Once upon a time, during President Kibaki’s administration, the Secretary to the Cabinet dutifully presented the agenda for the next meeting. Among the weighty matters of state sat one peculiar item: Reuben Ndolo. The then-MP for Makadara was known mostly for his talent in bare knuckle political brawling.
“Who is Reuben Ndolo?” the President asked in his familiar, unhurried drawl.
“The Honourable MP for Makadara, Sir.” Silence. What the President was telling the Secretary was that he hadn’t told him anything worthwhile so far.
“He insulted you over the weekend at a political rally, Sir.” Still, Kibaki said nothing.
“He even called you General Kĩguoya, Sir.” The Secretary added a pinch of spice to the story, kijasho chembamba trickling down his spine like a serpent.
The President remained unmoved. Not a flicker of emotion, nothing. Then, he deftly picked his Parker pen and crossed the item from the agenda like a surgeon cutting out a diseased part.
“Mavi ya kuku!” Baba Jimmy muttered under his breath, though, of course, the official minutes made no mention of this final executive assessment.
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