Our job as Members of County Assembly (MCAs) is not as tough as you may think: It is tougher!
It not only involves having to bear the burdens of the people we represent; it also exposes us to threats unlimited.
Well, I am used to threats from my colleagues in the County Assembly, my disgruntled creditors, or even from His Popularity the Governor.
These, I can handle. But this latest threat is now unsettling. I mean the one from the Director of Public Prosecutions (DPP), one Noordin Haji. He has set his eyes on the corrupt. Not that I am guilty, get me right.
But the thought of being pounced upon when you are least suspecting can be disturbing. I hear that Noordin’s men wait until you are in bed, cuddled and snuggled next to your heart throb then vuap!
They snatch the blanket off you and lead you, dressed or otherwise, to the nearest interrogation centre. The thought of it is enough to scare even an innocent MCA like me.
If you think I am just being paranoid, wait till you hear what happened to me the other day. I arrived home after a hectic day. Hectic because the air at work that day was saturated with rumours that Noordin’s emissaries were on the prowl in our county.
It was only until I was safely in my abode under the tender care of Mama Hirohito, my mum-in-law’s daughter, that I felt safe. Not that I am guilty of anything, I repeat. After a sumptuous supper I retired to bed, not before switching off my phone. I was in no mood to receive any calls, not even from the governor himself.
The knocking on the door began softly. It grew louder and louder until it could no longer be ignored. I tip-toed to the window and peeped. What I saw made my blood run cold. Standing at the door were two men.
One was clearly Noordin himself, with handcuffs dangling in his hands. The other was a man dressed in what looked like a judge’s robe. If you imagine I began trembling, well, you are right. What did these men want from me, a well-known bribe-rejecting ward rep? I stealthy reached out for my phone and dialed the governor’s number. I knew he would intervene for me for this is one man who knew I was clean.
“The number you are calling has been switched off,” came the response. Who else could I call? Oh yes, my lawyer. I dialed his number. “The number you are calling is no longer in service.” What? I had never felt so helpless. I inched back to the window and re-peeped. My tormentors were still there. I felt trapped.
Suddenly, a flash of genius hit my mind. I had some cash — real money not small change — stacked under the bed. Why not just open the door and surrender the quid to these fellows? This would surely save me from all this trouble…but wait! Giving the DPP such a huge amount of money from unidentified sources would be the height of folly. I now wished these were just criminals out for money.
“Fungua ama tuvunje mlango,” came a most horrifying voice followed by a loud banging of the door. I got into a panic mode. If these people broke the door as they were threatening, and found the money, I would be finished! I wished I had heeded Mama Hiro’s advice and banked the money. Another flash of genius: open the door and if they find the money, tell them it belongs to Mama Hiro’s Chama.
With the confidence of a cobra, I majestically strode to the door and unlocked it. On seeing me, the two intruders did not waste time. In a fraction of a second, I was being handcuffed.
“The money is not mine,” I protested. They remained mum. “Wazee, please tuheshimiane.” I squealed repeatedly as they dragged me by the waistband into the darkness…“Baba Hiro, what is it?” It was Mama Hiro’s voice. She was poking me on the shoulder. I opened my eyes and found myself lying in bed next to her. “Why are you groaning in your sleep? Are you ok?” She asked.
I just stared at her, speechless. As I told you, the job of MCA is not easy. Na si uongo! firstname.lastname@example.org