A while back, a certain Member of Parliament had traveled to California. After whispers went around that there was an MP in the congregation, he was given a chance to greet Wenyenchi. I was shocked to hear the man start his address like this, “I am Honorable xyz…” I was in shock because it was the first time I heard someone accord himself a title that seemed more appropriate to be used by others to address him. It would appear that some territories are saturated with ego but even so, I wondered if it was proper if it were the president starting by saying, “ I am His Excellency President Ruto…” I am sure the entire nation, indeed the world, would go, duhhhh!

After this rude introduction to my supposed culture, every whence I turned, there was some MP or MCA introducing himself as Honorable so and so. But this was just the taste of my future in the Motherland. As I spent time with my folks and countrymen on diverse occasions, my ears got flooded by all sorts of characters introducing themselves with inflated titles; Engineer, Doktari, Wakili, CPA, Banker, Mwalimu etc. I have attended numerous social gatherings where I never got to know the name of a single soul as their titles are what was thrown around. The one that got me most was a man who was introduced to me as chairman and a piece of me died when I learnt that he was a chairman of a funeral committee several years back. In sacred places, I got confused when a man of the cloth greeted the flock in the name of Jesus but shortly thereafter introduced himself as Doctor, Presiding Bishop, Right Reverend. His saviour was introduced as simply Jesus but the man’s name got lost in egoist titles that would confuse a stranger in the Church to assume the worshiper was the Deity.

No doubt that some of these were hard earned titles but why do they have to be our trailblazers? Why do we have such an embarrassing thirst for ascribing ourselves big and mostly empty titles? As we spit out these titles, is it to demand that others should address us likewise or is it to announce to all the depth of our shallowness?

Those who have no titles that can easily grab the phantom respect like Plot Sellers, Shopkeepers, Businessmen, Landlords or more precisely Lords of Concrete go to great lengths. They walk with big car keys on hand and use them as the sixth finger to point at stuff in a restaurant or roadside Kibandas. Yes, for all to see what they drive to accrue themselves reverence and worship. As if the keys were not enough, they hold their phones that threaten to be tablets and make sure they put them on tables for all to associate the gadgets’ value with the owner. But then in this teenage-like shallowness, I will not be shocked if I hear one introduce himself as Businessman Otieno or Landlord Kimotho.

What is the source of this great national low-self esteem? In countries where a section of society has been subjected to severe oppression, they seem to be captured by the most severe form of attention seeking mannerisms. They wear long, thick and shiny golden chains. They adorn their teeth with golden plates. The poorest here wear branded attires from head to toe. Both men and women wear attention seeking attires Monday to Sunday. Adornment that says with a screeching exclamation, “ You must see me!” When these fail, they demand respect with the bullet. Yes, they will drive a bullet into your head at the slightest trigger just so you know “who they are.”

But for us, what is the source of our collective diagnosis that engulfs our borders from Kisumu to Kiambu and Mombasa to Malaba with auspicious low self-esteem manifested by screamed titles, oversized cars and shouting paraphernalias. Does colonial hangovers explain it? The shallow titles that made the collaborator outshine the freedom fighter. The desperate titles that made the typist feel like a writer and a driver like a spaceship navigator. In this enslaved world, a cook looked down on the farmhand and demanded respect from him even though they were both slaves. Is this how shallowness became our culture? Is this PTSD ( post traumatic stress disorder) on a national scale affecting many generations post the war that earned our freedom from British Colonizers.

In this sad state of our national delayed psychological development, I have seen a President fire a university Vice Chancellor saying, “you will know who I am.” Duhhhh! I have seen another President threaten peaceful Gen-Z with Machine guns and Tanks to prove he’s the Commander in Chief with the same bravado attitude, “matajua mimi ni nani!” I have seen a doctor deliberately delay care for an ICU patient so that his prediction of poor prognosis comes true simply because he was pointed to a more effective treatment by a person he deemed junior to him.

For a nation with citizens that threaten each other at every stage with, “you will know who I am.” The loudest here is seen to be the most powerful. They land in helicopters and fly by Landcruisers to clear any doubts. They exit the country to a declining one in a private jet to beg with a golden bowl and enslave their citizens with unconstitutional treaties. Perhaps a lesson from Moi who had arrived in the US for a similar begging mission aboard a Concorde. Mind you, the US president he was begging had never flown in one.

They teach us in church that Judas had to be hired to identify Jesus for the arrest that preceded his crucifixion. How is it that a man who had turned water into wine and fed five thousand people was not easily identifiable? If Jesus had been Kenyan, Judas would have been unnecessary. There would have been many things pointing to the man in charge of the twelve; a potbelly or a shiny suit with red tie. Perhaps the manner in which he shouted down his servants or the special seat that followed him whenever he went. But the man who was also God knew that the river is deepest where it’s most silent. You could not tell him from his followers. What a lesson?

Yes, the loudest things are not the most powerful. A thunder in a storm pales in power to the silent moon above. If you don’t believe me, ask the tides in all the oceans of the earth who give birth to them every morning and every evening? In silence trees produce the oxygen that sustains your life. Imagine how loud trees would be if they were our MPs.

But thank God forests are not MPs. They are places we seek peace in the silence of powerful trees. The power that feeds our lungs and stomach. The power that clothes our bodies and shelters us from the rain. The power that gives us that rain. The power that catches our rivers and maintains our oceans. This is the same story playing in Space. The earth orbits the silent sun in silence. But a rocket with a negligible comparison to the earth launching to the same space can deafen the ear in a threatening roar. Just like an MP in the village or the city. What’s the lesson you ask? Power is silent. Those who are powerful bridle their tongues and retreat in camouflage. Simply said, the most powerful need a Judas.

But to expect the Members of Parliament (MPs) to bridle their ego is to expect milk from a bull. We must do it ourselves. To bridle the people’s representatives whose current title does not speak to them on a daily basis as to why they hold that office. We must remind them by changing their title from MP to Delegate and address them as Mtumishi not Mhesh! To remind them that they represent us not their party or the President. To remind them that we delegate our law-making authority to them to check our First Servant aka President. To remind them they too are our servants not bosses. To end the mindset that they are Members of the House of the Arrogant. To, once and for all, ingrain in them that they are Delegates to the House of Servants!

Written by Robert Mwangi, MBA
Author of President’s Advisor,
Money Circles, Five Fingers
& Dollar Altar. He also composed Ziba Ufa and Bururi Mwonju.
www.FiveFingersNow.com