Why we Kenyans deserve a Nobel prize for our collective genius

At times, a mzungu scientist could be chilling in a laboratory and, out of idleness, starts to tinker with this or that. Or begins playing around with specimens, giggling like a lunatic while at it, just for kicks. You know how playful and curious those guys can be! And when he accidentally makes a discovery or ends up with an invention, he not only gets praised and heralded as a genius, but also registered in the Guinness Book of World Records. What's more, he gets showered with lots of money and decorated with a Nobel Prize to boot.

Take, for instance, that hairy dude who accidentally discovered penicillin antibiotics, just by playing around with fungus he had found germinating on dirty utensils he forgot in his kitchen sink while away on vacation. Decades later, Alexander Fleming is still a celeb, just for that accidental discovery.

How about Coca cola, which some mzungu accidentally discovered while fooling around the lab as he tried to concoct a syrup to cure a pounding headache he had, only for it to backfire and leave him with a soft drink? What of that dirty-minded miscreant who, of all the things, discovered this thing called the G-spot? Never mind, centuries later, he still gets accolades and plaudits for that crazy discovery. What a lucky bugger!

Now, contrast that with the treatment that extravagantly talented and bloody smart Kenyans get when they make great discoveries. Take, for example, that Kenyan who discovered fire. Well, here, I am making the reckless assumption that the fellow was Kenyan because, if history teachers are to be believed, Kenya, and Africa by extension, is the cradle of mankind and ancient inventions. Just imagine, without the benefit of education, a modern laboratory, witchcraft or magic powers, which were a pipe dream back then, the bugger just played around with two dry sticks, rubbing them against each other rapidly and, hey presto!, he discovered fire. Without him, there would be no cooking. Yet, to date, nobody has ever deemed it appropriate to even award that genius son of the soil posthumously?

What's more, Kenya teems with witchdoctors who, without master's degrees or PhDs in, say, theology or psychology, treat weirdest of ailments such as, get this, bad luck, wasiwasi and the whole shebang (If you are a PhD holder mzungu reading this, step forward and beat that), yet there is no snowball's chance in hell that such Kenyans will ever get recognised internationally or even get a tinny paragraph worth of mention in the Guinness Book of World Records.

If, however, there is an award that we Kenyans really need to get for our collective genius, then it's that of creating employment, making an extra coin or generally making ends meet, even when all odds are stuck against us. Would you, for instance, believe, that there are Kenyans who earn a living as 'hecklers for hire'? They get hired to be planted in political rallies to boo, heckle and taunt unwanted speakers? How about individuals who idle around Nairobi's central business district, looking for lost individuals to show them directions at a fee? Well, I never believed such existed, until I got lost when I was still new in Nairobi.

Desperate to get to an establishment I had spent almost a quarter an hour looking for, I sauntered by one of those idlers who bask on that slab outside Hilton hotel, analysing politics. Upon asking, he directed me and even promised to take me there, if I wouldn't mind parting with 'tea' — euphemism for something small. I found it so hilarious that I bought him lunch. How about those forever-stranded scoundrels who, dawn to dusk, masquerade as city first-timers, begging for 'bus fare' to their relatives homes?