After teachers visited my home and complained of stomach upsets, I decided to take a break from campaigning and reorganise myself. In between, KCPE examinations were released and it was time to celebrate the great performance the school had posted.
But enemies of development led by Rasta and Tito, who I removed from the school’s Board of Management, started speaking ill of me.
“How can someone who can’t manage a school manage a constituency?” Wondered Rasto, saying his grandson had garnered only 214 marks in KCPE. I reminded anyone who cared to listen that the same boy had scored 214 marks the previous year under the management of Bensouda and Rasto as HM and BOM member, respectively.
“I told you Dre has no money to even vie for MCA,” said Tito. “Vying for MP seat is not a joke, inataka wanaume kamili .”
Nyayo went on to tell everyone that I had pulled out of the race for lack of resources and supporters. “He doesn’t even have teachers’ support. He almost killed a good number of them.”
It was Nyayo who told me all that had transpired at Hitler’s in my absence. He encouraged me start campaigning again. “If you continue to stay away from the public, forget about the elections.”
Last Thursday, I went to Hitler’s. I bought everyone a drink. As expected, within no time, everyone started praising me.
“For the first time we will have an MP who is like one of us,” said Nyayo, my chief of staff.
Everyone backed him, saying they expected me to change their fortunes once I ascend to power. Except Tito.
“Stop lying to Dre,” he said. “I don’t refuse that Dre has many supporters here. He has. “But our constituency is not just Mwisho wa Lami. He should go look for votes in other places as well.”
“Dre, we love you and we’re rooting for you, but Mwisho wa Lami alone will not make you an MP,” I agreed with him except for the part where he claimed he loved me.
Later on, we discussed with Nyayo and agreed that I should venture out of Mwisho wa Lami. Luckily, there was a burial two villages away and it was to take place the next day.
The burial was in the village where Ali, the fundi who built my state-of-the art house, came from.
We called him and he said he knew the pastors who would be presiding over the funeral service, noting that he would ensure I am given time to address the mourners.
We arrived just a few minutes after the service had begun. Despite objections, Nyayo was hooting loudly as we arrived to attract the attention of everyone. But no one seemed to notice my arrival — no one seemed to know me. An hour later, the sitting MP arrived.
Shortly after, the pastor allowed him to speak. “Usually, you know politicians speak last, but because Mheshimiwa has another funeral to attend to, I will allow him to speak now.”
When he stood to speak, he, after sending his condolences to the family, said he was not a politician but a leader. “The only politician we have today is Mwalimu Andrew, who is still a teacher aspiring to be an MP. That is politics. Let me invite you to come tell everyone how you will manage to be an MP yet you have failed to run your school!”
I stood up, greeted everyone and said pole to the family. “Thank you mheshimiwa for inviting me but I will speak later on after you leave,” I said and sat down.
“I know you have nothing to say and that is why you sat down,” the MP said. “Anyway, let us do a small harambee for the family. I will start by giving Sh 5,000. How much do you have Dre?” He asked me.
I contributed Sh500. The MP left immediately after the harambee. However, all the mourners followed him. He must have dished out some money because a scuffle ensued after he drove off.
When my time to speak came, I stood up and thanked the pastors for allowing me to address the mourners, and once again condoled with the family.
“Hatukujui!” Despite appeals that they keep quiet, they continued making noise. They only kept quiet when I said I would give them something after I am done speaking. I tried to explain my policies under the Tried, Tested and Trusted Transformative Framework but no one was listening.
The boys were waiting for me when I finished speaking. “Toa kitu buda!” They shouted. I was trying to avoid giving anything but Ali told me I had to. I signalled Nyayo to be ready with his motorcycle.
I gave Ali Sh400 and as the boys mobbed him, I walked to the motorcycle. As Nyayo started riding, I heard noises. “What is Sh400. Anafikiria sisi ni watoto wa shule?”
For some reason the motorcycle wasn’t moving fast and I could hear the young men coming after us. “Ua yeye, ua mwizi,” Suddenly, the motorcycle stopped abruptly. I asked Nyayo what the problem was.
“Mafuta imeisha na hakuna mafuta kabisa,” he said.
The boys were not far away. There was no time to think. I ran towards a nearby maize plantation, the young men in hot pursuit with all manner of crude weapons.
“Mheshimiwa amesema huyu tumalize, ” I heard one of them say.
Luckily, I am fit and athletic and as a result they could not catch me, plus I knew all the farms and routes. I only stopped an hour later after entering Mwisho wa Lami territories.
Although I will not report the matter anywhere, I want everyone to know that my life is in danger. Should anything happen to me, all blame will go to our MP. And if he thinks that that will make me pull out of the race, he is mistaken. I am in the race to the end!
