I have just looked at the line-up of those trying to vie for a certain seat somewhere and I am in tears. From laughter. I am sure the numbers are set to increase.
Ladies and gentlemen, it is the season. You must be very careful. This is the time you can innocently go to the bar and leave as a political aspirant ready to risk even your kidneys for a seat you did not care about two weeks ago.
This is the season you hear careless proclamations like, “my people begged me to take up this seat, and I have decided to honour their wishes!”(How gracious of you! )
First of all. How many people do you have? It’s all about the numbers. This thing of using rhetoric and thinking it will translate to facts needs to just stop.
So let me attempt to translate ‘My people begged me to take up this seat’.
You went to your local bar. It was a good day, some deal came through so you have some loose coins to spend. You find some usual suspects. You order a teenage whiskey, the one that is actually an adult by government standards, that is can get an ID.
The stories are flowing, and because you are buying the bottles, everyone is agreeing with your unfounded ideas on what development should look like. Then some fool asks you, “Have you ever thought of joining politics?” The seed has been planted, then watered by the nectar of the gods.
It sounds like a plausible idea. I mean, you went to a good school, you can string some English words together, you have 2,000 friends on Facebook. Imagine if each of those 2,000 just brought 1,000 of their friends online? Besides, your friends at the bar are all popular guys. And you can prove it. When they share a meme, they get more than 100 likes in less than an hour.
In fact, one of your pals has come up with a brilliant idea. There is no need to waste money on office space. The local will be the campaign headquarters. All you have to do is buy two mzingas when your “team” meets, and they do not have to be teenage whisky. (You have not put to account that those clowns will meet daily!)
Suddenly you are kiongos, Mhesh! Your head suddenly got so big, with hot air. So much hot air your brain is suffocating. You convinced yourself you are the next leader.
So that is how your “constituents” begged you and you honoured them by accepting.
Every time you walk into the local, I mean campaign headquarters, the waiters salute, your friends cheer and strangers stare curiously. Why wouldn’t they? You are providing easy money for hangabouts for the next two years.
If you do not wake up from the nightmare you are living, you go ahead and print campaign materials at exaggerated prices (always done by a close friend or relative) and you dish out your hard-earned money to people who will not remember your last name once you drive off.
By the way, a good lady started a thread on women’s experiences with men who “conned” them. I put the con in quotes because it is the women’s fault. Saying a man you decided to provide for, finance, against the laws of nature “conned” you is misleading.
When I said women are not supposed to give men money, I was told all manner of things. It will always end in premium tears. Men are born providers. Women submit to a provider. When a woman provides, she will be very disrespectful outrightly or subliminally.
Result, the man finds where he can be his true self, where he can provide and be a man and his woman can submit. Do not argue with me, I am writing this by the beach and I have consulted the ancestors.