What a Kenyan would do with Ugandan MPs’ Sh29 million

Opposition MPs Wednesday returned millions of shillings they were given to fuel their guzzlers and head to their constituencies with bunches of matooke, bags of rice and sugar and cooking oil to their families and return to Kampala to bleat. Each of the 400-plus legislators was given Shs29 million to go and consult on whether Ugandans should buy more sisal ropes for playing billiard (pool table game) or not.
“It’s peculiar, no?” my Kenyan friend, Kirui, said glumly. I agreed thinking he won’t pursue the matter any further. But trusting a Kenyan to shut up is like taking the mother of your children for a virginity test that moment you begin to think you paid too much in dowry.
“Why return money you were given to buy food for your family in the village?” Kirui was saying. “Since when did your MPs begin having conscience? Do these guys know the spelling of the word ‘charity’?”
I could feel the anger in his voice. I felt his chest heave and drop about seven times, like the number of yellow underwear Abiriga bragged he bought for his wife. I decided to pay some attention to Kirui. It appears he was on point. Since he has married a Ugandan, I feel he is justified to rant for the future of his family. So I thought to myself, just because Parliament is situated adjacent the National Theatre doesn’t give these legislators the right to compete with Philip Luswata in comedic production.
But if these guys have eaten so much that they have forgotten that nauseating albeit welcome smell of fresh wads, maybe my Kenyan friend could help our MPs put the money to good use. In Kenya, those guys are wondering how we manage the daily chaos, how we have managed to live with one man for 30 effing years and how we have managed to allow every other fabric of the nation rot so bad.
Like the meme ‘what would Magufuli do?’ I put it to Kirui with a straight face: what would a Kenyan do? He wasted no time in offering his two pence.

Buy sisal for Ugandans
There was a time sisal was as common in Uganda as chapatti. It was used for making sacks. Now it is not there. “Ugandans need to grow more sisal. They have reached a time where, as a nation, they need to learn how to cue pool with not the cue itself but sisal or some such rope,” Kirui said with the seriousness of an erection.
But like I said before, when a Kenyan is talking, you just sit and listen or at least pretend to do so. Only fatigue can stop them. So I let Kirui burn himself out with explanations. “The son of Kaguta is too stubborn to wrestle,” he went on. “It doesn’t look like even Ebola virus can challenge him now. He is nimble, approachable yet unquestioningly determined to get whatever he wants. He will get his wish as far as that 102b thing is concerned. That is a given; I would stake Migongo Island for that, Mister. What Ugandans like Besigye are doing is ‘die trying.’”
Die trying? Probably right. History should show that at least some people stood up to be counted and refused to just lie down and take in the rape like Shaka Zulu’s father undergoing that public sex ritual that begot the great Shaka.
So what is with the die trying here when it won’t amount to anything at the end of the day, I asked, finally. “As you die trying, it is important to get ready to that time when death passes over you so that you can’t die but have to live through all the pain as the son of Kaguta continues to defile your wishes,” Kirui said. Then the shocker: “Did you know that you can play pool using a sisal string?”
I was perplexed. He took a swig of his gin and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, checked to ascertain there was no foam left on his hand as if it would be the measure of how much he has talked. I searched for an answer and got none. He offered it fast.
“If you can’t play pool with a string, ask Zimbabweans. That time when the cue becomes soft and lolls in your hand like a rope yet you still have to hit that ball into the hole…Ugandans need to start practising it now to accustom their lives to life with Yoweri in 2040 when age has lolled his every idea of living.”
So there will come a time when Yoweri Museveni’s continued stay in office will be akin to playing pool with a string…
“And another thing…” Kirui was resuming when I cut him short. “I’ll first digest this one if you allow me.”
He allowed, so I decided to provoke him. I told him the money could buy us sisal to string around Museveni in 2040 instead and that the balance of it would be sent to Kenya to help Uhuru service himself in power. How can a man sandwiched by Kaguta, Kiir, Kabila, and Kagame fail to pick a single lesson on how to appoint his Maragas when he is even called Kenyatta? Even if Kenyatta didn’t know how to appoint his Maragas, couldn’t he learn how to tell Maraga on telephone to make the decision and account for it?
That man Raila Odinga has been causing all sorts of confusion but he spends every night in his villa sleeping like a baby. He wines and dines like a chieftain in the Mau Mau era as if Uhuru Kenyatta has not heard of how Besigye is handled.
“Something is seriously wrong with Kenyans…” Kirui had slithered out unnoticed. I was talking to myself.