(Night. A funeral gathering. Dim lanterns. Rain threatening. Mourners seated silently. A child has died because treatment came too late. No speeches initially. Only grief.)
Woman Mourner: The ambulance never came.
Man: Fuel shortage.
Woman: Always shortages for poor people.
(Long silence.)
Pastor Ndolo: God gives and God takes away—
Nyina wa Wanja: Stop.
(Everyone shocked.)
Nyina wa Wanja: Every funeral we blame heaven for failures created on earth. Children are dying while politicians launch billboards. Even village dispensaries collapse while leaders buy convoys. Roads disappear while campaigns become concerts. Fire engines are nowhere to be seen. And we continue dancing every election season like memory itself is cursed!
(Silence.)
Kamau: We sold our votes…then bought our suffering back slowly.
(Mzee Kihoto rises painfully.)
Mzee Kihoto: No. You sold more than votes. You sold accountability. You sold standards. You sold tomorrow. And every election…you pray regret will somehow become development.
(Heavy silence. Distant campaign music suddenly heard faintly again. Very faint. But unmistakable. Everyone freezes.)
Elder: Already?
Kamau: Another election?
Nyina wa Wanja: So soon?
Mzee Kihoto: No. Not soon. The circus never actually leaves. It only rests. (Lights dim slowly. The faint campaign music grows louder in darkness. Like a curse returning.)
Woman Mourner: The ambulance never came.
Man: Fuel shortage.
Woman: Always shortages for poor people.
(Long silence.)
Pastor Ndolo: God gives and God takes away—
Nyina wa Wanja: Stop.
(Everyone shocked.)
Nyina wa Wanja: Every funeral we blame heaven for failures created on earth. Children are dying while politicians launch billboards. Even village dispensaries collapse while leaders buy convoys. Roads disappear while campaigns become concerts. Fire engines are nowhere to be seen. And we continue dancing every election season like memory itself is cursed!
(Silence.)
Kamau: We sold our votes…then bought our suffering back slowly.
(Mzee Kihoto rises painfully.)
Mzee Kihoto: No. You sold more than votes. You sold accountability. You sold standards. You sold tomorrow. And every election…you pray regret will somehow become development.
(Heavy silence. Distant campaign music suddenly heard faintly again. Very faint. But unmistakable. Everyone freezes.)
Elder: Already?
Kamau: Another election?
Nyina wa Wanja: So soon?
Mzee Kihoto: No. Not soon. The circus never actually leaves. It only rests. (Lights dim slowly. The faint campaign music grows louder in darkness. Like a curse returning.)
