Because it’s the season when wild promises are being made – and many men are swallowing them line, hook and sinker – I think it’s appropriate that today, I talk about my personal experience with politicians, and how a man can flip the shilling’s script.
December 1997. Together with a group of friends from my ‘hood, Jericho Estate, we were contracted to provide security for Sam Okello, who was vying for the Muhoroni parliamentary seat.
From reggae dancehalls to boxing halls, our ‘hood was known for producing tough guys. One of Sam’s sisters contacted us and, when she told us her brother was a billionaire businessman who would change our lives, we jumped at the opportunity without thinking twice.
We were warned that Muhoroni was volatile, especially during elections. Everywhere we traversed in campaign cars – with a wing and a prayer for protection – locals from this sugar-growing region carried machetes. Fortunately, none among us was injured. Unfortunately, Sam, who was running on KANU ticket, was trounced by William Odongo Omamo who was carried to the August House by the National Development Party euphoria that engulfed Luo Nyanza.
The day before we left for Nairobi, Sam called us to a meeting. He was carrying a briefcase. We knew what was inside the briefcase. Legal tender. In crisp fifties, hundreds and two hundreds. It was one of those briefcases we had been guarding, carrying campaign money. Sam was wearing slippers. He placed the briefcase on the floor, nonchalantly put on ashy foot on it, then made a statement that caught us off-guard.
“Guys, name your figure.”
Sam was corporate world smart. We were street smart. Sam had been in many high profile big money negotiations before. This was our first rodeo. Sam played the psychological game of shock and awe. Our kind of shock and awe was more brawns than brains. Sam was playing grandmaster level chess, while we were fumbling our way through elemental checkers. We batted our eyelids and exchanged confused looks. The meeting concluded with Sam telling us to return to Nairobi, get our act together, and get back to him.
Lesson learnt. Man, when you are dealing with a politician who is running for office, ask to be paid upfront. Or, at least, have some sort of written agreement for the services you are providing and the payment protocol. Know that, once an election is over, the deal is off. Our unpreparedness and naivety – just like that of some men during this season – caused us to return home empty-handed. Well? You lose and learn.
Circa 2001. Our casual job at Castle Brewing’s Nairobi depot had come to and end. My friend, Emmanuel and I decided to approach Nairobi politician – Habib Omar Kongo, aka Mzee Dan – to give us seed money to start a second hand clothes business. We had done different “jobs” for Kongo. He was the Nairobi KANU chairman. During his running battles with Fred Gumo for political control of the city, he called us to beef his security.
“Nobody from mtaani has ever asked me for what you’re asking me for,” Kongo exclaimed. He was used to young men asking him for handouts, which they used to buy liquor.
This time round, we were ready when Kongo asked us to name our figure. He was so impressed that he gave us more than we asked for. He even asked us to return if we needed more backup capital. He frequented our business premise in Jericho, and bought clothes from our stall for his loved ones.
Here’s the lesson. When asking for help from a politician, don’t go with the crowd. Think for yourself. Be bold. Be prepared. Chance favours the prepared mind. And, without batting an eyelid, name your figure.
