Charity must begin at home, but Uhuru exports it abroad

By PETER KIMANI

On the face of it, the image of Uhuru Kenyatta, also known as UK, hugging Tinga moments after arriving from The Hague, or Madam Charity sitting, arms crossed to snub Wiper greetings, as Esther Murugi smiles from ear to ear, could be mistaken for childish displays worth nothing more than entertainment.

But these are revealing snapshots of our leaders’ character. If you watch and listen to Charity speak about her unnamed nemesis, the one she blames for plotting her political downfall, her pretty face curls into a sneer that blemishes her beauty.

She often does what Nelson Mandela warns against: allowing bitterness to well in her bosom. Bitterness, Mandela warns, is like swallowing poison, then expecting your enemy to fall from its toxicity.

Charity knows charity begins at home, but the unnamed person won’t allow any cultivation of that; he is intent on removing her from the influential position as a leader in Ukambani.

Some whisper Wiper is the man Charity has been hinting at as responsible for her tribulations, but I find that hard to believe. Wiper’s demeanour and temperament do not persuade me he means ill of anyone.

So when their tiff was reported last weekend, I scoured for videos and analysed them. It is neither true nor fair to say Charity snubbed Wiper’s handshake.

Actually, Wiper seems to stagger from the hearty hug he receives from another pretty woman I did not recognise, and was only steadying himself when he (almost) landed at Charity’s feet.

For me, the focus should be on Murugi (her name means the cook in her language), and her sudden expression of unalloyed joy at the encounter between Wiper and Charity.

That should be our point of inquiry for it has lasting value: it’s an affirmation that Kenyans can find triumph even in moments of incredible bleakness.

Uhuru’s moment with Tinga is less edifying. After spending virtually all his waking hours in The Hague demanding to know why Tinga wasn’t accompanying him at the International Criminal Court, Uhuru’s antics were infantile — in the context of his sudden turn-around and hugging Tinga as a bosom buddy in Nairobi.

It’s a popular Gatundu tradition — this notion of "Why me?"

I will tell you why.

Many, many years ago, when our voices were beginning to break and beards sprout, when our outings comprised soup and mutura financed on a budget of kobole (five shillings), we ventured out one moonless night to, as it were, "jump the year."

It meant staying awake to wait for the New Year.

We went to a church in a place called Kimunyu, where Uhuru would later present his brand new bride one rainy Saturday afternoon, and transform the muddy field into a jamboree of fine food and dance.

In our earlier days, we were routinely marshalled from the school to go wave and sing for good old Jomo as he went home to Gatundu. But I digress. The story I want to call to mind is that journey to the church on the eve of the New Year. Police arrived to keep the peace, and had herded a sizeable group of young men, including my cousin Buddy, for further interrogation.

Most were let off upon explaining their circumstances but Buddy, who had taken a little muratina (before it was banned, then legalised), and couldn’t concoct an excuse fast enough. He panicked when he was motioned to the vehicle.

"Eeeh, kwani I’m the only one being arrested," he wondered aloud. Defend yourself, one policman told him but Buddy just kept repeating his question about selective justice.

Uhuru must have learnt this "why me" defence from Gatundu. It works perfectly there as Buddy was ultimately let to go. Home-grown solutions, he submits, must be given a chance abroad.

Why Wiper should be suspicious of gifts that come a wee late

There is something sinister about the timing of the completion of the Veep’s official residence in Karen. For starters, the contractor wants to hand over the property on December 13. I’m not superstitious, but why settle on a date that falls on a day associated with misfortune? Not after six years of waiting anyway.

Further, one might be tempted to ask: why now, only days after Prezzo indicated he is ready to vacate the other bigger and more spacious residence? Is someone out to fast-track Wiper’s house moving as a psychological manoeuvre to forestall his ambition to move to the more attractive residence?

Further, why the rush to complete the residence now, when a slight wait till next year could have meant completing a seven-year cycle since the project began, which at least has Biblical parallels?

For those who may have forgotten, King Solomon took seven years to build a temple. There is no suggestion here that the Karen residence could be a place of worship, but it helps that Wiper is a prayerful man.

The question is, will Wiper find adequate humility to move in to the new premises before the end of the year, or will he say it’s a case of too little too late, and ask start questioning who between them and Tinga is senior and so more deserving to move to Karen.

Wiper can say since the MoU appeared to place Tinga ahead of him, then the residence should first go to Tinga as Wiper goes house-hunting around the State House area.

More Houston house tales of unyielding yeasty meals

Last weekend, I was very lucky to find some dry maize and beans, so I was going to have the first Kenyan meal of githeri.

I also purchased sweet potatoes for breakfast, which would be washed down with a cup of over-sweetened tea made from Ketepa tea leaves and fresh ginger.

I also bought wheat flour for home-made pancakes.

My excitement died down when I got home as I realised I did not have the proper tools for the tasks ahead.

Fresh ginger, for one, could only be ground on my palm; it was the only available space that could imitate a bowl. I soaked the grains overnight, just in case they were a harvest from the last century and proved tough enough to knock off a few good teeth.

I tried making pancakes. I stirred the flour and eggs into a fine mix, then laid the pan and spread the dough. And waited. The cake wouldn’t cook.

Pancakes

I called Mwalimu, my dear friend who was marking his birthday this week. I mentioned about the pancakes that just wouldn’t cook.

"Does the flour have yeast," Mwalimu asked. I checked the King Arthur flour ingredients.

"Yes," I told Mwalimu. "That’s the reason. You need flour without yeast."