The Servitude of the People, Fat Cats and Empty Plates
You walk into the grand house of a politician, one of those MPs who just got a new “sitting allowance” for the parliamentary session that barely lasted two hours. The man or woman is comfortably sprawled on an expensive leather chair, sipping on some champagne they didn’t even know was made in Kenya. There’s a pile of crisp notes next to them, possibly stolen from a tender for some “unnecessary” project in a remote village that will never see the light of day. Meanwhile, you, yes, you, the mwananchi, are probably seated on a plastic chair in a room with a roof that leaks when it rains. If you have a job, it’s probably at the local kiosk, where your pay can’t even cover the price of the gas needed to get to work, much less your children’s school fees. If you’re lucky enough to have access to a public hospital, you might spend the day in a queue that’s longer than the hours it’ll take to get that life-saving treatment. Now, if you step outside, you’ll see roads that don’t lea...