Comedian Omondi’s transient passions push him to the streets

Comedian Eric Omondi.

Comedian Eric Omondi is in the news, as always, but this time it’s not about claims of indecent exposure that assailed him when he staged the “Wife Material” series.

The “Wife Material” show, of course, is about Eric Omondi. He is the centre of attention, garlanded by a bevy of beauties who compete for his eye and ear as he evaluates their suitability, using his own undeclared yardsticks, who among them is most qualified for a wife.

This subjective process does not require any evidence that his choice is the best, other than Omondi has decided so.

But there are moments when Omondi seeks to prove to the world what he says is beyond reproach.

There was quite some opprobrium, not so long ago, when he released documents to the world to prove property ownership, although nobody really cares if he lives at the bus-stop, or in a mansion on the mountain top.

But, come to think of it; it might not be a bad idea for Omondi to prove that the car that he was gifted by Jimmi Wanjigi aka “James Bond,” actually changed hands. For those who have forgotten, Omondi was handpicked to lead the campaign to popularise the businessman’s presidential run.

In recent days and weeks, however, Omondi has been busy, not on the campaign trail, but having run-ins with the police, after he threatened to use his slight frame and force his way into Parliament.

His agenda: to petition Parliament to enact laws that insist on a fair share of airplay for local artists, although this was a sudden change of heart, coming after Omondi declared Kenyan music was dead in the waters.

I like the imagery of “dead,” calling to mind of yet another term, “deadbeat,” which was levelled against Omondi by some lass who says the comedian fathered her son.

And because Omondi is in the business of seeking and adducing proof, he demanded evidence of paternity before he could take parental responsibility over his alleged offspring. He went as far as describing their first night together and their nature of copulation.

Whether Omondi gave life to the child, we don’t know. But he was certain about the death of Kenyan music, before he sought its resurrection by trekking to Parliament with the singular aim of presenting a petition to a Member of Parliament, himself a musician of dismal repute, proposing that local content receives the lion’s share on the airwaves.

Obviously, it’s hard keeping track of Omondi’s transient interests, from seeking model wives to propping politicians to the presidency, rising to connoisseur of Kenyan music before morphing to its most ardent proponent canvassing in the streets.

When the police encountered Omondi in the streets, they sought to display the “full force of the law” by lifting him juu juu as though he were a petty criminal. Omondi illustrated remarkable agility and were it not for the tragic circumstances — brute force against a man whose main preoccupation is providing hard-pressed Kenyans with comic relief, he was as slippery as fish.

I guess by now Omondi knows street protests are a different kettle of fish, and if there are any lessons to be picked from his misadventure in Parliament buildings, it is that one should never walk alone, or risk enacting a comedy of errors.