GENTLEMEN, THIS IS NOT REALLY ABOUT THE SKIN, IS IT?

By MUTUMA MATHIU
November 29 2008

The doubling of the price of posho in just months and the (artificial?) maize shortage created by political corruption and wrong-headed policies, all harking back to the dark days of Kanu thievery and incompetence, point to the price that this country has paid, and will continue to pay, in the name of politics.

It is also the kind of situation which calls for tribal wisdom and so I will relate a story given to me this week by cultural advisor and school chum, Mr Koome Marangu.

In his village of Kioru in Murugi, Mr Marangu explained, up in the mountains of Imenti, there lived a hunter and his trusty mongrel.

Dog and master had a good, fruitful working relationship. Like our politicians, they worked together. They would hunt as partners and once the kill was made, the dog would be taken care of.

OF COURSE HE WOULD NOT GET THE choice cuts, but it could count on the hooves, the inedible parts of the head and so on while the human got the really good meat.

But the mongrel was happy with his job, it was interesting, he got to travel to distant bushes and meet different animals. And the pay, well, a dog could live on it.

One day, dog and master went out hunting and caught a particularly juicy buck. It was fat and beautiful and took all the strength of the mongrel’s jaws to hold it down, awaiting his master.

The master duly came, finished off the prey and carried it off back to the village, his faithful dog, proud and exhilarated, at his heels.

But on arrival, something strange happened. A large pack of men came to congratulate the hunter on his good job. They stayed to help with the slaughter.

The dog watched from the sidelines, occasionally rising to wag his tail and grin in appreciation of the proceedings. His stomach was, however, on fire. He had used too much energy to fell the prey and he was hungry.

But the hunter appeared to have forgotten his partner: He gave the intestines to one of the villagers, the liver and the other delicacies went to his own hut.

The dog watched with rising panic as all the scraps were shared out, then the villager hoisted the rest of the carcass and took it to his own hut. He came back and offered the hooves to a villager.

At this point the dog was on his feet, alarm quickly turning to fury. Only the skin was left and as the hunter, with the help of his villager friends prepared to ready it for curing, the mongrel swung into action.

Quick and agile, he snatched the skin between his jaws and took off like an arrow. A gaggle of villagers grabbed various weapons — simis, axes, rungus, large sticks and spears — and shot off after him.

The dog ran and ran. He barrelled past the village of Kamurita, down gorges, forded rivers shied and up deep valleys. At Katheri, ten miles away, he looked back.

The strong pack runners was hot on his tail. More miles down the road at Kianthumbi, the dog was beginning to weaken.

He took another cautious look back and the villagers were now gaining on him. He grabbed up the skin and off he went again. He ran and ran for hours in the hot sun.

At Kaing’inyo, weary and fed up, the pursuers no more than 30 paces behind, he put down the skin and turned to face the villagers. “Arume, tibwakugata [Gentlemen, this is not about the skin, is it?],” he told them.
The doubling of the price of posho in just months and the (artificial?) maize shortage created by political corruption and wrong-headed policies, all harking back to the dark days of Kanu thievery and incompetence, point to the price that this country has paid, and will continue to pay, in the name of politics.

It is also the kind of situation which calls for tribal wisdom and so I will relate a story given to me this week by cultural advisor and school chum, Mr Koome Marangu.

In his village of Kioru in Murugi, Mr Marangu explained, up in the mountains of Imenti, there lived a hunter and his trusty mongrel.

Dog and master had a good, fruitful working relationship. Like our politicians, they worked together. They would hunt as partners and once the kill was made, the dog would be taken care of.

OF COURSE HE WOULD NOT GET THE choice cuts, but it could count on the hooves, the inedible parts of the head and so on while the human got the really good meat.

But the mongrel was happy with his job, it was interesting, he got to travel to distant bushes and meet different animals. And the pay, well, a dog could live on it.

One day, dog and master went out hunting and caught a particularly juicy buck. It was fat and beautiful and took all the strength of the mongrel’s jaws to hold it down, awaiting his master.

The master duly came, finished off the prey and carried it off back to the village, his faithful dog, proud and exhilarated, at his heels.

But on arrival, something strange happened. A large pack of men came to congratulate the hunter on his good job. They stayed to help with the slaughter.

The dog watched from the sidelines, occasionally rising to wag his tail and grin in appreciation of the proceedings. His stomach was, however, on fire. He had used too much energy to fell the prey and he was hungry.

But the hunter appeared to have forgotten his partner: He gave the intestines to one of the villagers, the liver and the other delicacies went to his own hut.

The dog watched with rising panic as all the scraps were shared out, then the villager hoisted the rest of the carcass and took it to his own hut. He came back and offered the hooves to a villager.

At this point the dog was on his feet, alarm quickly turning to fury. Only the skin was left and as the hunter, with the help of his villager friends prepared to ready it for curing, the mongrel swung into action.

Quick and agile, he snatched the skin between his jaws and took off like an arrow. A gaggle of villagers grabbed various weapons — simis, axes, rungus, large sticks and spears — and shot off after him.

The dog ran and ran. He barrelled past the village of Kamurita, down gorges, forded rivers shied and up deep valleys. At Katheri, ten miles away, he looked back.

The strong pack runners was hot on his tail. More miles down the road at Kianthumbi, the dog was beginning to weaken.

He took another cautious look back and the villagers were now gaining on him. He grabbed up the skin and off he went again. He ran and ran for hours in the hot sun.

At Kaing’inyo, weary and fed up, the pursuers no more than 30 paces behind, he put down the skin and turned to face the villagers. “Arume, tibwakugata [Gentlemen, this is not about the skin, is it?],” he told them.

COMMENTS
Submitted by ray~mo
Posted November 30, 2008 07:55 AM

It's not about politics because politics is the science of government but there is no iota of science in all these. This is just people whose avarice prevents them from seeing where they are taking Kenyans. It's the bane of Kenya and hopefully one day, one day, it will be over.

Submitted by Observer01
Posted November 30, 2008 06:18 AM

We are not completely helpless. Kenyans know where they are comming from and where they are going. We've got a good case of revolution to sweep away all rot, corruption and impunity. A few couragious leaders like Raila will hold the bull by the horns and we will take the kicks. I am fron Central Provice and Raila already gotten my vote. I do not cordone impunity.

Submitted by rkg
Posted November 30, 2008 02:09 AM

The current crop of MP’s is mandated to run the country to the best of their ability. The electorate do not mind MP’s stealing from the government, or womanise. They will not loose votes because they are corrupt , led their constituents in destroying forests or impregnated a school girl. I suggest that a percentage of an MP’s salary comes from the taxes paid by their constituents.

Submitted by kenmare69
Posted November 29, 2008 10:52 PM

A few major differences between the pirates ruling in the Gulf of Aden and those ruling Kenya is that, our pirates are not anonymous to the open world, they hardly work for their loot, and don’t risk a limb like their Somali counterparts do. They also craft the law and know how to apply it to an infernal intent. Surely, there must be a way of liberating ourselves from these undead marauders, even if the opportunity is 4 years away. Let’s begin by thinking and acting as Kenyans, and not as damp tribal cocoons. That’ll be a winning strategy.

Submitted by muyanga
Posted November 29, 2008 10:50 PM

For sure it is not about the skin, these guys are precisely after our lives. But I can only squarely blame the hunter.

Submitted by SJ502
Posted November 29, 2008 09:17 PM

Looks like there is no way we will ever eliminate politicians’ greed ....we can only hope to contain it. Too many people are just plain greedy by nature. Unfortunately, just like the serial city mugger who comes in expensive cars and gifts to ask for our daughter’s hand in marriage, greed and corruption in high place will see this society over the cliff soon.