The mourning is over, and we have to look at history in the face and be instructed by it. We have to tell the truth to millions who didn’t know the man that was, now no more, Moi. We have to tell posterity why they should never be like such a man. We may have spent hours quoting the verses Moi knew but the knowledge of the holy script is not what confers righteousness but it’s practice. He may have walked by the holy script in his final years at Kabarak but this telescope is facing the State House. Those that came close to describing the man he truly was, simply said he was not an angel or they forgave him without naming the injuries suffered for political expediency. A grown man who had the coveted privilege of striking fear in the heart of little kids under 10 years of age should not be given the privilege of being called less than an angel. The kids probably thought of him as a monster.

When he reigned, you were wise not to mention his name when criticizing him; we simply called him MO.1.  Under his watch, people disappear, tortured, assassinated, murdered, and detained without trial, entire railway system collapsed, roads were a network of potholes, citizens had to borrow clothes for a special occasion from their neighbors, most of Kenya walked bare feet, CBK was his personal bank to dish out tonnes of money during harambees to cement his name in every village.  Every child from class 3 was required to attend his harambees more than 10km away, most of them bare feet. Those that lived further from the venue but along his planned route had to line up the streets and demonstrate allegiance by standing attention with fear stricken hearts. He was so trivial that he knew of quarrels and fist-fights in a village hundreds of kilometers from State House. He knew your local chief by name and this knowledge conferred to the chief the same terrorizing powers.

Those that eulogized him told us none of them could face him, grown men went underground for days and others left “mtoto” to represent them, for when she looked behind her “all of them had taken off” just before meeting Moi. We now know he was a man without senior advisers; he looked up to clueless juniors, beholden surrogates and village chiefs for advice.  The mere mortals were so afraid of him, paralyzed by fear, they dropped the phone when they heard Moi’s voice on the other side of the phone as he hatched new surrogates. He looked for the powerless and converted them into his surrogates, by personally educating them or through successive calculated appointments to ensure loyalty to him.

When he decided he could not rig elections anymore, as old age was catching up or maybe abdominal aortic aneurysm required this of him; we threw stones at him, even spat at him. This is how unafraid Kenyans had become of him who thought he was eternally feared. Isn’t it amazing that when fear rules at some point people become unafraid and their flight turns into a fight?  A man on a wheel chair succeed him. On that day we forgot to celebrate what we had achieved in the Economist but we had to tell him to his face “yote yawezeka bila Moi.” The song was like cold water to a thirsty soul. The moment he left, the economy started growing by 7%.  Had he done this when he took over, Kenya’s economy would have grown by 168% by the time he was leaving. But instead, in effect, The World Bank occupied Harambee House. We know what the Economist did to transform our economy in five short years and continued for another five, albeit slowly. Until Moi’s surrogates, akin to hyenas dressed in sheep clothes went to the House; and they turned on the sheep. They made us a market for their family empires, their imported goods and international business partners; instead of teaching our kids how to make this stuff and continue where the Economist had left off. I wish it was the Economist who was trying to trick us to perpetuate his power but he had come in old age and frailty could not allow it but its clueless Kamwana for goodness sake.

Let the current and the future occupant of State House know they too will lay in state. They too are subject to decay and rot. Moi’s last days above ground were spent in display of powerlessness. In this state, he was feared by none and possessed NOTHING, in fact he was unknown by millions especially those born after 1995; who form the majority in this nation.

The current and the future occupant of State House should be wise to remember; power is transient. It will always revert to those who delegated it, either by vote or force. If they utilize the 10 years that we give them, like the Economist, there will be no need to trick us to extending their time there. Moi taught us that longevity in power does not translate to more opportunity to do good, longevity only perpetuate for generations, the bad that exist. And we’re EXHAUSTED by the bad that exists and nostalgic of the Economist.  We are acutely allergic to those that went to Moi’s school of politics, ALL OF THEM. If you told us that Moi was your mentor or graduated from his school of politics, we know what makes up your inner core. Your core reflexes are what hampered Kenya for 24 years.

Corona virus threatens us, yet you only gave preparedness instructions just yesterday, as if the news just broke in State House. Educated youths are jobless and yet you lead with a stupor. Chinese embassy has become the source of information for our media concerning public health concerns and who is entering our airspace. Hail our new colonial masters! You have miscalculated Kenyans to think that even after glaring failure; coffee, tea, milk, youth unemployment due to substandard curriculum and commercialization of education, we are gullible to extend your time.

If you ever hold any power in this nation, in whichever capacity, remember that true owners of the power you exercise don’t need your permission to get it back and time is always a beautiful thing. Be instructed by the who was who in Moi’s time , and Moi himself, now laying helpless in decay and foul stench, 6 feet under.

Robert Mwangi, Bsc Nursing, MBA Finance. He is the author of the book DOLLAR ALTAR

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