After gun scare, Prezzo UK offers scribes meat without meat wrappers

After gun scare, Prezzo UK offers scribes meat without meat wrappers

“It’s hard to believe he was the President of Kenya for ten years,” said the youngest political analyst in town, who also happens to be the oldest man in our household.

He is 16, so he was 6 when Prezzo UK came to power. “He resembles a man I saw in Gatundu,” he concluded.

He is right. Prezzo UK looked frazzled when he appeared to address the media in the dead of night, last weekend, when he came out of retirement to defend his eldest son, whose guns, including a hunting gun, were sought by the authorities for some unstated reasons.

Hmmm. Now you know when you and I are stuck in our toils to produce the Housing tax, the real dynasts are out in the wood hunting for deer for fun!

Well, let me stop that kind of thinking, lest I am mistaken to have been “sent” by the folks who blame Prezzo UK for anything that’s gone wrong in our land, though I hold a different view about our former Prezzo’s retirement.

I think that Prezzo UK is doing remarkably well as a pensioner, even though he claims he has not received all his marupurupu.

I think those holding on to his benefits want to ensure none of it is spent in hiring crowds to patrol the streets during maandamano, as it’s been alleged by some folks, without an iota of evidence.

Rather, my assessment of Prezzo UK - I’m insisting on calling him Prezzo UK because presidents, like soldiers, don’t retire, a fact he reiterated when he said being retired didn’t mean he was tired.

Anyway, on that recent night, the former Head of State said he was ready to keep wake at his son’s house, where he occasionally sleeps when he’s in town, for he doesn’t have a home since he left State House.

I find that hard to believe that in this wide world, the son of Jomo has no place to lay his head, now that his old home, a stone’s throw away from State House, is still under renovation.

And with his emoluments slow in coming, he is building mos mos, like the rest of us.

But that’s not to say Prezzo UK is going through a rough stretch: He seems to have added a few pounds since he left office, while his skin appeared so well-toned, I’d swear he has had a tan, only that he hasn’t been away on holiday, yet.

That could mean two things: either the man isn’t receiving adequate sunshine, which would be unlikely in his new abode in Trans Mara, or the man has been toiling and eating under the shade.

Still, that would mean he’s not doing too badly as a pensioner.

I mean most workers who return to the village after decades of work often contend with a famished menu with one food item which goes by several names posho, githeri, nyoyo.

But it only means one thing: one’s days in this world are numbered - after getting used to choice steaks in the city.

But Prezzo UK isn’t that sort of pensioner; he offered to invite scribes to his Trans Mara ranch and kill a bull for them because, perhaps in the twilight of his life, he has made a belated discovery that journalism is sacrosanct.

This is the man who famously said, then paused to let the message sink: gazeti ni ya kufunga nyama (newspapers are meat wrappers), to insinuate the low rung that he placed the Fourth Estate.

Now that he is inviting them to eat meat without the need to wrap it marks a significant shift in his relationship with scribes.

I suppose when one is an ordinary citizen who speaks and looks like an ordinary chap in Gatundu, they would reckon the extra-ordinary work done by scribes.