| Opinion |
Kenyans can stop Kibaki from becoming another Big Man
By Muniini K. Mulera
Dear Tingasiga:
There is good reason to hope that the recent change of guard in Kenya may lead to a change of the people’s attitude towards the rulers of that great country.
Though it is still too early to tell, a couple of things have happened during President Emilio Mwai Kibaki’s first three weeks in power that bode very well for Kenya.
When Kibaki was sworn in on Dec. 30, 2002 sitting in his wheelchair, complete with a leg cast, it had the unintended effect of telling Kenyans that their president was human and mortal like the rest of them.
Though Kibaki’s booming voice and eloquent delivery of his inaugural speech were reminiscent of the great oratory of Mzee Jomo Kenyatta, the fragility of his body was readily evident.
Watching the video and photo images of the disabled Kibaki, one recalled with amusement the extent to which the Royal Court at Gatundu went to persuade Kenyans and the world that Mzee Kenyatta, Kenya’s first president, was in robust health even when everybody knew that the octogenarian was in the very late evening of his life.
Unlike Kibaki, Kenyatta’s ailments were a state secret. The Old Man’s courtiers strongly discouraged such subversive activities like talking about, or even thinking about the inevitable passing of the president.
Kenyatta’s immortality had been drilled into the minds of Kenyans so much that even when he died in 1978, his death was initially talked about by some only in whispers.
Professor Ali A. Mazrui, the distinguished Kenyan scholar, political scientist and author, tells an amusing anecdote about how he learnt of the Kenyan leader’s death.
On the morning of Aug. 22, 1978, Mazrui was at the Norfolk Hotel in Nairobi, where he was staying during a visit to his homeland.
At about 11:00 a.m., he walked into the hotel lobby, unaware of the momentous event that had taken place about eight hours earlier at the State House in Mombasa.
An old friend spotted Mazrui, walked over to him and pulled him to a quiet corner before uttering !
a single
word.
“It has happened,” the friend whispered, almost inaudible.
“What has happened?” Mazrui inquired, with a normal voice.
“Shhhh! He has died!” the friend whispered to Mazrui, his eyes betraying deep fear.
“Who has died?” Mazrui asked, again in a normal voice.
His terrified friend pulled Mazrui to a deserted corner of the lobby and, after checking over his shoulders, whispered into Mazrui’s ear: “Kenyatta!”
Before Mazrui could react to the news, his friend had fled from the lobby to the safety of Nairobi’s streets. Even in death, Kenyatta’s mortality was still a taboo subject.
On the other hand, the display of a functionally one-legged and one-handed 71-year-old Kibaki has left no room for fantasising about his immortality.
This should encourage even his most ardent fans and supporters to focus on his works rather than his individuality, and to treat him like a normal, fallible member of homo sapiens.
Another event that has impressed me so far has been the absence of newspaper reports of political ventriloquists and experts at mimicry competing to look like and sound like the new president.
Had this been the era of Rais Mtukufu Professor Nyayo Daniel Toroitich arap Moi, Nairobi would have probably witnessed an epidemic of wheel-chair bound ministers and other politicians, complete with leg casts, riding into each other in a struggle to be photographed by a compliant horde of paparazzi.
Every statement uttered by the president would have been echoed by politicians desperate to sound more loyal to the ruler than the ruler himself.
What we have seen so far are reports of two-legged cabinet ministers issuing statements in their capacity as leaders rather than parrots in the service of the president.
One has been reading Nairobi newspapers without having to endure a blow by blow account of the president’s movements, his inconsequential utterances and a daily update on his injured leg.
My copy of yesterday’s Sunday Nation had no stories about Kibaki. The Saturda!
y Nation
only made reference to him in a story about a government programme. Kenyan papers have now become my first port of call on my daily quest for news from Africa.
Of course, it is too early to tell whether this humanisation of the president will be shared by Kenyan citizens.
The people’s attitude and behaviour will be a major determinant of what kind of president Kibaki will be two years from now.
It does not take much to transform a down-to-earth popularly elected democrat like Kibaki into an arrogant presidential monarch, an African Big Man who sees the country in his own image.
Here is an abbreviated recipe for achieving this.
First, you call him a name that his mother never gave him, something along the lines of Osagyefo, Ngwazi, Kantamanta, Le Vieux (The Old One), Number One Citizen, The Wise One, Ruhemb’ogwenjura, Mzee or Nyayo.
The Miracle from Othaya or Rainbow Warrior would be a good place to start.
Then you launch a campaign to get his photograph on the walls of every private home, public offices, shops and other organisations.
His smiling likeness graces T-shirts, lapel pins, ties and ladies scarves. Men shave their heads to appear bald like him and he is declared the best golfer in Kenya.
Delegations of traditional dancers entertain him every Sunday at the State House, where their leaders present memoranda from their grateful tribesmen demanding that he should substitute his handsome image for Moi’s on Kenyan currency.
Universities award him doctorates. NARC politicians initiate a national competition to see which district has the most schools or hospitals, roads or bridges named after The Miracle from Othaya Dr. Mwai Kibaki.
Maendeleo ya Wanawake give him a gift of an ornate, diamond studded walking stick which soon becomes his symbol of power.
A state-house official leaks a rumour that the walking stick has been empowered by Nyeri’s top traditional medicine men, and as long as Kibaki carries it, he need not fear his opponents and critics.
When o!
ppositio
n leader Uhuru Kenyatta criticises government policies and actions, the masses attack him and call him suitable names like spoiler, disgruntled, saboteur, Nyayo’s boy and Mavi ya Kuku.
NARC MPs join in the orgy of praise, and unwittingly transfer full legislative powers to the whims of the president and his courtiers.
Buoyed by such signs of national gratitude, the Miracle from Othaya embarks on meet-the-people tours during which tens of thousands of peasants abandon their life-sustaining chores to give him a hero's welcome.
Journalists follow him everywhere he goes, filing detailed stories about the little jokes he shares with his friends and how many black Mercedes limousines escort him to his favourite golf course.
His entire cabinet is required to see him off at Jomo Kenyatta International Airport whenever he is embarking on the latest of his frequent trips abroad. The entire cabinet is at the airport to welcome him back and to re-assure him of their unconditional loyalty.
His departures and arrivals are dutifully televised by the now supportive Kenya Broadcasting Corporation, whose editorials unfailingly refer to him as the Nation’s Saviour.
Before long, the dizzying days of freedom, hope and accountability that characterised the early months of the NARC government give way to an autocratic, personalised rule.
The now restless and demoralised citizenry begin to wonder what happened.
Mercifully, all this is preventable. If Kenyans can insist on policies rather personalities, actions rather accolades, substance rather than symbols, transparency rather than manipulation, and results rather than promises, they may prevent their new president from becoming yet another African Big Man.
The continent has enough of them already.
January 19, 2003 23:15:51
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