prison, and his salutation was a sharp dagger into my heart. It indeed was a long day.

And as an African leader, I wasted a better part of it on my selfish interests. In my time bitterness has filled the heart of many. It is time to go rest or rather pay. Maybe my grandson will do better. But already in my graveyard I hear wrangles and see fresh blood oozing into the soil. He just pulled his first murder!

(This article, written by me won the 2013 PERL contest. Follow this link for more details: http://www.perlprojects.org/Project-sites/PERL/News-Events/News/PERL-Media-competition-winners-2013)