Kindiki has finally arrived but he must remember to tread lightly

 

Greetings from the Anthills of Emanyulia, Your Excellency, Prof Abraham Kithure Kindiki. We bring a message of goodwill and empathy.

We say here that when a man smiles, the gods smile. Clearly, you’ve been smiling. You are scaling the heights of power and influence. You now rank very high in the exclusive club of national movers and shakers. You hold both the yam and the knife. You decide who will eat the yam and who eats the peelings. So, congratulations once again, regardless of the hullabaloo about your arrival.

It’s been a long journey, even when measured only from the days we sat together in television studios, on chilly mornings. We agonised about our country. We were outsiders, ruminating and perorating on the doings of the political greats. We carved scenarios. We speculated. We wondered where the marbles would rest. We just loved scrutinising the men in the arena.

But now you are in the arena. You have quit the Anthill family. You recall how wiseman Achebe told us about the Anthills of the Savannah grasslands? In these landscapes of Africa, anthills hide under lushy foliage in the rain season. It is a rare grassy beauty. Fresh tendrils, among whom you are now counted, glow in the bright sunshine, as sweet birds sing.

But the serpent also hisses where the sweet birds sing. That’s Thomas Hardy saying this. Beware sweet bird songs. The dry season will come. The grass will dry up. Forest fires will come. Dry grass will go up in flames. In the aftermath, only ugly dusty scarred landscapes are left. They speak of black ash and dust. And thousands of ugly anthills. When the winds blow, the dust irritates our eyes and nostrils.

Then the rains return. The cycle repeats itself. The new tendrils don’t ask the anthills what happened to the former grass. They don’t ask about the man called Rigathi Gachagua. Two years ago, he arrived singing with the birds and dancing with the grass. Now he eats the bread of sorrow and drinks the waters of affliction.

The songs and dance are now yours. The boss even elbows you playfully, for all to see. But, just remember the man called Riggy–G. Don’t hug the boss. I see that they are experimenting with the name Abra–K for you. Reject it. Run away, fast. In our youth, Abra–K was short for abracadabra. But if you want to be abracadabra, we cannot stop you. Only remember, you swim among fellow giant fish, in shark-infested waters.

Remember too, that you have arrived with unfinished business. Parents are crying, asking about their children. These Gen-Zs disappeared into thin air under your watch. Families are crying about the abductions of relatives, again as you watched. You said nothing about hooded Mafiosi, Your Excellency. You seemed happy when the police clobbered children in the streets.

Shall we ever get the answers, Sir? Do we forget about our missing children and move on? Do we toast to your good health and to the Kenya Kwanza government, and count our missing children among the things we have lost? In good conscience, can you look in the mirror and say, it is well?

In other news, in a gone age, we discussed Robert Green and his 48 Laws of Power. You were the bishop. There is no need to preach to the bishop. But sometimes the bishop forgets, too. Don’t forget, Professor. The boss – and especially WSR –  is always right. Don’t outshine him, even as he tells you to tell us what you people in the government are doing. If you do, Abra–K will follow the Riggy–G route.

Finally, these few home truths will escort you to Karen. You have travelled around the world. You have seen that we have a good country. But it is in the wrong hands. You people have failed us. You are rich with sugary stories and make-believe, but empty on delivery. That makes your hands wrong. Why are you selling our heritage? What are these Adani things? Why have you captured Parliament? Why are you cracking your way into the Judiciary? Why is IEBC dead? Why is health ailing under SHA? Why is education in the doldrums? CBC looks directionless, universities are stuck. Good grief, Professor, what is government about?

As you ponder, remember Max Ehrmann’s Desiderata, “Go placidly amid the noise and the haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence... Speak your truth quietly and clearly...” Good luck.

Dr Muluka is a strategic communications adviser. www.barrackmuluka.co.ke