Stay away from people who belittle your ambitions, so they say. Well, this is good advice, but I won’t take it. If I did, I would have to run away from my house, courtesy of Mama Hirohito’s scepticism. I wonder why this daughter of my mum-in-law does not think she can be the first lady of Kenya. In case you have forgotten, let me bring you up to speed.

Last week, I made a firm decision to vie for the presidency of the Republic of Kenya. I arrived at this after deep consultations with the founder of The Chameleon Party, Bwana Kige Ugeu. He assured me that my level of popularity was far above vying for governorship. He assured me of direct nomination in his party.

It was, therefore, with great excitement that I broke this news to Mama Hiro. “What have you taken today?” she inquired.

“Why?” My question went unanswered. Instead, she continued doing things on her phone. “Dear, you need to start seeing yourself as the first lady of Kenya,” I told her. She still said nothing. In an effort to squeeze words from her, I made a call to Bwana Kige.

“Kiongozi, I suggest that we form a women’s league, kina mama na Gwinso. This should be led by my wife, of course.”

“Before you talk of that, you need to introduce yourself to the country,” came Kige’s response. “ Identify gatherings to address outside your county.”
The telephone chat managed to extract a few words from my soul mate. “Yaani you are serious about this thing?” she asked.

“Of course I am. My name must appear on the ballot paper for presidency in August.” I declared.

“Do you have the money to mount a presidential campaign?”

“I don’t need money. I will rely on the goodwill of the people,” I retorted. My soulmate gave me a look that spoke volumes about her idea of my sanity.

This, however, did not stop me from calling my political strategist, Mokonyonyo Spoiler, aka Moks. I asked him to identify places with gatherings I could address.

“I can do that very easily,” he assured me. We agreed to meet the following day and strategize further.

“Good night, in-coming the first lady,” I said to Mama Hiro before we retired for the night. I could as well have spoken to the wall.

The next day, I had a consultative meeting with my sidekick, Moks. And what an ingenious suggestion he had! Listen to him: “Bwana Gwinso, the best place to make your presence felt is at funerals.”
“Funerals?” I asked, puzzled.

“Yes. There you will get attentive audiences. All we need to do is identify burials likely to be attended by large crowds,” said my handler.
“How now?”

“Simple. Just check the obituary pages in newspapers.” He then picked one of the papers on my desk and turned to the obituary page. He scanned it for a few seconds and said, “Here. This one will be attended by a big crowd. We can begin with it.”

We agreed that for a start, I would attend the ceremony, to be held the following day in a neighbouring county. There I would introduce myself and announce my presidential ambitions.

So over the weekend, I appeared at the place, with Moks on tow. “This is a VIP. He is MCA Gwinso. Get him a place to sit, and include him in the list of speakers,” my sidekick told one of the ushers. We were immediately led to the podium. I quickly went through read the eulogy of the deceased to know the name and get a few facts I would mention in my speech.

“We also have MCA Gwinso with us here, let him say pole,” said the master of ceremonies. This was my moment of truth. I strode to the microphone and introduced myself. I said that I had known the deceased for a long time and lamented that the country had lost a true patriot.

“I want to become the president of this country, I declared. So I am pleading for your support.” Suddenly, a hand grabbed the microphone from me. How I got into the police vehicle I don’t know. “Bwana MCA, kwani you don’t know this is the stronghold of a kingpin?” asked the officer seated next to me. “You are lucky we were around.”

Mama Hiro could not hide her surprise on seeing me arriving home in a police van. “What happened?” she asked.
“Presidential candidates are normally given police escort,” I replied in a cool manner. Whether she believed that or not, sitaki kujua.