(Lights rise slowly on a dusty Shauri - Githirioni road. Election posters everywhere. Young men campaigning loudly. Old retired civil servants reappearing mysteriously. Former failures smiling confidently again. Every wall screaming “Leadership.”)
Mzee Kihoto: Ladies and gentlemen…welcome once again to the season of premature ambitions. Elections are still far away…but not far away for politicians…yet the thirst for the MP seat already boils like water for scalding a rooster.
Mama Ciru (fanning herself dramatically) Even my neighbor’s son— Gichuka Waithera—wants to become MP. Imagine! A man still struggling now dreaming of Parliament.
Kamau: Why not? The MP seat is sweet. Stealing public properties. Allowances, respect, foreign trips, escorts, microphones. Even old men with painful knees are resurfacing to try their luck.
Teacher Wahu (shaking head) But do they understand what they are actually chasing?
Mzee Kihoto: (smirking) Oh, they understand the sweetness very well. It is the cost they never calculate.
(Lights shift. Muhote walking confidently during campaigns. Villagers welcoming him warmly. Food offered freely. Motorcycles transporting him willingly. Everything effortless.)
Mzee Kihoto: Observe Muhote carefully. A miracle candidate. He barely spent money campaigning during his term. People; fed him, fueled him, blessed him, and elected him like a man chosen directly by angels.
Mama Ciru: We voted for him with pure hearts.
Mzee Kihoto: Yes. Pure hearts. And dangerously empty expectations.
(Lights shift sharply to Muhote inside office. Feet on desk. Relaxed. Having a conversation with another person who is not seen by camera. Then he is bored.)
Muhote: Which project? Ah…next year. Let people remain patient. After all…they elected me out of love, not development. And now I have money to woo them.
Mzee Kihoto: (to audience) And that is how entire villages received; no road, no water, no project, not even a culvert. Only dust survived his term of leadership.
(Lights dim. Campaign season again. Muhote now sweating heavily. Large duffle bag beside him. Villagers forming aggressive queues.)
Muhote: (panicking while distributing cash) Please…my people… vote for me again! Take this! And this!
Mama Ciru: (calculating carefully) Mheshimiwa…last month you gave two hundred. This month increase slightly. Life has become expensive.
Karanja: And remember; youth football tournaments, jerseys, footballs, transport, snacks. You are still “our leader. Gaitû ga gwíciaríra.”
Muhote: (sweating harder) Take! Take everything! Just remember me during voting!
Mzee Kihoto: And thus…Muhote poured out money until his pockets resembled dry riverbeds. But he misunderstood something important; hunger smiles beautifully but that does not make it loyal.
(Drumbeat.)
Mzee Kihoto: Election Day arrived. And the same voters who emptied his pockets…did not re-elect him.
(Lights blackout briefly. Lights rise. Ndume surrounded by endless requests from villagers.)
Mama Ciru: Ndume! Church harambee next Sunday. Bring something serious.
Karanja: Kírûirû Women group needs; uniforms, tents, chairs, sufuria’s, transport. You know you are already “our MP. We are only waiting to swear you in!”
Ndume: (trying to remain confident) Do not worry. I shall support everybody. I shall donate. I shall sponsor. I shall stand with the people.
Mzee Kihoto: And donate he did. Relentlessly. Until even his bank account developed drought conditions.
(Fast transitions. Church fundraisers. Hospital bills. Funerals. Youth tournaments. Women’s groups. Emergency appeals. More giving. More pressure. More smiling. Less money.)
Mzee Kihoto: By election day…Ndume’s pockets were emptier than promises printed on campaign posters. He had even loans from banks and SACCOs.
Teacher Wahu: (watching sadly) Poor man. He still believes love automatically becomes votes.
(Drumbeat. Election results announced.)
Crowd: (celebrating loudly) We did not elect him!
(Ndume collapses slowly. Lights shift to hospital bed.)
Mzee Kihoto: One week hospitalized. Diagnosis; Acute Electoral Shock.
(Lights dim slowly. Village forum. Heavy silence. People reflective now.)
Teacher Wahu: My people…hear this truth carefully. A political seat is not only power. It is also a financial trap.
Mama Ciru: But leaders must help us! Attend harambees! Support us!
Teacher Wahu: Service is written in law. Projects are written in law. Performance matters. But you people? You demand money more than leadership.
(Spotlight on Mzee Kihoto.)
Mzee Kihoto: Listen carefully. First; many people chasing the political seats are chasing: both glory…and poverty simultaneously. Some enter politics wealthy…and leave completely broken. Second; voters are experts at financially draining politicians: harambees, handouts, favors, emotional pressure, endless fundraising. Third; re-election cannot be purchased permanently. If your first term in leadership produced nothing…no amount of handouts will rescue you. Voters shall consume your money quickly—the same way side chicks munch bus fare: fast, guiltlessly, without memory. Fourth: real performance advertises itself. A leader who genuinely worked…does not need buying loyalty. Visible service becomes its own campaign.
(Long silence.)
Mzee Kihoto: So my people… if you seek leadership: protect your pocket, protect your purpose, and for heaven’s sake… protect your common sense. (Lights fade slowly. Drums echo softly. Then silence.)
Mzee Kihoto: Ladies and gentlemen…welcome once again to the season of premature ambitions. Elections are still far away…but not far away for politicians…yet the thirst for the MP seat already boils like water for scalding a rooster.
Mama Ciru (fanning herself dramatically) Even my neighbor’s son— Gichuka Waithera—wants to become MP. Imagine! A man still struggling now dreaming of Parliament.
Kamau: Why not? The MP seat is sweet. Stealing public properties. Allowances, respect, foreign trips, escorts, microphones. Even old men with painful knees are resurfacing to try their luck.
Teacher Wahu (shaking head) But do they understand what they are actually chasing?
Mzee Kihoto: (smirking) Oh, they understand the sweetness very well. It is the cost they never calculate.
(Lights shift. Muhote walking confidently during campaigns. Villagers welcoming him warmly. Food offered freely. Motorcycles transporting him willingly. Everything effortless.)
Mzee Kihoto: Observe Muhote carefully. A miracle candidate. He barely spent money campaigning during his term. People; fed him, fueled him, blessed him, and elected him like a man chosen directly by angels.
Mama Ciru: We voted for him with pure hearts.
Mzee Kihoto: Yes. Pure hearts. And dangerously empty expectations.
(Lights shift sharply to Muhote inside office. Feet on desk. Relaxed. Having a conversation with another person who is not seen by camera. Then he is bored.)
Muhote: Which project? Ah…next year. Let people remain patient. After all…they elected me out of love, not development. And now I have money to woo them.
Mzee Kihoto: (to audience) And that is how entire villages received; no road, no water, no project, not even a culvert. Only dust survived his term of leadership.
(Lights dim. Campaign season again. Muhote now sweating heavily. Large duffle bag beside him. Villagers forming aggressive queues.)
Muhote: (panicking while distributing cash) Please…my people… vote for me again! Take this! And this!
Mama Ciru: (calculating carefully) Mheshimiwa…last month you gave two hundred. This month increase slightly. Life has become expensive.
Karanja: And remember; youth football tournaments, jerseys, footballs, transport, snacks. You are still “our leader. Gaitû ga gwíciaríra.”
Muhote: (sweating harder) Take! Take everything! Just remember me during voting!
Mzee Kihoto: And thus…Muhote poured out money until his pockets resembled dry riverbeds. But he misunderstood something important; hunger smiles beautifully but that does not make it loyal.
(Drumbeat.)
Mzee Kihoto: Election Day arrived. And the same voters who emptied his pockets…did not re-elect him.
(Lights blackout briefly. Lights rise. Ndume surrounded by endless requests from villagers.)
Mama Ciru: Ndume! Church harambee next Sunday. Bring something serious.
Karanja: Kírûirû Women group needs; uniforms, tents, chairs, sufuria’s, transport. You know you are already “our MP. We are only waiting to swear you in!”
Ndume: (trying to remain confident) Do not worry. I shall support everybody. I shall donate. I shall sponsor. I shall stand with the people.
Mzee Kihoto: And donate he did. Relentlessly. Until even his bank account developed drought conditions.
(Fast transitions. Church fundraisers. Hospital bills. Funerals. Youth tournaments. Women’s groups. Emergency appeals. More giving. More pressure. More smiling. Less money.)
Mzee Kihoto: By election day…Ndume’s pockets were emptier than promises printed on campaign posters. He had even loans from banks and SACCOs.
Teacher Wahu: (watching sadly) Poor man. He still believes love automatically becomes votes.
(Drumbeat. Election results announced.)
Crowd: (celebrating loudly) We did not elect him!
(Ndume collapses slowly. Lights shift to hospital bed.)
Mzee Kihoto: One week hospitalized. Diagnosis; Acute Electoral Shock.
(Lights dim slowly. Village forum. Heavy silence. People reflective now.)
Teacher Wahu: My people…hear this truth carefully. A political seat is not only power. It is also a financial trap.
Mama Ciru: But leaders must help us! Attend harambees! Support us!
Teacher Wahu: Service is written in law. Projects are written in law. Performance matters. But you people? You demand money more than leadership.
(Spotlight on Mzee Kihoto.)
Mzee Kihoto: Listen carefully. First; many people chasing the political seats are chasing: both glory…and poverty simultaneously. Some enter politics wealthy…and leave completely broken. Second; voters are experts at financially draining politicians: harambees, handouts, favors, emotional pressure, endless fundraising. Third; re-election cannot be purchased permanently. If your first term in leadership produced nothing…no amount of handouts will rescue you. Voters shall consume your money quickly—the same way side chicks munch bus fare: fast, guiltlessly, without memory. Fourth: real performance advertises itself. A leader who genuinely worked…does not need buying loyalty. Visible service becomes its own campaign.
(Long silence.)
Mzee Kihoto: So my people… if you seek leadership: protect your pocket, protect your purpose, and for heaven’s sake… protect your common sense. (Lights fade slowly. Drums echo softly. Then silence.)
