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My political bid has cost me my family

If you have been following my domestic affairs, then you must be knowing a few things. One, Fiolina has not been in Mwisho wa Lami since late last year. Two, my son Brandon went to live with his mother Catherina, together with her new manfriend who works in Kakamega County, and who smells of corruption.

In short, I have been living alone, like a bird that leaves the nest early in the morning and returns late at night to sleep. Once in a while I cook eggs and ugali or beef. By now you must be aware that I am not good at cooking, cleaning the house, washing utensils or clothes.

There are three ladies who occasionally visit to help with laundry. For now, I will only mention Anindo, Nyayo’s wife, and beautiful Rumona, Kizito’s wife. The third one will remain anonymous for the sake of world peace.

When I announced my bid for the MP seat, I was surprised that some people wrote off my candidacy for flimsy reasons. But what I had not known was that people would start visiting my home daily to ask for favours. They did so for a few days, then stopped. I would later hear complaints that I did not deserve to be an MP since my home was dry.

“If you cannot give people breakfast when they visit you in the morning, how can you be an MP?” Complained Tito, at Hitler’s. “This one cannot even be an MCA.”

“Dre will be a great MP,” a supporter defended me. “But I fear he will not make it since he is a bachelor. We don’t elect bachelors.”

Some people, I am informed, said I was not a bachelor, but Tito challenged them to tell him when they last saw Fiolina in Mwisho wa Lami. “Kakamega is just here, if they were still married, she would be coming every weekend.

“The problem with Dre is that he is very mean,” said Victor, Rasto’s son. “All his money goes to buying suits, can you imagine if he became MP? He will invest all CDF money in Green Kaunda suits!”

To stop the rumour of me not being married, I asked Fiolina to be visiting frequently. However, she never committed, never visited. Until last Wednesday.

I was at Hitler’s for evening classes when I received a call from a new number. It was Fiolina. “This is my other line,” she said and added that she was unable to open our magnificent house.

I rushed home and found Fiolina, Electina, Honda and Sospeter. Only Sospeter was excited to see me. 

Having lost the key to the house, I used the back door and locked it in such a way that only I can open. A foul smell hit our noses as soon as I opened. As you would imagine, I had not entered the kitchen for weeks.

“Jesus! This is a cowshed,” exclaimed Fiolina as she entered the kitchen, one hand covering her nose.

She ordered the girls to clean the kitchen, and they did so reluctantly. The bedroom was no different — a heap of my Kaunda suits worn since January lay on the floor. Vests, T-shirts, socks and other colourful paraphernalia were strewn all over. 

I had not made the bed. I have never understood the logic behind making the bed every morning, and undoing it the same day in the evening!

“Sometimes I don’t understand why I married you,” said Fiolina as she opened the window, letting in a gush of fresh air.

She spent the evening cleaning and organising the bedroom. Despite that, for obvious reasons, we slept very late that night, even ignoring interruption by bed bugs.

Word that my wife was around spread far and wide and the next morning people started arriving at my home as early as 6am. By 7.30am, there were at least six people who wanted to see me.

Fiolina asked why they wanted to see me and I told her I also did not know the reason. She prepared breakfast for them.

“Ambia Mheshimiwa niko na shida kidogo nataka kumuona,” one of the visitors told her as served them tea and mandazi.

“So, when did you become Mheshimiwa? Is that all you have been doing in my absence?” she confronted me.

“It is the people who want me to be their MP,” I told her. “I do not want to join politics but that is what the people want.”

The visitors who arrived afterwards were not lucky. Fiolina did not give them anything to eat or drink. Even worse, she told me to meet them far away from the house. 

“Go meet them at Hitler’s!” She said

More guests arrived the next morning, and Fiolina made them know, without telling them, that they were unwanted. That evening, she declared that “this was not the home I knew.”

“Just the other day it was a cowshed with no food, and after fixing that, now we have become Red Cross, feeding people daily. The children and I will be returning to Kakamega tomorrow.”

Indeed, they returned to Kakamega yesterday. The visitors who came afterwards left dejected as they needed no calculator to know that it was an empty, dry home.

I did not go to Hitler’s but I hear the matter was discussed extensively. A source closer to the source told me that the discussion ended with a stupid conclusion from Tito: “Kama Dre anataka kuwa MP, or even MCA, lazima aoe. Hana bibi. Fiolina sio bibi!”     BY DAILY NATION    

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