Table of Contents
Dedication
Author's Note
ACT I — THE HUNGER
Scene I — Prologue
Scene II — Kimende Market
Scene III — Announcements
and Ambitions
Scene IV — The Return of
Muhote
Scene V — The King of
Launches
Scene VI — The Land of
Loud Empty Cans
Scene VII — The Arrival
of Mungai
Scene VIII — Gichuka
Waithera Returns
ACT II — THE CIRCUS
Scene I — The Morning
After
Scene II — The Market of
Crowds
Scene III — Party
Headquarters
Scene IV — Kwamûnene
Visit
Scene V — The Church
Service
Scene VI — The Land of
Njûgûma
Scene VII — The Road
Launch
Scene VIII — The Gift
Scene IX — Gichuka
Waithera Exhausted
ACT III — THE VOTE
Scene I — Some Months to
Election
Scene II — The United
Front
Scene III — Aspirants Who
Bought Poverty
Scene IV — The Debate
Scene V — Near the Pots
of Meat
Scene VI — The Campaign
Without Time
Scene VII — The Night
Meeting
Scene VIII — Tuondo Na
Tûmíhuko
Scene IX — The Betrayal
of Gitithia
Scene X — The Familiar
Failure
Scene XI — Election Day
Scene XII — The Man Who
Kept His Word
ACT IV — THE REGRET
Scene I — Six Months
Later
Scene II — The People and
Their Hunger
Scene III — The Roads
Scene IV — The Shovels of
Lari
Scene V — Mungai’s Office
Scene VI — Kimende Market
Again
Scene VII — The Funeral
ACT V — THE FINAL WARNING
Scene I — The Silence
After
Scene II — Mungai’s
Speech
Scene III — Gichuka
Closing Conversation
Scene IV — Monologue
Dedication
Author's Note
I was born in Lari and have lived there for
many years. I know its villages, its people, its conversations, its hopes, and
its frustrations. Because of that, Lari became the setting for this play. However,
Birth of Bad Leadership is
not only about Lari.
Lari is simply the stage upon which a much
larger story is told. The issues explored in this play; bad leadership,
political manipulation, voter choices, public expectations, broken promises,
and collective responsibility, can be found in many communities across the
world. While the names and places may be familiar to some readers, the themes
belong to humanity as a whole.
To capture the realities of life at the
grassroots, I took an unusual path. For a time, I allowed many people to
believe that I intended to run for political office. I attended meetings,
visited villages, listened carefully, and engaged people in conversations about
leadership, elections, and the future of their communities. The reactions were
honest, revealing, and sometimes surprising.
Many of the scenes in this play were born
from those encounters. People spoke to me as they would speak to a political
aspirant. They shared their expectations, fears, frustrations, hopes, advice,
and criticisms. Unknown to them, I was not seeking votes; I was collecting
stories.
In many ways, the people themselves became
co-authors of this work. Their voices, attitudes, experiences, and observations
helped shape the characters and situations presented here. While this play is a
work of fiction and political satire, it is rooted in real conversations and
real human experiences.
My hope is that readers will look beyond the
setting and see themselves in the story. For this is not simply a play about
leaders. It is a play about citizens, choices, consequences, and the role each
generation plays in shaping its future.
If this play leaves you, the reader, with
one question, let it be this: How is bad leadership born? For
the answer may tell us as much about ourselves as it does about those who
govern us.
Birth of Bad Leadership
David Waithera
© 2026
ACT I — THE HUNGER
Scene I — Prologue
(Complete
darkness. Slow distant sounds emerge. Campaign music. Motorcycle engines. Horns.
Whistles. Then political slogans. Then silence. A single spotlight rises slowly
on Mzee Kihoto seated on a worn wooden stool beneath a dying lantern. He holds
an old walking stick polished by years of use. He studies the audience quietly
before speaking.)
Mzee
Kihoto: There are countries where politics is leadership. There are
countries where politics is service. And then… (He smiles faintly.) …there is Lari. In Lari, politics is weather.
It arrives loudly. It disappears suddenly. And somehow… it always leaves
destruction behind. (Pause.) Election
season in Lari is a beautiful disease. The roads become busy. The churches
become holy. The politicians become humble. Even thieves begin donating to
funerals.
(Soft
laughter.)
Ah… Do not laugh too quickly. Because
hunger can make foolishness sound reasonable. You see…in places where poverty
has stayed too long, survival becomes more urgent than wisdom. People stop
asking, “What kind of a leader is this?” Instead they ask, “What did he bring?”
And slowly… a nation begins giving birth to bad leadership.
(Campaign
convoy noise grows faintly in distance.)
In this place; children memorize
political slogans before books, youths wear political party T-shirts more
proudly than graduation gowns, and old women dance for leaders who cannot
remember their names the following morning. (He
leans forward.) But do not misunderstand me. The people of Lari are not
stupid. No. A hungry man is not stupid. A desperate woman is not ignorant. Hunger
changes mathematics. It changes morality. It changes memory. And when survival
becomes daily warfare…truth begins to sound expensive.
(Pause.)
Tonight, you shall meet; politicians
who behave like prophets, pastors who campaign like businessmen, voters who
regret professionally, and dreamers who still believe ideas can defeat hunger.
(He
slowly rises.)
This story is not about a bad
leader. Bad leaders cannot survive without applause. No. This story is about
crowds. About silence. About memory. About how entire communities slowly become
midwives in their own suffering. (Campaign
music suddenly erupts nearby.) Ah. Listen carefully. The circus is
arriving.
(Blackout.)
Scene II — Kimende Market
(Lights
rise slowly on a crowded market. The stage is alive. Women selling vegetables. Children
running. Roasting maize smoke drifting. Bodabodas revving loudly. A broken
loudspeaker hanging from a wooden pole blasts distorted gospel music. The
atmosphere is noisy but exhausted. Life continues because it must. Nyina wa
Wanja arranges tomatoes carefully. Kamau lounges nearby scrolling through his
cracked smartphone.)
Nyina
wa Wanja: Kamau. Since morning you have been sitting there like government
promises.
Kamau: I am
monitoring Lari affairs.
Nyina
wa Wanja: On TikTok, Facebook, WhatsApp, X?
Kamau: Yaah
Mama. Modern leadership requires research.
Nyina
wa Wanja: Research? Your mother sent you to buy cabbage two hours
ago.
Kamau: The economy
delayed me.
(Laughter
from nearby traders.)
Nyina
wa Wanja: Your generation has degrees but no direction.
Kamau: And
your generation had direction but voted badly. It gave birth to the leadership
we have.
(The
traders react loudly.)
Wanjiku
wa Ndunyu: Eh! This boy wants trouble today!
Kamau: Am I
lying? Every election; they distribute flour, you sing, you dance, you ululate,
then after voting you begin suffering artistically.
(Laughter.)
Nyina
wa Wanja: At least we suffer for our action. You youths suffer while
recording outcomes of our action.
Kamau: Because
jobs disappeared. What do you expect us to do? University graduates are selling
boiled eggs. Diploma holders are becoming online political prophets. Engineers
are riding motorcycles. The country is producing certificates faster than
opportunities.
Muthee
Karanja: (entering): And politicians are producing speeches faster
than development.
(General
laughter.)
Nyina
wa Wanja: Muthee Karanja! You are late today.
Muthee
Karanja: My stomach and the economy are no longer cooperating. (He examines tomatoes.) These tomatoes
look more expensive than parliamentarians.
Nyina
wa Wanja: Everything is expensive now. Cooking oil. Sugar. School
fees. Bus fare. Even sleeping is becoming difficult for ordinary people.
Muthee
Karanja: Bad leadership has levels. Poor people steal hunger. Rich
people steal budgets.
(Laughter.)
Kamau: Muthee,
tell us honestly. Who are you supporting this election?
Muthee
Karanja: Who is distributing something like unga?
Kamau:
You
see? That is exactly the problem!
Muthee
Karanja: Young man…principles are important. But principles do not
cook ugali.
(Silence.)
Kamau: So we
should keep auctioning our lives for food?
Muthee
Karanja: No. But hungry people negotiate differently from full
people. That is reality.
(A Woman
carrying kíondo on his back joins conversation.)
Kíondo
Woman: Last election they promised us; roads, jobs, water,
hospitals. Now look. Even the dispensary has become a museum.
Nyina
wa Wanja: The only thing growing in Lari is speeches and promises.
Kamau:
And
churches.
Muthee
Karanja: Careful. Pastors are now politically connected. They preach
the message of the hour; politics.
Kamau:
Exactly!
During elections every politician suddenly becomes born again. They donate
chairs. Buy microphones. Build churches. Quote Bible verses. Then disappear
immediately after swearing-in.
Kíondo
Woman: Because churches have become campaign podiums with cheap
voters.
(Laughter.
A young boy runs through market shouting excitedly.)
Boy:
Mungai
is coming! Mungai is coming!
(Immediate
energy shift. Traders stand. Youth gathers in groups. Women adjust clothes. Bodaboda
riders rush toward petrol station.)
Kamau: Ah! Now
watch democracy become entertainment.
Nyina
wa Wanja: No. Watch hunger become excitement.
Scene III — Announcements and Ambitions
(Ten
O clock in the morning at Kimende Market. Chickens clucking. Vendors shouting. Children
chasing one another through market stalls. Women bargaining loudly over
tomatoes and potatoes. A drunk man sleeps peacefully near a sack of cabbages. The
atmosphere is noisy, chaotic, alive. Mzee Kihoto steps slowly to center stage.)
Mzee
Kihoto: Election season in Lari is a miraculous time. A season when;
unfinished roads suddenly receive signboards, church donations multiply
mysteriously, and even the village drunkard acquires a manifesto. (Soft laughter.) Promises grow faster
than kales during rainy season. Watch carefully. Our heroes…our opportunists…and
our clowns…are beginning to gather.
(Enter
Gichuka Waithera carrying; a faded notebook, loose papers, and a cheap pen. He
clears his throat nervously.)
Gichuka
Waithera: Good people of Lari…I greet you. I am Gichuka Waithera. Today
I stand before you not on wealth…nor tribal arithmetic…but on ideas.
(A
child laughs loudly. A goat bleat aggressively. Some vendors pause briefly. Others
continue arranging vegetables without interest.)
Gichuka
Waithera: I believe leadership is service. I believe in accountability—
(Goat bleats again loudly, interrupting
him.) even the animals appear politically engaged today.
(Small
laughter.)
Nyina
wa Wanja: Eeh, you have said you are Gichuka son of Waithera; a woman…we
have heard such speeches before. Do you have something small for tea?
Gichuka
Waithera: I do not buy votes.
(Immediate
silence. Then instant disinterest.)
Kíondo
Woman: Then please do not disturb business hours.
(People
return to market activities. Nobody listens anymore. Gichuka Waithera stands
awkwardly alone.)
Gichuka
Waithera: (quietly to himself) Ideas cost nothing…yet somehow, they
remain too expensive for hangry voters.
(Lights
shift suddenly. Drums. Whistles. Music. Campaign convoy approaching. Lari Hall.
The stage explodes with energy. Crowds dancing. Women ululating. Youth waving
branches and party flags. Mungai enters like a celebrity. Confident. Relaxed. Dangerously
charming.)
Crowd:
Mungai!
Mungai! Our son! Our tribe! Our hope!
Mungai:
(raising hands dramatically) My people! I come with; love, loyalty, and one
hundred shillings for each of you!
(The
crowd erupts wildly. Women scream joyfully. Youth push each other excitedly.)
Mzee
Kihoto: This man understands the people! He speaks our language!
His clan gives birth leaders.
Mungai:
Leadership
is simple. Step one; Love your tribe. Step two; Feed them occasionally. Step
three; Shout louder than your opponents. And shouting is not about mouth but
pocket.
(Huge
laughter and cheering.)
Kamau:
What
is your development agenda?
Mungai:
Agenda?
(Laughs loudly.) First things first. Come
collect your one hundred shillings.
(Immediate
chaos. People rush forward aggressively. Stampede energy. Everyone pushing.)
Mzee
Kihoto: (aside to audience) Mungai…a masterpiece of empty charisma. Like a
drum; very loud…but hollow inside.
(Lights
shift. Muiru’s Mansion. Large leather chair. Expensive curtains. A polished
table. Everything cold and elegant. Muiru studies polling papers angrily. His Assistant
stands nearby nervously.)
Muiru:
Look
at these polls. I am educated. Experienced. Qualified. Yet somehow these
villagers still prefer noise.
Assistant:
Sir…they
expect facilitation.
Muiru:
I
refuse to reduce myself to voter bribery. Let them vote for quality leadership.
Assistant:
Sir…this
is not a job interview. This is politics.
Muiru:
Still.
I remain a man of principle.
Assistant: (quietly) Principles do not usually win
elections, sir.
(Lights
shift again. Lari ya Kîanda. A small forgotten gathering. Only twelve villagers
seated lazily. Muiru stands behind a tiny podium. Trying very hard to appear
hopeful.)
Muiru:
Thank
you all for coming. I have a comprehensive strategy for; healthcare,
infrastructure, youth empowerment—
Nyandûma
Man: Will you build a road for our village?
Muiru:
Of
course. Development must reach even the smallest communities.
Kambûrû
Woman: We love you, Muiru. But our numbers are too small. We are
like raindrops inside Lari bucket.
Muiru:
Then
let each drop matter.
Mzee
Kihoto: But democracy counts numbers…not wisdom. And numbers mean
people you can feed.
(And
unfortunately…Muiru was born in the wrong geography. In the sleepy Kamburu and
Nyanduma area. Later that evening. Gichuka Waithera sits alone beneath a tree
reviewing notes. The market quieter now. Campaign music heard faintly in distance.)
Kamau: (approaching slowly) You spoke well
today.
Gichuka
Waithera: Nobody listened.
Kamau:
That
is because hunger interrupts philosophy.
Gichuka
Waithera: Must politics always become a marketplace for people with
money?
Kamau:
In
poor places…everything eventually becomes one.
(Long
silence.)
Gichuka
Waithera: Then how does honesty survive?
Kamau:
Slowly.
Painfully. And usually without campaign money. But it must start with the
people and Lari is not ready for that.
(Soft
laughter.)
Mzee
Kihoto: (stepping forward slowly) And so the candidates prepared
themselves; the man of ideas, the man of slogans, the man of pride, and the man
trapped by geography. Each believing he
understood Lari. But, only one truly did. (Distant
campaign music rises again.) Because in every election…there are candidates
who run to lead…and others who simply accompany the groom to the wedding.
(Lights
dim slowly. And somewhere beneath the noise…democracy quietly prepared another
disappointment.)
Scene IV — The Return of Muhote
(Lights
rise slowly. Campaign posters fly across the stage. Dust. Whistles. Cheap
campaign songs blasting from broken speakers. Large banners read: “Muhote — The Able
MP” “Development Continues” “Delivering the Plan” “A Leader Who Delivers” Muhote enters dramatically. Expensive
suit. Fake humility. A sack of cash carried discreetly behind him. His cheeks
slightly unshaven — carefully designed to appear “close to the people.”)
Mzee
Kihoto: (addressing audience
directly) Ladies and gentlemen…behold Muhote is here again. A man who
mastered the Lari basic formula; food today…equals votes tomorrow. And so he
distributed foodstuffs like wedding invitation cards.
Nyina
wa Wanja: I remember that day clearly. He pressed a new two-hundred-shilling
note into my hand so tightly…I felt development enter my bloodstream.
(Laughter.)
Old
Man from Githogoiyo: I voted for him because he gave me one
hundred shillings note. To this day…that remains the biggest government project
I have personally received.
(Huge
laughter.)
Crowd: Our
able MP! Our able MP! Our able MP!
Mzee
Kihoto: And with that…Muhote ascended proudly to the throne of
nothingness.
(Lights
shift abruptly. Kinale. Mud everywhere. Villagers struggle through thick black
mud. One woman nearly loses a shoe. Children jump across potholes like crossing
rivers.)
Nyina
wa Wanja: This is Kinale. Where roads are so muddy…you need swimming
costume to visit your neighbor.
Mzee
Kihoto: Muhote promised to fix these roads.
Nyina
wa Wanja: Fix? Even the mud is shocked he said that.
(Laughter.
Githogoiyo. A large rock at center stage. Old Man from Githogoiyo sits alone.)
Old
Man from Githogoiyo: I come from Githogoiyo. A place where
Muhote never stepped since election. His full term ended without a single
visit. Mind you we voted for him. No roads. No water. No projects. Not even a
signboard lying that development might one day come.
Mzee
Kihoto: To live in Githogoiyo…is to be free from the burden of
expectation.
(Soft
laughter. Nyanduma & Kamburu. Dim lighting. Neglected villages. Broken tea
collection centre structures. Women carrying tea baskets long distances.)
Mzee
Kihoto: Nyanduma and Kamburu…two villages so forgotten…even Google
Maps hesitates to recognize them as part of Lari.
Nyanduma
Man: (shouting angrily)
Sometimes I think we are not truly part of Lari! Maybe colonial officers added
us accidentally during confusion!
(Laughter
mixed with sympathy.)
Crowd:
Hmmmmmm…it
might be.
(Matathia.
A hopeful young man steps forward brightly.)
Youth
of Matathia: But maybe this year something changes! Maybe he remembers us
now! Maybe he has a plan! Maybe—
Mzee
Kihoto: (gently) Poor
child. Hope is dangerous in Lari. Especially when directed toward a leader.
(Nyambari.
Old women seated quietly. They laugh bitterly. Not loudly. Tired laughter.)
Old Woman of Nyambari: My
son…we have seen nothing since independence. If development did not arrive in
1964…why should we expect miracles in Muhote’s re-election bid?
Mzee
Kihoto: Nyambari…where optimism goes to die.
(Lights
explode suddenly. Campaign music returns violently. Whistles. Convoys. Dancing.
The return of Muhote. Muhote enters smiling broadly. Arms raised dramatically.)
Mzee
Kihoto: Four silent years. After losing. No speeches. No funerals
attended. Then suddenly—
Muhote:
My
people! I have returned!
Nyina
wa Wanja: Returned from where?
Muhote:
From
the cold corner you put me.
Crowd:
What
did you bring us?
Muhote: (ignoring question completely) Your
problems are my priority!
Mzee Kihoto: A priority he remembered…one
year before elections.
(Drums
begin. Kanya Ka Ndeto Enters dramatically waving a loaded brown envelope.)
Kanya
Ka Ndeto: Listen people of Lari! Our able MP, Honorable Muhote, has
plans! Big plans! Huge plans! Plans that will shock the nation!
Mzee
Kihoto: The only shocking thing…is that this is the same man who
did nothing in a whole term. No single place has his fingerprints.
Nyina
wa Wanja: Has he ever even lived among us?
Kanya
Ka Ndeto (shrugging casually)
He is now coming to live among us. His house is under construction.
Old
Man from Githogoiyo: We have seen and heard a lot. That is
just a strategy to woo us. Unfortunately, we are past silly love relationships.
Mzee
Kihoto: He has been paid to speak. Not to think.
(The
crowd is given new notes and suddenly begins chanting again.)
Crowd:
Our
able MP! Our able MP! Our able MP!
Mzee
Kihoto: (shocked) But he
did NOTHING!
Crowd: (confidently) But he WILL do! Even the
holy book says ‘forget about the past.’
Mzee
Kihoto: When?
Crowd:
After
we re-elect him!
Mzee
Kihoto: But he already had five years!
Crowd: (almost hypnotized) Our able MP! Our
able MP!
(The
chanting grows louder. More disturbing. More mechanical. Almost religious.)
Mzee
Kihoto: (turning slowly
toward audience) Ladies and gentlemen…there comes a time when analysis must
end. Because how do you explain voters who turn slogans into lullabies…while
their villages continue swimming in mud?
(The
chanting slowly fades. Lights dim except single spotlight.)
Mzee
Kihoto: And so ends the tale of Muhote…The MP who arrived with
handouts…governed through absence…returned with slogans…and was welcomed with
songs.
(Long
silence.)
Mzee
Kihoto: This is Lari. Where memory is short. Where hope is cheap.
Where slogans defeat reality. And where a man can do absolutely nothing for
five years…yet still return proudly as:
“The Able MP.”
(He
sighs deeply.)
Mzee
Kihoto: My friends…if forgetting the past is dementia, then
majority of Lari people are sick.
(Lights
fade slowly.)
Scene V — The King of Launches
(A revisit of Muhote leadership term. Open
field in Nyanduma. Huge tent. Plastic chairs. Campaign banners fluttering
loudly. A brass band playing with unnecessary confidence. At center stage; a
large cornerstone covered by a white cloth. Women ululating. Children dancing.
Photographers everywhere.)
MC: (shouting dramatically) People of Lari!
Today… history is being made!
(Thunderous
cheering. Muhote enters waving aggressively in all directions. Smiling like a
man inaugurating heaven itself.)
Muhote:
My
beloved people! Development has finally arrived!
(The
cloth is removed dramatically. A giant cornerstone revealed. Freshly painted.
Beautiful. Completely alone.)
Muhote:
(reading proudly) “This Project Was
Officially Launched By Honorable Muhote.”
Crowd:
(whispering among themselves) Which
project?
Muhote:
A
modern road! Tarmac! Drainage! Street lights! Prosperity!
Mama
Nyanduma: When does construction begin?
Muhote:
(laughing confidently) Soon.
Very soon. Immediately soon.
(Drums
erupt again. Ululations. Camera flashes.)
Mzee
Kihoto: And thus…another ceremony was successfully completed. Which,
in Lari politics,
is often more important than the actual project.
(Lights
shift. Another village. Another tent. Another crowd. Another cornerstone. Only
the location has changed.)
Crowd:
Yesterday; Nyanduma. Today; Kinale. Tomorrow;
Gitithia.
Muhote:
(energetically again) Today
we launch a modern water project!
Kinale
Man: Where is the water?
Muhote:
Deep
inside the forest. A good catchment area.
Kinale
Man: Where are the pipes and pumping machine?
(Long
silence.)
Crowd: (mocking softly) He launches; beginnings
without middles, promises without budgets, and stones without roads.
(Someone
quietly writes on the cornerstone: “Mundû Wa Maheni”)
Crowd: The
man of launching ceremonies.
(Huge
laughter. Lights shift. Paper Kingdom. Muhote’s office. Large stacks of files
everywhere. Signed contracts. Stamped documents. No workers. No engineers. No
machines. No budgets. Only paperwork.)
Crowd:
Projects
in files. Projects in speeches. Projects in imagination.
(Muhote
stamps papers proudly.)
Muhote:
This
road: launched. This school:
launched. This hospital: launched. This ICT hub: launched. This stadium:
launched.
(The
Budget enters silently. Empty-handed. Looks around sadly. Shakes head slowly.
Exits.)
Gitithia
Youth: Honourable Muhote…this project was already launched last
year.
Muhote:
Correct.
This is the re-launch.
Gitithia
Youth: And the one before that?
Muhote:
That
was the pre-launch.
Crowd: (bursting into laughter) Mûgûrûki! The
Re-launcher!
(Lights
shift slowly. Cornerstones Everywhere. The stage gradually fills with
cornerstones. Large stones. Small stones. Painted stones. Decorated stones.
Everywhere.)
Crowd:
Cornerstones
for; roads, schools, tents, plastic chairs, water projects, hospitals, ICT
hubs, stadiums, public Wi-Fi, markets, streetlights, drainage, sewer systems. (Pause.) No roads. No hospitals. No
water. No buildings. Only stones.
Mama
Nyanduma: Do we now eat stones?
Kinale
Man: Do we drink inscriptions?
Gitithia
Youth: Can we connect to Wi-Fi written in cement?
(Laughter
slowly dies into silence.)
Crowd: (slow realization) Lari is now paved…not
with roads…but with lies carved in concrete.
(Lights
shift violently. Campaign season returns. Posters everywhere again. Muhote
speaking at every shopping center. Microphones. Whistles. Crowds smaller now.
More suspicious.)
Muhote:
My
people! I worked tirelessly! Look around you! Observe development!
(He
points proudly toward cornerstones.)
Crowd:
King
of stalled projects! Ruler of beginnings! MP of nothingness!
Gitithia
Youth: (firmly now)
Honourable…we cannot eat launches.
Mama
Nyanduma: We cannot harvest cornerstones.
Kinale
Man: We cannot walk on speeches.
(For
the first time… Muhote hesitates. No immediate answer. No slogans. No
performance. Only silence.)
Mzee
Kihoto: And suddenly…the applause weakened. Because eventually…even
the mentally poorest citizen notice when ceremonies become substitutes for
service.
(Lights
dim slowly.)
Crowd:
Beware of leaders who confuse; movement with progress, ceremonies with service,
noise with work, and launches with development. For a people impressed too long
by beginnings…shall eventually inherit only cornerstones.
(Lights
fade slowly on the cornerstones. Sound of distant campaign drums fading away.)
Scene VI — The Land of Loud Empty Cans
(Where
noise defeats vision. Lights rise slowly. Dusty Nyanduma junction. Small
kiosks. Motorcycles parked carelessly. Villagers gathered lazily beneath a
crooked tree. Everyone speaking loudly. Nobody listening.)
Crowd:
Welcome
to Lari! Where; the loudest voices emerge from the shallowest wells, every
villager becomes a political analyst during election season, and confidence
grows faster than intelligence.
(Huge
laughter.)
Crowd:
People
discuss: constitutions they have never read, leadership requirements they do
not understand, and development plans they cannot explain.
(Enter
Mzee Kihoto slowly.)
Mzee
Kihoto: Ah yes… Lari. A place never lacking: opinions, shouting,
sarcasm, and confidently ignorant people. Especially the type who discourage
others from pursuing big dreams— not because the dreams are impossible…but
because their own lives resemble broken clay cooking pot: scattered
everywhere…with no hope of repair.
(Pause.)
Mzee
Kihoto: Today…we speak about Gichuka Waithera. A dangerous man. A
revolutionary. A man who dared to seek leadership…without bribing anybody.
(The
crowd gasps theatrically.)
Crowd:
Eeeeeh!
Impossible! Suspicious behavior!
(Gichuka
Waithera steps onto a small stone quietly. No convoy. No dancers. No handouts. Only
papers in his hands.)
Gichuka
Waithera: People of Lari… I come; with ideas, not envelopes. I come: with
service, not sufurias of deception. I come: with development, not handkerchief
politics.
(Suddenly
explosive laughter erupts.)
Wagikeno
wa Nyanduma: (laughing uncontrollably) Hahahahaha! Ati that is your
campaign strategy? MP without giving two hundred shillings per handshake! You
have no political star, my friend! Warûma ngima nene gûkíra kanua! You chew
ugali too big for your mouth!
Mzee
Kihoto: Observe Wagikeno carefully. A woman who has never
successfully led: even three goats, a chama, or a funeral contribution group—
yet she speaks with the confidence of somebody chairing the African Union.
(Huge
laughter. Nyagaki enters looking deeply confused by his own thinking.)
Nyagaki:
Wait…seriously…you
people keep saying: “Change Lari.” But change it into WHAT exactly?!
(Long
silence.)
Mzee
Kihoto: This is Nyagaki. A man unable to: repair his own leaking
roof, change his torn socks, or organize his own life— yet demanding a complete
transformation blueprint from a candidate proposing progress. Irony feeds him
daily.
(Laughter.
Kinuthia rises proudly. Chest forward. Hands behind back like retired president
of nothing.)
Kinuthia:
Gichuka
Waithera…please begin small. Start by becoming chairman of Karera village. Lead
the cattle dip first. Why jump directly to MP? Who exactly do you think you
are?
Mzee Kihoto: Ladies
and gentlemen…Kinuthia. A man never elected: to chair a meeting, lead a youth
group, or even moderate a WhatsApp discussion peacefully. (Pause.) His leadership record? Zero. Exactly matching the balance
in his 1990 SACCO account.
(Huge
laughter. Suddenly lights flicker strangely. Wind blows across stage. A
floating checklist appears dramatically. Smoke. The Ghost of Election
Commission requirements emerges slowly.)
Ghost:
I
bring truth…to this noisy Lari nation.
(The
crowd suddenly nervous.)
Ghost:
Wagikeno.
Nyagaki. Kinuthia. None of you qualify: for MCA, MP, Senator, or even governor
seat, leave alone presidential.
(The
crowd gasps painfully.)
Wagikeno
wa Nyanduma: But we are the voice of the people! We speak Lari people minds.
Ghost:
No.
You are merely the noise of the people. There is a difference.
(Ghost
disappears slowly. Silence remains. Mzee Kihoto steps forward slowly.)
Mzee
Kihoto: Here lies the tragedy of Lari. People whose lives are
shattered like broken clay pot…spend entire days advising others how to lead. They
are “Maitho ma ciura maria matagiragia ng’ombe inyue mai.” The eyes of
frogs…panicking simply because a cow bent to drink water.
(Pause.)
Mzee
Kihoto: Overreactive. Noisy. Clueless. Gichuka Waithera brings: vision,
discipline, service, and hope. But they bring: sarcasm, mockery, confusion, and
jokes disguised as opinions.
(Gichuka
Waithera steps forward calmly.)
Gichuka
Waithera: I stand not because leadership is easy. I stand because Lari
deserves better. Mock me if you wish. Laugh loudly if necessary. But progress
shall still arrive one day… whether ridicule cooperates or not.
(The Crowd
immediately interrupts proudly.)
Crowd:
We
may not qualify to lead—but we qualify to comment! We cannot build—but we can
discourage! We cannot govern— but we can shout louder than everyone else!
(Mzee
Kihoto winces painfully. Single spotlight on Mzee Kihoto)
Mzee
Kihoto: And that…dear audience…is how Lari remains imprisoned. Not
because capable leaders are absent. But because too many spectators celebrate
failure, mock ambition, and clap for mediocrity.
(Long
silence.)
Mzee
Kihoto: Remember this carefully; when loud fools dominate public
conversation…wise people must not remain silent. Because stupidity echoes naturally.
But truth…must learn to thunder.
(Lights
fade slowly. Distant sarcastic laughter echoes in darkness. Then finally silence.
The painful silence that arrives after truth lands properly.)
Scene VII — The Arrival of Mungai
(Loud
campaign music explodes. Drums. Whistles. Motorcycles. SUV convoy. New Party
colors everywhere. Smoke. Crowds rush in chaotically. MC Jay jumps from moving
pickup truck holding microphone.)
MC Jay:
People
of Lariiiiiii!
(Crowd
erupts.)
Crowd:
Yeeeeeees!
MC Jay:
Who
brought development?
Crowd:
Mungai!
MC Jay:
Who
understands the people?
Crowd:
Mungai!
MC Jay:
Who
eats with the people?
Crowd:
Mungai!
(Mungai
emerges slowly waving confidently. He smiles naturally. He knows this crowd. He
knows exactly how to touch them emotionally.)
Mungai:
My
people!
Crowd:
Leader!
Kiongozi wetu!
Mungai:
Have
you suffered enough?
Crowd:
Yeeeeees!
Mungai:
Have
prices become impossible?
Crowd:
Yeeeeees!
Mungai:
Should
we change things?
Crowd:
Yeeeeees!
Mungai:
And
shall we change them together?
Crowd:
Yeeeeees!
(He
laughs warmly.)
Mungai:
You
see? These Nairobi people think leadership is English. But leadership is
listening. Leadership is presence. Leadership is standing with your people
during difficult times.
(Crowd
cheers loudly.)
Kamau
(aside): And stealing from them during
better times.
(Laughter
nearby. Mungai begins distributing cash discreetly to selected people. The
crowd surges forward. Order disappears.)
Mzee
Kihoto (appearing quietly at
edge of stage): Observe carefully. This is not merely generosity. It is
choreography. Every smile is calculated. Every handshake is investment. Every
note distributed today returns tomorrow with interest.
Mungai:
Nyina
wa Wanja! You still sell the best tomatoes in Lari?
Nyina
wa Wanja: Only because government has not taxed oxygen yet.
(Crowd
laughs.)
Mungai:
We
shall change things.
Nyina
wa Wanja: You said that last election too. I do not think joining the
wave of the new party will help at all.
(Crowd
suddenly becomes tense.)
Mungai:
And
have we not improved roads?
Kamau:
Which
roads? The potholes now have smaller potholes inside them.
(Scattered
laughter.)
MC Jay:
Youths
must respect leadership!
Kamau:
Leadership
should also respect reality!
(Moment
of tension. Mungai studies Kamau carefully. Then smiles. Dangerously calm.)
Mungai:
What
is your name, son?
Kamau:
Kamau.
Mungai:
Kamau.
Do you have a job?
Kamau:
No.
Mungai:
You
see? That anger is unemployment speaking. Not wisdom.
(Crowd
murmurs approvingly.)
Mungai:
Do
not worry. We shall create opportunities.
Kamau:
You
have been creating opportunities for your relatives only.
(Crowd
reacts.)
MC Jay:
Remove
this boy!
Mungai:
No.
Let him speak. This is democracy.
(Pause.)
Mungai:
But
remember this, young man… Politics is not Twitter. Leadership is arithmetic. You
cannot govern hungry people using philosophy alone.
(That
line lands heavily. Music resumes. Money continues changing hands. Crowds
dance. Dust rises. Chaos becomes celebration. Meanwhile Mzee Kihoto watches
silently.)
Mzee
Kihoto: And slowly…the crowd started to believe a monkey that
changed a tree was not a monkey anymore.
(Lights
Dim Slowly.)
Scene VIII — Gichuka Waithera Returns
(Late
evening. The market is quieter now. Campaign posters litter the ground. Plastic
bottles everywhere. Dust hanging in fading light. A modest vehicle stops
quietly. No convoy. No music. No cheering. Gichuka Waithera steps out carrying
a small bag and rolled documents. He observes the market carefully. Silently. Thoughtfully.)
Nyina
wa Wanja: You are not from around here?
Gichuka
Waithera: I am. I just stayed away too long.
Muthee
Karanja: That
is what educated people do. They leave. Then return during elections to rescue
us from ourselves.
(Soft
laughter.)
Gichuka
Waithera: Maybe this time we rescue ourselves together.
Kamau:
Are
you a politician?
Gichuka
Waithera: I am trying to become a leader.
(A
silence.)
Muthee
Karanja: Those are usually different professions.
(Laughter.)
Gichuka
Waithera: What does this community need most?
Nyina
wa Wanja: Roads and Jobs.
Muthee
Karanja: Affordable food.
Kíondo
Woman: Water.
Kamau:
Honest
leadership.
Muthee
Karanja: No. People stopped requesting honest leadership long ago. Now
they request survival.
(Silence.)
Gichuka
Waithera: What if leadership could build long-term working systems? Agriculture.
Industries. Vocational training. Transparent budgeting—
Kamau:
Stop.
You are beginning to sound like a manifesto.
Nyina
wa Wanja: Do you have anything practical?
Gichuka
Waithera: Like what?
Nyina
wa Wanja: Something small. Transport. Flour. Lunch. Anything visible.
(Gichuka
pauses painfully.)
Gichuka
Waithera: No. I came with ideas.
(A
silence.)
Muthee
Karanja: Ideas are important. But hungry people cannot fry ideas.
(Slow
fading lights.)
Mzee
Kihoto: (voice emerging
through darkness) And for the first time…Gichuka Waithera began
understanding the true opponent. It was not Mungai. It was hunger.
(Blackout.)
ACT II — THE CIRCUS
Scene I — The Morning After
(Dim
morning light. The stage reveals the remains of yesterday’s political rally. Crushed
water bottles. Torn campaign posters. Discarded food packets. Broken whistles.
Dust. Silence. The excitement has vanished. Reality has returned. Nyina wa Wanja
enters slowly carrying a basin of tomatoes. She surveys the mess. Shakes her
head.)
Nyina
wa Wanja: Politics leaves garbage faster than development.
(She
begins cleaning around her stall. Kamau enters, exhausted, wearing yesterday’s
campaign T-shirt.)
Nyina
wa Wanja: You look like democracy beat you physically.
Kamau: Those
people danced until midnight. Then the DJ disappeared with the money.
Nyina
wa Wanja: And what remained?
Kamau:
Dust.
Empty promises. And one missing phone.
(Laughter
from nearby traders entering. Muthee Karanja enters slowly carrying a
newspaper.)
Muthee
Karanja: Look. Now they are calling yesterday’s rally “historic.”
Kamau:
Historic
for who?
Muthee
Karanja: For photographers. (He
opens newspaper dramatically.) “Thousands
gather to endorse visionary leadership.” Thousands? I counted the same people
circling the market three times.
(Laughter.)
Nyina
wa Wanja: Crowds are now transported like furniture just to meet
political media houses people.
Kamau:
Even
excitement has become outsourced. No small money no cheering.
(Mzee
Kihoto enters quietly.)
Mzee
Kihoto: My children…modern politics is no longer leadership. It is
cinematography. If cameras arrive, development exists. If cameras leave,
reality returns. (Pause.) A well
painted dispensary without medicine may still launch successfully if enough
drones are flying overhead.
(Laughter.)
Scene II — The Market of Crowds
(Under
the Mugumo-ini tree. Late afternoon. Villagers gathered lazily beneath its
shade. Some seated-on stones. Others playing cards. Women sorting vegetables. Young
men scrolling through phones with no data bundles. The atmosphere is heavy with
boredom and unemployment.)
Mzee
Kihoto: In Lari…elections do not arrive quietly. No. They gather
slowly like rain clouds over dry land. And before the first speech is
made…politicians begin searching for one thing. Crowds.
Kamau: There are no jobs. But that is not politicians’
issue of concern.
Nyina
wa Wanja: Tomatoes are rotting in the market.
Old Man Wa Kambaa: And yet politicians are driving new SUVs.
(Pause.
Enter Chairman wa Groups slowly. He walks with the confidence of a man who has
discovered hidden gold. He smiles mysteriously. The villagers immediately
notice him.)
Nyina
wa Wanja: Chairman…why are you smiling like a man who has seen
government money?
(Laughter.)
Chairman wa Groups: My people…I truly do not know how many
times I must tell you this. Stop suffering individually. Organize yourselves
into groups.
Crowd: Groups?
Chairman
wa Groups: Not
groups for violence. Not groups for fighting. Groups for eating politics money properly.
(Murmurs.)
Kamau:
Explain
yourself carefully.
Chairman
wa Groups: Politicians
love groups. They fear individuals. An individual cannot make noise at a rally.
An individual cannot wave branches properly. An individual cannot chant slogans
with energy. An individual cannot impress television cameras. But fifty hangry
people singing together? That becomes “massive ground support.”
Mzee
Kihoto: And suddenly…the villagers leaned closer. Because in Lari,
wisdom sounds sweeter when it smells like money.
(Chairman
wa Groups kneels and begins drawing figures in dust using a stick.)
Chairman
wa Groups: Now
listen carefully. In this ward alone; twenty MCA aspirants, ten MP aspirants,
many women reps, too many senators, and governors spending money like men
escaping death. And presidential candidates?
(Laughter.)
Old
Man Wa Kambaa: And what does that have to do with us?
Chairman
wa Groups: Everything.
These politicians are now cash cows.
(Silence.)
Crowd:
Cash
cows…
Chairman
wa Groups: Yes. And
not zebu but Holstein Friesians. But my people do not know how to milk.
(The
villagers exchange excited looks.)
Mzee
Kihoto: And there it was. A new economic policy for the village. Not
farming. Not business. Not employment. But a campaign season that would give
birth to regrets.
Chairman
wa Groups: Rule
number one; Never attend political meetings alone. Come with grandparents. Come
with grandchildren. Come with neighbors. Come with church leaders.
Crowd:
Never
alone!
Chairman
wa Groups: Move
in groups of fifty, hundred, thousand, ten thousand…. Aspirants fear empty
chairs more than opposition.
Nyina
wa Wanja: Even churches nowadays have more people when aspirants are
coming.
Chairman
wa Groups: Exactly.
A politician must feel important.
Kamau:
And
what do we ask for?
Chairman
wa Groups: Transport.
Crowd:
Transport!
Chairman
wa Groups: Lunch.
Crowd:
Lunch!
Chairman
wa Groups: Facilitation.
Crowd:
Facilitation!
Pastor
Wakweri: But people know that is voter bribery.
Chairman
wa Groups: No,
Pastor. Bribery is illegal. This is appreciation for participation.
(Huge
laughter. Suddenly campaign music approaches. Dust rises. Convoys arrive. SUVs.
Motorcycles. Whistles. Excitement erupts immediately.)
MCA Aspirant:
Where
are the youth?
Chairman
wa Groups: Mobilized.
MCA
Aspirant: Where are the women?
Chairman
wa Groups: Prepared.
MCA
Aspirant: And the elders?
Chairman
wa Groups: Very
expensive nowadays…but ready with traditional regalia.
(Laughter.
Villagers suddenly burst into loud singing.)
Crowd:
Our
leader! Our leader!
Mzee
Kihoto: Observe carefully. The louder the singing the fatter the
handout…. but the emptier the loyalty.
(Chairman
wa Groups quietly pulls Aspirant aside.)
Chairman
wa Groups: My
people came from very far.
MCA
Aspirant: I already hired tents.
Chairman
wa Groups: Crowds
do not eat tents.
MCA
Aspirant: I printed T-shirts.
Chairman
wa Groups: Can
T-shirts move hearts?
MCA
Aspirant: What do they want?
Chairman
wa Groups: You
are asking the wrong question.
MCA
Aspirant: Then what is the right question?
Chairman
wa Groups: How
badly do you want the seat?
(Pause.
The Aspirant quietly removes a thick envelope. Chairman wa Groups smiles
slowly.)
Mzee
Kihoto: And democracy continued its sacred journey.
(Another
convoy arrives before the first leaves.)
MP
Aspirant: Why are these people wearing another candidate’s T-shirts?
Chairman
wa Groups: Development
has many stakeholders. First come first served.
(Laughter.)
MP
Aspirant: Were they not at my rally yesterday?
Nyina
wa Wanja: Leadership requires consistency. That is why we attend all
meetings.
Kamau:
We
believe in inclusivity.
(Huge laughter.)
Governor’s
Agent: We need five hundred people tomorrow.
Chairman
wa Groups: With
or without dancing and ngemi?
Governor’s
Agent: With energy. Ready to talk with paid media people.
Chairman
wa Groups: Energy
costs extra.
(Laughter.
Night falls slowly. Villagers seated counting money. Campaign T-shirts
scattered everywhere. Empty cheap liquor bottles. Political songs fading in
distance.)
Kamau:
Today
I attended three rallies.
Nyina
wa Wanja: I attended four.
Old
Man Wa Kambaa: Last election we were manipulated for free. This time round
we must get our share of politics funds.
(Laughter.)
Pastor
Wakweri: But honestly…is this not wrong?
(Silence.)
Chairman
wa Groups: Pastor…when
elections end…will these politicians remember us?
Pastor
Wakweri: Probably not.
Chairman
wa Groups: Then
this is our season. The cows are full of milk and ready for us.
Crowd:
The
cows are ready!
Chairman
wa Groups: The
milk is ready.
Crowd:
The
milk is ready!
Chairman
wa Groups: Your
time is now. Milk!
(Lights
shift abruptly. Silence. Morning after elections. Empty roads. Torn posters. No
music. No convoys. Only potholes remain faithfully.)
Kamau:
My
phone no longer rings.
Nyina
wa Wanja: Even the MCA stopped greeting people.
Old
Man Wa Kambaa: The milk dried.
Pastor
Wakweri: And now?
(Long
silence.)
Chairman
wa Groups: Now we
wait for five years again.
Crowd:
Five
years?
Chairman
wa Groups: Yes. Unless
either helicopter crash or cancer bless us.
(The
villagers stand quietly.)
Mzee
Kihoto: The politicians came looking for crowds. The crowds came
looking for survival. Both used each other. And both called it politics.
Crowd:
We
sang. We danced. We filled rallies. We hated each other. We milked the cows.
(Pause.)
Crowd:
(softly) But
somehow…we remained poor.
Old
Man Wa Kambaa: One day we shall stop renting ourselves to politicians.
Kamau:
…and
start demanding something more expensive than money.
Nyina
wa Wanja: Responsibility.
Pastor
Wakweri: True.
Chairman
wa Groups: And
dignity.
(Far
away, campaign music begins again. Some villagers slowly turn their heads
instinctively.)
Mzee
Kihoto: And once again…the circus remembered the road to Lari.
(Blackout.)
Scene III — Party Headquarters
(Lights
shift. A noisy political office. Party banners everywhere. Plastic chairs. Half-eaten
food. Young social media workers typing rapidly on laptops and phones. Large
poster; “Mungai — The People’s Shield.” MC Jay paces energetically.)
MC
Jay: Where is the trending hashtag? Why are opposition supporters
dominating Facebook? Wake up! We are losing online sympathy!
Social
Media Boy: Sir, people are complaining about roads.
MC Jay:
Then
post bursary photos.
Social
Media Girl: People are also posting abandoned dispensaries and schools
and calling them Gede ruins.
MC
Jay: Good. Reply with old photos of completed classrooms and
ongoing stalled hospitals.
Social
Media Boy: But those classrooms collapsed.
MC Jay:
Collapsed
physically. Not digitally.
(Laughter.
Mungai enters calmly. Everyone stands immediately.)
Mungai:
Sit.
No need to fear democracy inside the office.
(They
laugh nervously.) Report.
MC
Jay: The youth online are becoming aggressive. Especially
supporters of Gichuka Waithera.
Mungai:
Educated
supporters?
MC Jay:
Very
educated. Very unemployed.
Mungai:
Dangerous
combination.
(Laughter.)
Mungai:
What
are people complaining about this week?
Social
Media Girl: Water shortages. Roads. Hospital equipment. School fees.
Mungai:
Good.
MC Jay:
Good?
Mungai:
A
suffering population is politically emotional. Emotional voters are easier to
direct.
(Silence.)
Mungai:
Never
solve every problem before elections. A politician without public suffering is
unemployed.
(Even
MC Jay is disturbed briefly.)
Mungai:
Now
listen carefully. This campaign is not about facts. Facts do not move crowds. Emotion
moves crowds. Identity moves crowds. Fear moves crowds. Pride moves crowds. Nobody
wakes up excited to vote for budgeting transparency.
(Laughter.)
MC Jay:
So
what is the strategy?
Mungai:
Simple.
Make Gichuka Waithera appear intelligent and performer…but dangerous. Educated…
but disconnected to daily life of common voter. Honest…but unrealistic.
Social
Media Boy: And you?
Mungai:
I
become familiar. Warm. Accessible. A man of the people. (He smiles.) Politics is not about truth. It is about emotional
ownership.
Scene IV — Kwamûnene Visit
(The
Gatekeepers of Lari. Early morning. A dusty road winding through the hills of
Lari. Cowbells in the distance. Goats bleating. Cold mist hanging low over the
valleys. Several political aspirants walk nervously carrying; envelopes, goats,
baskets, and gifts wrapped carefully in traditional clothing. No one speaks
loudly. The atmosphere feels sacred. Dangerously sacred.)
Crowd:
(softly) To
win in Lari…you must pass here. Not through the people. Not through ideas. But
through one gate.
(Slow
lights reveal Kwamûnene in the distance. A large homestead. Quiet. Fenced. Powerful
without trying to appear powerful. The kind of place where decisions are made
without records.)
Kijabe
Aspirant: (whispering) Is
this the place?
Kinale
Aspirant: This is it. Kwamûnene. Where votes are weighed before
ballots.
(Mutumia
wa Kamburu enters slowly leaning on a walking stick. She studies the aspirants
carefully. Not impressed. Not surprised.)
Mutumia
wa Kamburu: Long ago… this was only a home. Now it is; an office without
files, a court without law, and a polling station without ballot boxes.
(The
aspirants shift uneasily.)
Nyanduma
Youth: (quietly) Then
why do people still come?
Mutumia
wa Kamburu: Because fear travels faster than democracy and association
with the savior is all the voters want.
(Aspirants
approach gate slowly. One knocks gently. Silence. Only animals heard chewing
inside. Then a calm voice emerges from within.)
Munene:
(offstage) Enter.
(Lights
shift. Inside Kwamûnene. The stage changes slowly. Cows grazing freely. Healthy
goats. Fat sheep. Workers moving quietly. Envelopes exchanged discreetly. No
shouting. No campaign music. Power here is calm.)
Munene:
(smiling warmly) You
have come early. Lari people respects seriousness.
Kinale
Aspirant: (pushing envelope forward) I seek direct party ticket
nomination.
Munene:
Thirikari ni nene. Government
is big. There is space for everyone…somewhere; ministries, state departments, commissions,
consulates.
(Kijabe
Aspirant presents goats proudly.)
Kijabe
Aspirant: From Kijabe. With respect.
Munene: (examining goats carefully) Good breed. Very
loyal. (Pause.) Leadership also
requires loyalty.
(Workers
quietly lead goats away. The Ranch slowly grows. More animals appear gradually
throughout scene.)
Crowd: (chanting softly) Cows from Kamburu. Goats
from Kijabe. Sheep from Kinale. Envelopes from Lari/Kirenga. Votes from
everywhere.
Nyanduma
Youth: (aside) Is
leadership now livestock? Is democracy measured in tribal kingpin?
(Aspirants
now seated waiting nervously. Munene moves slowly among them. Like a king
inspecting a guard of honor.)
Aspirant:
What
of my people?
Munene:
They
will vote correctly.
Aspirant:
And
correctly means?
Munene: (smiles faintly) You.
Aspirant:
And
if they choose differently?
(A
long silence.)
Munene:
Lari
people know the path. They follow the direction I show them. And if they
deviate there will always be a place for you in my government.
Crowd:
Some
were promised direct party nominations. Some promised jobs. Some tenders. Some
only hope.
Mutumia
wa Kamburu: (stepping forward
slowly) And what do the people receive?
(Silence.)
Munene:
Stability.
Nyanduma
Youth: Or silence?
(Munene
looks away. Lights widen slowly. The Ranch now dominates the stage. More
cattle. More goats. More wealth. Meanwhile dim lights reveal villages far away;
muddy roads, broken schools, sick children, women carrying water. The contrast
becomes painful.)
Crowd:
Kwamûnene
has grown. But Lari villages shrink.
Nyanduma
Youth: Schools remain stories. Roads remain speeches. Hospitals
remain prayers.
Mutumia
wa Kamburu: This ranch eats better than our children.
(The
Ranch stands still. Silent. Powerful. Untouchable. Lights shift suddenly. Campaign
Period: Campaign posters everywhere.
Whispers moving through crowd.)
Crowd:
They
ask; “Who are you voting for?”
Voices:
“The
one from Kwamûnene.” “The chosen one.” “The safe choice.” “It is what Munene
said.”
Nyanduma
Youth: (firmly) But what
if we choose differently? What if we try Gichuka Waithera?
(The
crowd becomes tense immediately. Fear. Silence. People avoid eye contact.)
Crowd: (softly) Lari ní mataha ma mûkimo……and
it is served by Munene.
(At
edge of stage Munene stands silently watching. Calm. Confident. Certain.)
Crowd: When
power becomes a gate…citizens become visitors. When leaders trade favors for
loyalty…the future is mortgaged. Beware of Lari…where votes pass through one
home…and democracy waits outside.
(Curtain.)
Scene V — The Church Service
(Church
bells. Lights shift to a crowded Pentecostal church. Choir singing loudly. Politicians
seated in front row. Cameras everywhere. Pastor Ndolo preaches energetically.)
Pastor
Ndolo: Lari needs godly leadership! Amen!
Congregation:
Amen!
Pastor
Ndolo: Leadership chosen by God! Amen!
Congregation:
Amen!
(Mungai
nods humbly in front row.)
Pastor
Ndolo: Some leaders come with books…others come with wisdom. But a
good leader comes from God. Halleluiah. Moses and King David were not educated
but they were connected with their people’s daily life.
(Congregation
murmurs knowingly.)
Pastor
Ndolo: Some people speak good English…but cannot hear the cries of
ordinary citizens of Lari. Amen!
Congregation:
Amen!
(Gichuka
Waithera enters quietly at back of church. No one notices initially.)
Pastor
Ndolo: Leadership is spiritual. And we must support leaders who
understand the people.
(An
usher hands pastor a short note discreetly.)
Pastor
Ndolo: Also…our church construction project has received generous
support today.
(Applause.)
MC Jay:
(talks to himself) Our leader believes in God!
Kamau: (whispering) During elections only.
Pastor
Ndolo: Honorable Mungai will now greet the congregation.
(Applause.)
Mungai:
Praise
God.
Congregation:
Amen.
Mungai:
(walks to the pulpit) God is good….all the time….The
church is the moral foundation of society. Without faith in God, nations
collapse. That is why I promise; church support, youth empowerment, women’s
programs, and a modern sanctuary.
(Huge applause.
Gichuka Waithera watches silently.)
Kamau: (to Gichuka Waithera quietly) Your
opponent campaigns using heaven now.
Gichuka
Waithera: No. He campaigns using desperation.
Pastor
Ndolo: And now… Brother Gichuka Waithera may also greet us briefly.
(Scattered
polite applause. Gichuka Waithera walks slowly near pulpit. No music. No
chanting. No performance.)
Gichuka
Waithera: Thank you. I will not make promises today. I came to
worship God like you.
(Congregation
becomes uncertain.)
Gichuka
Waithera: Because promises are cheap during elections. What matters
is working systems. Accountability. Long-term investment. Transparent
leadership— (People begin losing
attention. Children whisper. Phones emerge. Someone yawns.)
Gichuka
Waithera: Development is not an event. It is discipline.
(Weak
applause. Mungai studies crowd carefully. He already knows; Gichuka Waithera is
losing emotionally.)
Scene VI — The Land of Njûgûma
(Lights
rise slowly. A dusty village in Lari. Villagers seated beside the road. Some
sharpening njûgûma carefully as though preparing for competition. Others
polishing them proudly. The atmosphere is strangely normal. Dangerously
normal.)
Mzee
Kíhoto: People of Lari…welcome. This is the land where; ideas fear
campaigning, logic travels secretly, and njûgûma campaigns freely without
posters.
(Soft
laughter.)
Nyina
wa Wanja: If you complain about roads…someone will threaten you for
“disrespecting leadership.”
Wairimu
Wa Kaguongo: If you expose corruption…someone will attack you even on
Facebook.
Crowd:
We
defend politicians the way drunkards defend chang’aa; without thinking…and with
a lot of shouting.
(Huge
laughter.)
Mzee
Kíhoto: Ah yes…The real problem of Lari is not poverty of money. It
is poverty of thinking. Mental poverty so deep…even Wi-Fi cannot reach it.
(Drums
suddenly heard. Whistles. Campaign songs. Dust rising. The arrival of Mungai.
Mungai enters dramatically carrying sacks of njûgûma. Behind him the Njûgûma
Youth Brigade marches proudly like a political militia.)
Mungai: (singing theatrically) My people! I have
brought you what truly matters! Not hospitals! Not water! Not roads! (He opens sack dramatically.) njûgûma!
(Thunderous
cheering.)
Njûgûma
Youth Brigade: Njûgûma! Njûgûma! Njûgûma!
Mzee
Kíhoto: (to audience quietly)
Observe carefully. Give a hungry villager food…he may forget you tomorrow. But
give him a weapon to defend foolishness…and he becomes loyal permanently.
Nyina
wa Wanja: (whispering) Mungai
understands these villagers perfectly. Give them books…they return them
untouched. Give them critical thinking…they become uncomfortable emotionally.
But give them tools for fighting? They begin immediately…and even volunteer
overtime.
(Laughter.
Lights shift. Gichuka Waithera tries logic. He enters carrying papers and
development plans. He stands nervously before villagers.)
Gichuka
Waithera: My people…I have a practical plan for; education, clean
water, healthcare—
(The
Njûgûma Youth Brigade begins yawning aggressively.)
Gichuka
Waithera: And also, infrastructure—
(One
youth swings njûgûma threateningly through the air like warming up for
violence.)
Gichuka
Waithera: —and a long-term strategy for—
Njûgûma
Youth Brigade: Where is the envelope? Where are the handouts?
Gichuka
Waithera: Leadership should not be bought—
Njûgûma
Youth Brigade: Booooooo!
Mzee
Kíhoto: Ideas struggle greatly in places where brain cells are
permanently unemployed and compromised.
(Huge
laughter. The crowd slowly surrounds Gichuka Waithera with noise and ridicule. His
voice disappears beneath the shouting.
(The
Great Njûgûma War. Lights explode into chaos. Villagers now hitting one another
senselessly with njûgûma. No real reason. Pure emotional confusion.)
Wairimu
wa Kaguongo: Stop
fighting! Why are you hitting each other?
Villager
1: He
said the roads are poor!
Villager
2: He
said Mungai is king of corruption!
Villager
3: He
asked where CDF money went!
Villager
4: He
said Mungai has no degree!
(They
resume hitting each other.)
Mzee
Kíhoto: In Lari…using your brain publicly is considered provocation.
Anyway, Andû a Lari no maríe mai níguo maheo mbeca.
(Laughter.)
Nyina
wa Wanja: Mungai fears only one thing; thinking voters. Because once
citizens begin reasoning…handouts stop working.
Crowd:
We
prefer borrowing Mungai’s brain! Ours are on annual leave!
Mungai: (addressing crowd like a military commander)
Remember! If you hear anyone discussing development—confuse them immediately! If
you see sober voters - discipline them with village patriotism! And if you see
Gichuka Waithera — shout “Western Project!” until he disappears!
Njûgûma
Youth Brigade: We obey! We obey! At your service Mheshimiwa. We obey
without understanding!
Mzee
Kíhoto: Never in history…has obedience looked so foolish.
(Lights
dim.)
Mungai: (talking to himself) My poor
villagers…thank you for refusing to think. You will make this election
wonderfully easy.
Nyina
wa Wanja: But sir…our roads—
Mungai:
Walk
carefully. Barabara ithûkíte kûndû guothe.
Kamau:
And
corruption?
Mungai:
Please
stop disturbing me with vocabulary you do not understand.
Crowd: (celebrating wildly) Our leader! Our
leader!
(Mzee
Kíhoto steps into spotlight. Everything else freezes.)
Mzee
Kíhoto: And that, ladies and gentlemen…is how Lari elects its leaders.
Not through ideas. Not through vision. Not through wisdom. But through; njûgûma,
emotional manipulation, tribal intoxication, and inherited foolishness. (Long silence.) Until the mind is liberated…Lari
shall remain the headquarters of; bruised skulls, broken logic, and democratic
confusion.
(Lights
fade slowly. The sound of njûgûma knocking rhythmically continues in darkness
like drums of foolishness.)
Scene VII — The Road Launch
(Huge
banner across stage. “Official Launch of
Lari Super Highway Phase One.” Drums.
Crowds gathered. Government officials wearing reflective jackets. A tiny
unfinished road section visible behind them.)
MC Jay:
Historic
day for Lari! Transformation has arrived!
(Crowd
cheers weakly.)
Mzee
Kihoto: (aside to audience)
That road has been launched four times already. Only the signboard changes.
Government
Engineer: This road demonstrates our commitment to modernization.
Kamau:
Where
does the road end?
Government
Engineer: Funding is still processing.
Kamau:
So
we are launching imagination?
(Laughter.
Mungai cuts ribbon covering a cornerstone dramatically. Cameras flash wildly. Music
explodes. School children forced to wave flags.)
MC Jay:
Development!
Development!
Crowd:
Development!
(Officials
leave rapidly. As cameras move away, workers quietly begin removing equipment. Excavators
and Bulldozers leave. Plastic chairs disappear. Tents disappear. Even
cornerstone disappear. Dust returns. Silence slowly returns. Only the
unfinished road remains. Nyina wa Wanja stares at it.)
Nyina
wa Wanja: Every election they build signboards faster than roads.
Scene VIII — The Gift
(Lights
rise slowly. Gitithia Secondary School compound. Fresh banners hanging proudly.
A shiny yellow school bus stands center stage beneath a massive sign: “Delivering Development.”
Women ululating loudly. Students
dancing wildly around the bus. Drums. Whistles. Phones recording. The
atmosphere resembles a political rally more than a school function.)
Crowd:
Look!
Look! A bus has come! Steel and paint! A sign of progress!
(Mungai
steps forward proudly raising both hands. Photographers surround him. Students
forced to clap harder whenever cameras turn.)
Mungai:
My
people of Lari! From today…our students shall move with dignity! No more
suffering! No more long walks! Education must move forward!
Students:
Movement!
Movement! Movement!
(Huge
applause. Women dance harder. Teachers clap politely. The bus horn sounds
dramatically.)
Mungai: (turning slightly away, voice lower) Tûrimû
tûtû. Let them sing.
(Lights
fade slowly. Months later. Same school compound. Different atmosphere. The bus
remains parked. Dust covering windows. Grass growing around tires. Silence.
Mrs. Ng’ae enters holding worn textbooks and a torn syllabus. She studies the
bus quietly.)
Mrs.
Ng’ae: We still have; no laboratory, no library, no reagents, no
microscopes. Exactly where are we moving to?
MC
Jay: Still…the bus was a blessing.
Mrs.
Ng’ae: A blessing that never leaves the compound. No fuel budgets. No
academic trips. No science fairs. No educational programs. Only photographs.
(Students
pass slowly carrying old books. Their uniforms faded. Shoes worn out.)
Student:
Teacher…will
we ever use the bus?
(Long
silence.)
Mrs.
Ng’ae: Not for learning.
(Lights
shift suddenly. The Journey. Dawn. The same school bus now filled with campaign
supporters. Not students. Adults. Campaign goons. Party singers. Whistles. Political
banners.)
Campaign
Goon: Kirasha today! Sing loudly! Raise dust properly!
(Another
bus arrives loudly.)
Voice:
Mbauni
Secondary School bus to Kirasha!
(Another
bus.)
Voice:
Kirenga
Boys Secondary School bus to Kirasha!
(Crowds
multiply rapidly. Noise rising. Political excitement growing.)
Crowd:
So
many people! He must truly be loved!
(Lights
shift rapidly. Another rally. More buses arriving.)
Voice:
Kamburu
School bus to Githirioni! Kinale Girls School bus to Githirioni! Kijabe School bus
to Githirioni!
(The
crowds swell again. Flags waving. Dust everywhere. Music deafening. Mungai
stands slightly aside watching quietly. Arms folded. Cold. Calculating.)
Mungai: (softly to himself) Crowds are not
people. They are pictures. Pictures for newspapers. Pictures for television. Pictures
for manipulation.
(The
cheers drown his words. The realization. Evening. A small group of teachers and
parents seated beneath a tree. Quiet. Reflective. No music now. Only tiredness.)
Mrs.
Ng’ae: We celebrated metal…instead of minds.
Parent:
We
counted buses…instead of books.
Pastor
Wakweri: We confused movement with development.
(Long
silence.)
Mzee
Kihoto: (slowly) The
buses moved…but the children did not.
(Lights
isolate Mungai standing alone.)
Mungai:
I
did not deceive them. I simply gave them what they understand; noise, color,
movement, excitement. Knowledge does not vote. Crowds do.
(He
exits slowly. The school bus remains alone under dim light. Silent. Unused. Symbolic.)
Mzee
Kihoto: Beware of leaders who give; wheels without roads, vehicles without
destinations, movement without purpose. For when school buses become campaign
tools… children become passengers in journeys never meant for them.
(Lights
fade slowly. The distant sound of campaign music returns faintly. Then silence.)
Scene IX — Gichuka Waithera Exhausted
(Night.
A quiet roadside. Distant dogs barking. Election posters fluttering. Gichuka
Waithera sits exhausted. Mzee Kihoto approaches slowly.)
Mzee
Kihoto: You look defeated already.
Gichuka
Waithera: I thought truth mattered.
Mzee
Kihoto: Truth matters. Eventually. But elections happen immediately.
(Pause.)
Gichuka
Waithera: How do you win hungry pople?
Mzee
Kihoto: First understand people are not always voting for better
leadership. Sometimes they are voting for familiarity. For tribe. For survival.
For visibility. For emotional comfort.
Gichuka
Waithera: So what chance does integrity have?
Mzee
Kihoto: Integrity without emotional intelligence becomes arrogance. You
speak to people’s minds. Mungai speaks to hunger wounds.
(Long
silence.)
Gichuka
Waithera: Then maybe in Lari having good leadership is unfeasible.
Mzee
Kihoto: No. leadership reflects its people honestly. That is why it
frightens us.
(Lights
dim slowly. And somewhere in the darkness…the circus kept growing.)
ACT III — THE VOTE
Scene I — Some Months to Election
(Lights
rise slowly. The stage is divided into multiple moving spaces. On one side; campaign
posters, loudspeakers, dancing youth. On another; women queuing for water. On another; unfinished road construction
abandoned halfway. Throughout the stage; political noise competes with ordinary
suffering. Campaign songs overlap chaotically.)
Loudspeaker
1: “Forward
development! Bado Tunasonga!”
Loudspeaker
2: “Protect
our community!”
Loudspeaker
3: “Jobs
for youth!”
Woman
in Water Queue: We do not need songs. We need water in our homes.
(Mzee
Kihoto enters slowly through the confusion.)
Mzee
Kihoto: As elections approach…truth becomes difficult to hear. Too
many microphones. Too many promises. Too many manufactured emotions. And
slowly…the people stop asking; “What is correct?” Instead they ask, “Who is giving
money?”
(Lights
intensify.)
Scene II — The United Front
(Lights
rise on forgotten Kirenga Market. Dusty room. Plastic chairs arranged unevenly.
Warm sodas on a small table. Several aspirants seated at the front like
territorial roosters pretending to cooperate. The atmosphere already tense
before anyone speaks.)
Mzee
Kihoto: (stepping
forward) Ladies and gentlemen welcome to Lari. A land where; unity is
preached, ego is practiced, and common sense survives like an endangered
species. Today…the aspirants have gathered to form “A United Front” in order to
ouster Mungai. (Pauses.) You already
know this will fail.
(Huge
laughter. Ndume rises slowly adjusting coat dramatically. He speaks like a man
already rehearsing victory speeches.)
Ndume:
Brothers…unity
is important. Very important. And therefore…all of you should unite behind me. After
all; I am experienced, respected, and clearly the natural leader.
Muiru: (rolling eyes aggressively) Ndume…please
calm down. Calm your destiny first. (Laughter.)
Lower Lari has never received its turn. Kamburu and Nyanduma deserve
leadership too. We need; fairness, regional balance, and democratic equity. And
honestly…who is better to unite the people than me?
Mzee
Kihoto: (aside to audience)
Muiru believes leadership should rotate regionally…like funeral tent.
(Huge
laughter. Suddenly Mwendia enters wearing sunglasses indoors. Confident. Overdressed.
Carrying five phones unnecessarily.)
Mwendia:
Gentlemen…why
are we arguing? The people of Lari already love me. I greet; children, elders,
goats, even stubborn dogs. (Laughter.) But
let me speak honestly. I cannot step down. My diaspora supporters already
invested heavily in this campaign. I promised them; jobs, tenders, contracts,
opportunities— almost everything except my wife and children. If I withdraw
now…I betray the dollars—(Coughs.) —I
mean…the people.
Mzee
Kihoto: Observe carefully,
ladies and gentlemen; one aspirant driven by ego, another by regional
entitlement, another by foreign currency. And finally…here enters the only dangerous man
among them.
(Lights
soften. Gichuka Waithera enters quietly. No convoy. No drama. No bodyguards. Only
papers in his hands. The aspirant they fear most. Gichuka speaks calmly.)
Gichuka
Waithera: My brothers…unity matters. But leadership is service. Let us
support whoever can genuinely work for the people. Let us prioritize; integrity,
accountability, fairness, and competence.
(Heavy
silence. The aspirants stare at him like he has insulted nyama choma publicly.)
Ndume:
You?
Lead us? Impossible.
Muiru:
Absolutely
not.
Mwendia:
Dangerous
suggestion.
Ndume:
You
do not fear anyone. You refuse handout politics. You avoid fake fundraisers.
Muiru:
And
worst of all—you actually want systems to function. You have been colonized by
western life.
Mwendia:
How
do honest people survive inside working systems? Please explain.
(Huge
laughter.)
Ndume:
Once
systems begin functioning properly…where exactly shall we squeeze opportunity?
If systems work then no need of running for a political office.
Mwendia:
My
diaspora investors cannot support a man who blocks shortcuts. You are too
clean, Gichuka Waithera. Too disciplined. Too principled.
Mzee
Kihoto: And that…ladies and
gentlemen…is how the only sober aspirant became the greatest threat. Not
because he was weak. But because he threatened disorder itself.
(The
collapse of unity. The hall erupts into noise immediately. Everyone shouting
simultaneously. Pointing fingers. Standing aggressively.)
Ndume:
I
lead or I leave!
Muiru:
No
Lower Lari representation—no unity!
Mwendia:
Diaspora
commitments cannot be ignored! I must remain on the ballot! I better lose.
Crowd:
Unity!
Unity! Unity! (Whispering among
themselves.) But we know these people shall never unite.
(Enters
Elder Kuria; a former MP who left projects Lari can mention. The crowd rises
immediately.)
Crowd:
(Clapping) Kuria! Our voice! Our elder!
Kuria:
Asanteni
sana. Asanteni sana. Ni hivo. I did not come to be worshipped. I came to warn
you. (Turns slowly toward the aspirants.)
I have watched elections longer than some of you have grown beards.
Division is not strategy. It is political suicide. (Points at Gichuka Waithera.) This man can defeat Mungai. Not
because of noise. Not because of money. But because he has a heart for Lari.
Ndume:
Having
good intentions does not win elections.
Muiru:
Regions
do.
Mwendia:
Resources
do.
(Kuria
looks at them steadily. Silence fills the hall.)
Kuria:
Then
you have learned nothing. And you are not ready to set Lari free. Choosing any
of you is the same as choosing the current regime. (Turns to the people.) If you choose ego over unity…do not cry
tomorrow.
(Silence.
Lights dim slowly.)
Mzee
Kihoto: The unity meeting
collapsed faster than campaign promises after elections. And naturally…the only
man capable of making unity possible…was the first person quietly removed from
consideration.
(Lights
shift slowly. Mungai watches the circus. He leans comfortably beneath a tree
eating roasted maize peacefully. No stress. No panic. Only amusement.)
Mungai:
Ah…beautiful
confusion. Exactly what I prayed for. Let them; divide themselves, worship ego,
and fight over geography. As they argue…I shall quietly return to office like a
cat entering a kitchen with milk and meat.
Mzee
Kihoto: And thus…disunity
itself became campaign strategy.
(Lights
dim slowly. Single spotlight on Mzee Kihoto.)
Mzee
Kihoto: People of Lari…listen
carefully. First; you cannot defeat bad leadership…while carrying your own
selfish ambitions. Unity requires sacrifice. But everybody here wants the
crown. Second; Ndume’s ego cannot bend. He would rather lose proudly alone…than
win together. Third; Muiru believes strongly in fairness. But only the fairness
that benefits his region. Fourth; Mwendia is already politically mortgaged. Diaspora
money tied him like a goat at the market. Even angels cannot convince him to
step down now. And fifth; the one man capable of changing Lari— Gichuka
Waithera— is feared not because he is weak…but because honesty threatens
dishonest systems.
(Long
silence.)
Mzee
Kihoto: And so…as the
opposition fought itself proudly…Mungai smiled quietly in the distance. Because
nothing protects failed leadership better…than divided people pretending to
seek change.
(Lights
fade slowly. Drums echo softly. Then silence.)
Scene III — Aspirants Who Bought Poverty
(Lights
rise slowly on a dusty Shauri - Githirioni road. Election posters everywhere.
Young men campaigning loudly. Old retired civil servants reappearing
mysteriously. Former failures smiling confidently again. Every wall screaming
“Leadership.”)
Mzee
Kihoto: Ladies and
gentlemen…welcome once again to the season of premature ambitions. Elections
are still far away…but not far away for politicians…yet the thirst for the MP
seat already boils like water for scalding a rooster.
Mama
Ciru (fanning herself dramatically) Even my neighbor’s son— Gichuka
Waithera—wants to become MP. Imagine! A man still struggling now dreaming of
Parliament.
Kamau:
Why
not? The MP seat is sweet. Stealing public properties. Allowances, respect,
foreign trips, escorts, microphones. Even old men with painful knees are
resurfacing to try their luck.
Teacher
Wahu (shaking head) But
do they understand what they are actually chasing?
Mzee
Kihoto: (smirking) Oh,
they understand the sweetness very well. It is the cost they never calculate.
(Lights
shift. Muhote walking confidently during campaigns. Villagers welcoming him
warmly. Food offered freely. Motorcycles transporting him willingly. Everything
effortless.)
Mzee
Kihoto: Observe Muhote carefully. A miracle candidate. He barely
spent money campaigning during his term. People; fed him, fueled him, blessed
him, and elected him like a man chosen directly by angels.
Mama
Ciru: We voted for him with pure hearts.
Mzee
Kihoto: Yes. Pure hearts. And dangerously empty expectations.
(Lights
shift sharply to Muhote inside office. Feet on desk. Relaxed. Having a
conversation with another person who is not seen by camera. Then he is bored.)
Muhote:
Which
project? Ah…next year. Let people remain patient. After all…they elected me out
of love, not development. And now I have money to woo them.
Mzee
Kihoto: (to
audience) And that is how entire villages received; no road, no
water, no project, not even a culvert. Only
dust survived his term of leadership.
(Lights
dim. Campaign season again. Muhote now sweating heavily. Large duffle bag
beside him. Villagers forming aggressive queues.)
Muhote: (panicking while distributing cash) Please…my
people… vote for me again! Take this! And this!
Mama
Ciru: (calculating
carefully) Mheshimiwa…last month you gave two hundred. This month increase
slightly. Life has become expensive.
Karanja:
And
remember; youth football tournaments, jerseys, footballs, transport, snacks. You are still “our leader. Gaitû ga
gwíciaríra.”
Muhote: (sweating harder) Take! Take everything!
Just remember me during voting!
Mzee
Kihoto: And thus…Muhote poured out money until his pockets resembled
dry riverbeds. But he misunderstood something important; hunger smiles
beautifully but that does not make it loyal.
(Drumbeat.)
Mzee
Kihoto: Election Day arrived. And the same voters who emptied his
pockets…did not re-elect him.
(Lights
blackout briefly. Lights rise. Ndume surrounded by endless requests from
villagers.)
Mama
Ciru: Ndume! Church harambee next Sunday. Bring something serious.
Karanja:
Kírûirû
Women group needs; uniforms, tents, chairs, sufuria’s, transport. You know you
are already “our MP. We are only waiting to swear you in!”
Ndume: (trying to remain confident) Do not
worry. I shall support everybody. I shall donate. I shall sponsor. I shall
stand with the people.
Mzee
Kihoto: And donate he did. Relentlessly. Until even his bank account
developed drought conditions.
(Fast
transitions. Church fundraisers. Hospital bills. Funerals. Youth tournaments. Women’s
groups. Emergency appeals. More giving. More pressure. More smiling. Less
money.)
Mzee
Kihoto: By election day…Ndume’s pockets were emptier than promises
printed on campaign posters. He had even loans from banks and SACCOs.
Teacher
Wahu: (watching sadly) Poor
man. He still believes love automatically becomes votes.
(Drumbeat.
Election results announced.)
Crowd: (celebrating loudly) We did not elect
him!
(Ndume
collapses slowly. Lights shift to hospital bed.)
Mzee
Kihoto: One week
hospitalized. Diagnosis; Acute Electoral Shock.
(Lights
dim slowly. Village forum. Heavy silence. People reflective now.)
Teacher
Wahu: My people…hear this truth carefully. A political seat is not
only power. It is also a financial trap.
Mama
Ciru: But leaders must help us! Attend harambees! Support us!
Teacher
Wahu: Service is written in law. Projects are written in law. Performance
matters. But you people? You demand money more than leadership.
(Spotlight
on Mzee Kihoto.)
Mzee
Kihoto: Listen carefully. First;
many people chasing the political seats are chasing: both glory…and poverty
simultaneously. Some enter politics wealthy…and leave completely broken. Second;
voters are experts at financially draining politicians: harambees, handouts,
favors, emotional pressure, endless fundraising. Third; re-election cannot be
purchased permanently. If your first term in leadership produced nothing…no
amount of handouts will rescue you. Voters shall consume your money quickly—the
same way side chicks munch bus fare: fast, guiltlessly, without memory. Fourth:
real performance advertises itself. A leader who genuinely worked…does not need
buying loyalty. Visible service becomes its own campaign.
(Long
silence.)
Mzee
Kihoto: So my people… if you seek leadership: protect your pocket, protect
your purpose, and for heaven’s sake… protect your common sense.
(Lights
fade slowly. Drums echo softly. Then silence.)
Scene IV — The Debate
(A
community hall. Plastic chairs. Cheap banners. A handwritten sign reads: “Lari Public Debate” Villagers gather noisily. Phones
recording. Excitement everywhere. At center stage sit Gichuka Waithera and Mungai.
MC Jay moderates dramatically.)
MC
Jay: Tonight, the people shall decide! Leadership! Vision! Development!
Transformation!
(Applause.)
MC
Jay: First question; youth unemployment. Honorable Gichuka
Waithera?
Gichuka
Waithera: Youth unemployment cannot be solved through rallies and
slogans. We need; vocational investment, agricultural support for youths,
transparent funding, industrial partnerships—
(Some
audience members already disengaging.)
Crowd:
Speak
simply!
Woman:
We
are not in Nairobi University lecture hall!
Gichuka
Waithera: Fine. Let me speak plainly. A society cannot consume more
than it produces forever. We need systems that create long-term opportunities. Not
temporary excitement.
(Scattered
applause.)
MC Jay:
Honorable
Mungai?
(Huge
cheering.)
Mungai:
My
people…First let us be honest. Can theories feed children tonight?
Crowd:
No!
Mungai:
Can
reports pay school fees tomorrow morning?
Crowd: No!
Mungai:
Leadership
must understand reality! My opponent speaks like a consultant. But leadership
is about people! Emotion! Presence! Standing with citizens during difficult
times!
(Crowd
erupts.)
Gichuka
Waithera: Standing with people is not enough if nothing changes their
daily lives. Lari people do not need to be supported like banana stems. They
need something that can strengthen their lives. They need to move away from
depending on leaders for survival.
Mungai: Ah! There
it is! That is educated arrogance!
(Crowd
reacts loudly.)
Mungai: You
see? This is the problem with intellectuals. They speak to citizens as if
giving homework. But ordinary people are tired. Tired people do not want
lectures. They want relief.
(Huge
applause.)
Kamau:
(from audience) Relief
for one day! Suffering for five years!
(Crowd
murmurs.)
Mungai:
Young
man…suffering did not begin with me.
Kamau:
But
you benefit from it! And you do not want to break that trend.
(Tension
rises.)
MC Jay: Order!
Order!
Woman:
What
about dispensary?
Mungai: We
are improving healthcare.
Woman:
My
sister died waiting for a doctor.
(Silence.)
Mungai:
Development
takes time.
Gichuka
Waithera: No. Bad leadership takes time to solve basic problems. Lari
without functional dispensaries is like a home without food.
(Applause
from some youth.)
Elder: Enough
speeches! Answer honestly! Why should we trust either of you?
(A
deep silence.)
Gichuka
Waithera: Because leadership must eventually become accountability. Not
performance. Not tribal emotion. Not handouts. If we continue voting
emotionally, nothing changes.
Mungai:
And
if we continue voting for theories, people will starve waiting for your perfect
systems.
(Crowd
explodes again. The debate descends into noise. Shouting. Whistles. Party
slogans. Phones recording. Arguments. Suddenly the debate no longer matters. Only
emotion remains.)
Mzee
Kihoto: (stepping forward
slowly) And just like that…the election stopped being about ideas. Now it
became tribal identity. Noise. Fear. Memory. Pride. The oldest gods of Lari politics.
(Blackout.)
Scene V — Near the Pots of Meat
(Soft
light rises slowly. A beautifully prepared dining table. Silver cutlery. Warm
food. Peaceful silence. Gichuka Waithera sits alone eating slowly. Far from
Lari. Far from dust. Far from political noise.)
Mzee
Kihoto: Gichuka Waithera had every reason to remain silent. He was
not hungry. He did not; queue for unga, chase politicians, or wait beside roads
for promises. He ate life with a large
spoon…far away from Lari.
(Silence
spreads gently. A well-dressed Messenger from abroad enters calmly.)
Messenger:
Why
disturb yourself? Lari is; loud, broken, predictable. Here…your plate is full.
Gichuka
Waithera: (quietly) A full
plate…does not silence a burning conscience. Even Nehemiah did not remain silent
in regard to Jerusalem.
Mzee
Kihoto: And so the struggle began. Not first in Lari. But inside the
heart of a man…who could have comfortably stayed away.
(Lights
dim slowly. The choice of identity. Stage transforms. Cracked earth. Dryness. Villagers
seated in exhausted groups. Children silent. Women tired. The contrast with the
earlier table is painful.)
Mzee
Kihoto: Like Nehemiah far from suffering Gichuka Waithera saw what
distance often hides. And he chose; not comfort—but identity.
(Gichuka
Waithera enters slowly. Villagers study him suspiciously.)
Crowd:
Why
has he come? Who sent him? Is he; Mungai’s spy? a foreign project? or has power hunger finally reached him too?
Elder
One: We did not invite you.
Elder
Two: And honestly…we are not suffering the way you imagine.
Gichuka
Waithera: That is exactly what frightens me.
(Long
silence.)
Mzee
Kihoto: Some suffering screams loudly. But deeper suffering…learns
to eat quietly. It becomes a way of life.
(Trumpets
suddenly explode. Campaign music. Whistles. Convoys. Mungai enters smiling
warmly. Expensive suit. Confident. Several servants behind him carrying; unga,
rice, mboco, mbembe, cooking oil.)
Mungai:
My
beloved people! Why all this sadness? Have I not fed you?
(Servants
begin distributing food. The crowd immediately softens emotionally.)
Mungai: (raising voice proudly) Reke maríe biû
kaba mage gwa kûmia! Let them eat first…before they begin counting their
wounds.
Crowd: (hesitant but grateful) At least we eat
today…At least today we survive…
Mzee
Kihoto: Pharaoh does not require chains…when stomachs become loyal
voluntarily.
(Lights
shift slowly. The danger of comfort. Night. Small fire burning. Gichuka
Waithera seated with village elders. Quiet tension.)
Gichuka
Waithera: Do you not see? Food has replaced dignity. Relief has
replaced justice.
Elder
One: Hunger is more painful than oppression.
Elder
Two: Empty stomachs do not chant freedom.
Gichuka
Waithera: True. And ruthless leaders know how to butter hunger.
(Heavy
silence.)
Mzee
Kihoto: Bondage becomes easiest to defend…when it feels temporarily
comfortable.
(The
people’s struggle. The Crowd divides into arguing groups.)
Voice
One: Mungai feeds us!
Voice
Two: But he owns us emotionally!
Voice
Three: Freedom does not cook supper!
Voice
Four: No…but slavery seasons it slowly.
(Gichuka
Waithera steps forward.)
Gichuka
Waithera: You are not animals waiting for feeds. You are citizens. You
were meant to stand upright.
Crowd: (angry now) Will your speeches feed us
tomorrow?
(Gichuka
falls silent.)
Mzee
Kihoto: Truth rarely satisfies hunger immediately. That is why
Pharaohs survive many generations.
(Lights
shift sharply. The cost of speaking. Mungai and Gichuka Waithera face one
another directly. Silence heavy between them.)
Mungai: (smiling calmly) You could have remained
abroad comfortably. Why return to disturb dust?
Gichuka
Waithera: Because silence is also political participation.
Mungai:
You
will starve alongside them.
Gichuka
Waithera: Then at least my hunger shall remain honest.
(Suddenly
Truth appears briefly under narrow spotlight. Not fully human. Almost symbolic.)
Truth:
A
people who repeatedly choose food over freedom…will eventually beg for both in
the long run.
(Truth
disappears immediately. Silence follows. The relief food sacks remain center
stage. The people stand uncertain beside them. Hungry. Conflicted. Thinking.)
Mzee
Kihoto: Lari did not lack food entirely. It lacked courage. And
courage…cannot be distributed in rations.
(Gichuka
Waithera steps among the people. Not above them. Among them.)
Gichuka
Waithera: I did not come to rescue you. I came to refuse silence. The
rest…belongs to your choices.
(Lights
begin fading slowly.)
Mzee
Kihoto: Every generation must eventually decide; to be near the pots
of meat…or move and seek freedom. But in Lari near the pots of meat wins.
(Silence.
Then distant sounds of campaign whistles returning again. Curtain.)
Scene VI — The Campaign Without Time
(Late
evening along a muddy Bathi village path. Women carrying firewood. Children walking
from school. Men repairing bicycles beside small kiosks. Then suddenly—Campaign
songs explode loudly in the distance. Whistles. Motorcycles. Convoys.)
Crowd: (confused murmuring) Campaigns? Already?
But elections are still far away…three years to come.
Mobilizer: (running excitedly across stage) Do not
ask when! In Lari…campaigns do not follow time. Time follows campaigns!
(Huge
laughter.)
Mzee
Kihoto: In many places…campaigns arrive like seasons. Then they
leave. But in Lari…campaigns never end. They simply rest briefly. Perhaps
minutes.
Kamau: But
aren’t campaigns supposed to begin only a few months before elections?
Old
Man: (laughing dryly) That
is the law. (Looks around slowly.) This…is
Lari.
(Lights
shift slowly)
Mbogo: My
people! I came early because I care early! I have seen; your suffering, your
neglect, your forgotten roads.
Crowd: (excitedly) He came early! He truly
loves us!
Mzee
Kihoto: In Lari…love is measured; not by good governance—but by
arrival time and what is in the pocket.
(Lights
dim slightly. Behind a church building.)
Mwitikia: Will
you contest?
Njohana: (smiling knowingly) Yes. But not to win.
Mwitikia: Then
why campaign?
Mwitikia: Every
road must first be cleared…before a king passes through.
Mzee
Kihoto: Some men campaign for office. Others campaign; for influence
and money, for negotiation, or for somebody else’s arrival entirely.
(Kamau
approaches curiously.)
Kamau:
If
you already know you cannot win…why walk all these villages?
Njohana: Because
even a voice crying in the wilderness still has a purpose.
Mzee
Kihoto: And sometimes…the loudest voice is not the one that remains
longest.
(Lights
shift quickly. The sudden arrival. Whispers spreading rapidly through Lari. People
murmuring nervously.)
Crowd: (whispering repeatedly) Have you heard? Someone
new is coming…No posters…No convoys…No noise…
Mobilizer: (confused and offended) But who
mobilized for him?
(Suddenly
Gichuka Waithera appears quietly among ordinary people. No announcement. No
music. No security. Yet people begin noticing him everywhere.)
Mzee
Kihoto: No songs introduced him. No posters carried his face. Yet
suddenly…he appeared everywhere. Lari people talked about him in; homes, markets,
churches, funerals, pathways, and in daily conversations.
Crowd: (quiet awe) Where did he come from?
Njohana: (softly, satisfied) The road…is finally
prepared.
(Lights
shift. Public meeting. Mungai addresses villagers confidently. Experienced
smile. Comfortable arrogance.)
Mungai:
My
people…you know me well. I have always stood with you.
Old
Man: Yes. We know you.
(Long
pause.)
Old
Man: But what exactly have you done apart from creating a system
of PR?
(Silence.)
Kamau:
He
has done very little if there is…
Crowd:
Still—
he is ours! Still— we know him! Still—
change feels dangerous!
Mzee
Kihoto: Even when harvests fail repeatedly…some farmers still refuse
to; change seed, change methods, or replace the bull that mounts their cow.
(Heavy
silence. Old Man rises slowly. The crowd quiets.)
Old
Man: Your hearts…have become like stone.
Crowd: (defensive immediately) No! We are
simply loyal!
Old
Man: Loyal…to what exactly? To progress? Or merely to habit?
(Long
silence.)
Mzee
Kihoto: In Lari…change rarely fails because it is absent. It fails
because it is resisted emotionally.
(Lights
shift rapidly. All candidates still campaigning. Still promising. Still
singing. Still moving. Time passing visibly across stage; months, seasons,
rain, sunshine. Yet the campaign never stops.)
Mzee
Kihoto: Two years. One year. Six months. Three months.
(Pause.)
Mzee
Kihoto: In Lari…these numbers mean nothing. Politics never sleeps
here. It only changes decibels.
(The
people stand silently now. Thinking. Watching. Tired.)
Kamau:
We
have seen everything.
Old
Man: Yes.
Kamau:
And
still…we must choose.
(Gichuka
Waithera stands quietly. Mungai stands firmly nearby. Njohana slowly steps
backward into shadows.)
Crowd: (softly, conflicted) We complain…We
compare… We suffer…and then we reinforce the same vicious cycle by our choices.
(Pause.)
Crowd: (stronger now, uncertain still) But
shall we truly change?
Mzee
Kihoto: The tragedy of Lari is not simply that leaders fail. It is
that people sometimes refuse to accept the system that will not give them
handouts. They keep choosing leaders after their own heart and ideals.
(Long
silence.)
Mzee
Kihoto: And so the campaigns continue. Not because elections are
near…but because decisions remain as they were in 1969.
(Lights
fade slowly. Distant campaign songs continue echoing endlessly in darkness. Never
fully disappearing.)
Scene VII — The Night Meeting
(Late
night. A dimly lit roadside. Several villagers gathered secretly. Whispers. Tension.
Bundles being distributed quietly. Rice. Flour. Cash. MC Jay supervises.)
MC
Jay: One packet per household. Do not post online. And remember
who cares for you.
Woman:
What
about cooking oil?
MC Jay:
Tomorrow.
Young
Man: What if the other side gives more?
MC Jay:
Then
take theirs too. But vote wisely.
(Laughter.
Kamau watches from distance, disturbed.)
Kamau:
So
this is how leadership is determined now?
MC
Jay: No. This is survival. Leadership is discussed Kwamûnene. Here
we negotiate hunger.
Kamau:
And
after elections?
MC
Jay: After elections everyone returns to complaining
professionally.
(Laughter
from crowd.)
Nyina
wa Wanja: (receiving flour
reluctantly) I hate this.
MC
Jay: But you still came.
Nyina
wa Wanja: Because hunger do not respect principles.
(Silence.)
Mzee
Kihoto: (appearing slowly)
The tragedy of poverty… is not merely suffering. It is how suffering slowly
trains people to cooperate with their own exploitation.
(Lights
dim slowly.)
Scene VIII — Tuondo Na Tûmíhuko
(Early
morning in Gituamba village. Roosters crowing. Children sweeping compounds. Women
lighting cooking fires. Goats bleating lazily. Then suddenly— A loud voice
tears through the morning.)
Kunda
Ngûtûme: (running breathlessly
across stage) Mûkoimíra na tuondo na tûmíhuko! Mûthí wa rûciû mûnene níagoka!
Crowd: (excitedly repeating) Tuondo! Tûmíhuko! Tuondo!
Tûmíhuko!
Mzee
Kihoto: In Lari…news does not travel politely. It explodes. And
whenever leaders are coming…people do not first ask; “Why?” They ask; “What
should we carry?”
(Villagers
rush around preparing. Women searching for baskets. Young men tying sacks
hurriedly. Old men adjusting coats. Children running excitedly.)
Young
Man: (tying sack eagerly) Even if it is peanuts… peanuts are
still something.
Old
Woman: A leader who arrives empty-handed…is not a leader. He is
merely a visitor without respect like something coming from a latrine.
(Laughter.
The journey. Villagers begin walking long distances together. Some barefoot. Some
tired. Others singing political songs loudly to hide exhaustion. Dust rising
behind them.)
Crowd:
From
Nyanduma! From Kamburu! From Kijabe! From Kinale! From Kirenga!
Mzee
Kihoto: Distance does not matter in Lari. People walk for miles to
get a packet of unga or rice. Hope is lighter than hunger. And expectation
carries itself willingly.
(Lights
shift. Kimende primary school grounds. Huge gathering. Vehicles parked
dramatically. Campaign banners everywhere. Cameras visible immediately. Everything
carefully staged.)
Aspirant
One: (stepping out
grandly) My people!
Crowd:
Mwana
witu! Our leader!
Mzee
Kihoto: Observe carefully. This is not generosity. This is
choreography.
Kunda
Ngûtûme: Line up properly! One by one! Let the cameras see you
clearly!
(Villagers
form organized queues holding; baskets, sacks, containers.)
Aspirant
Two:
(whispering to cameraman) Capture; the
youth, the old women, and the children. It looks more emotional that way.
(The
giving. Beans, maize, rice, and seedlings distributed slowly. Painfully slowly.
Everything staged for cameras. Each handshake repeated carefully.)
Crowd:
Thank
you! Thank you! Thank you!
Mzee
Kihoto: They must be seen receiving. Not once. Not twice. But
repeatedly. Clearly. Emotionally. Publicly.
Old
Woman: (aside quietly) We
are being fed like chickens…but recorded like criminals. Is beans worthy to be
seen as beggars on national television?
Young
Man:
(posing with 2 kilos sack proudly) Wait!
Take the photo again!
(Camera
flashes repeatedly. After the event. Villagers walking home carrying goods
proudly. The mood strangely victorious.)
Crowd:
It
was a good day! We received something!
Mzee
Kihoto: In Lari…a “good leader” is first measured in kilograms.
Old
Woman: And later…in regrets.
Young
Man: Another meeting tomorrow, right?
(Suddenly
Kunda Ngûtûme appears again like a political prophet.)
Kunda
Ngûtûme: Yes! Another leader is arriving tomorrow morning!
Crowd: (excited again) Tuondo! Tûmíhuko! Tuondo!
Tûmíhuko!
(Lights
shift slowly. Kanda worire. Quiet homestead. No crowds. No music. No banners. No
vehicles. Only silence. Gichuka Waithera enters quietly. He knocks gently.)
Mzee
Kihoto: Then came a man…who refused the stage.
Gichuka
Waithera: I came to talk.
Villager: (confused) Where is the meeting?
Gichuka
Waithera: Here.
Villager:
Where
are the handouts?
Gichuka
Waithera: I brought a conversation.
(Long
silence.)
Villager: (worried) Should we call others?
Gichuka
Waithera: No. I came to you directly.
(Word
spreads slowly. Villagers gather cautiously. But now; no baskets, no sacks, no
excitement. Only suspicion.)
Crowd:
Why
is he not calling us to Open Grounds? Why no tuondo? Why no tûmíhuko?
Young
Man: (uneasy) How do
we receive…without carrying something?
Old
Woman: This man is disturbing the system that feed us.
Gichuka
Waithera: What if leadership is not something people queue for? What
if leadership visits you…without humiliating your dignity first?
(The
villagers fall silent. Uncomfortable. Confused.)
Mzee
Kihoto: He removed the spectacle…and suddenly the people missed the
humiliation.
Young
Man: This feels empty.
Old
Woman: No. It feels unfamiliar.
(Lights
shift slowly.)
Mzee Kihoto: Lari is not hungry for food
alone. It is hungry for dignity…even when it forgets.
Old
Woman: One day…we shall stop carrying baskets and sacks for
politicians.
(Pause.)
Young
Man: …and politicians shall finally begin carrying responsibility
for us.
(Lights
fade slowly. Far away, faint echoes still heard; distant voices. Tuondo…tûmíhuko…)
Scene IX — The Betrayal of Gitithia
(Late
Sunday afternoon in Gitithia Village. Children playing near dusty paths. Women
returning from church. Smoke rising gently from kitchens. Villagers gathered
warmly around Gichuka Waithera. The atmosphere hopeful. Almost emotional.)
Mzee
Kihoto: (stepping forward
proudly) Behold Gichuka Waithera. Son of Gitithia soil. Born beside Karera
Forest. He herded goats with these same voters. Borrowed chalk from the same
teachers. Fetched water from the same river…before promises dried them up.
Nyandemi: (embracing Gichuka Waithera proudly) Gichuka
Waithera…you are one of us. If anyone deserves the Lari parliamentary seat…it
is you.
Kamworo: (excitedly) Go for it, brother! We are
fully behind you!
MC
Jay: (raising finger
wisely) Behind him…yes. But not too far. We must remain close to the parade
of handouts too.
(Huge
laughter.)
Gichuka
Waithera: I want to serve. I want to restore dignity. I want our
children to dream again.
Crowd:
Tunakupea!
Tunakupea! We support you! Gitithia is your Tharaka-Nithi.
Mzee
Kihoto: (turning slowly toward
audience) Ah yes. Warm smiles. Sweet promises. And for once… the empty
promises were coming from voters.
(Lights
shift violently. Campaign music explodes. Dust everywhere. Luxury convoy enters
dramatically. The arrival of Mungai. Mungai steps out wearing sunglasses despite
approaching darkness. Confident. Untouchable. Several men carry black bags
discreetly behind him.)
Crowd: (gasping loudly) Woooooi! Money has
arrived!
Mungai: (arms wide open theatrically) My beloved
people of Gitithia! I may not know exactly where I come from… but I know very
well where money comes from.
(He
throws notes into the air. Chaos erupts instantly. People scramble
aggressively.)
Nyandemi: (catching money mid-air proudly) Leadership!
This is leadership!
Kamworo:
Mheshimiwa…even
if we do not know your village…your money clearly talks to our hearts and hands.
(Huge
laughter.)
Kamau: (quietly aside) The devil is not always
powerful. Sometimes…he is simply well-funded.
Mzee
Kihoto: And just like that…Gitithia people forgot; about ideas,
service, or vision.
(Lights
fade slowly. Election Day. Gitithia Primary Polling Station. Long queues. Nervous
tension. Ballot boxes center stage. Gichuka Waithera stands anxiously nearby.)
Presiding
Officer: (reading results
slowly) For Honorable Mungai…Four thousand, six hundred and eighty-nine
votes.
(Crowd
erupts. Whistles. Celebration.)
Presiding
Officer: For Gichuka Waithera…(Long silence.) Three votes…..others……..
(Silence
crashes heavily across stage.)
Gichuka
Waithera: Three? (Pause.) Three?
Nyandemi: (avoiding eye contact) People were…busy.
Kamworo:
(scratching head awkwardly) Maybe
the pens were faulty.
MC
Jay: (philosophically)
My friend… even Jesus healed ten lepers. But only one returned to say thank
you. And he was not a Jew but a Samaritan. He was not from Nazareth of Galilee
but from Samaria.
Mzee
Kihoto: (to audience quietly)
And there it was. The tragedy of Gitithia. A man known by; his footsteps, his
family, his history, and his dust… received support equivalent to a nuclear
family of one child.
(Gichuka
Waithera remains frozen alone. Lights dim around him slowly.)
Scene X — The Familiar Failure
(Early
morning. Mist hanging quietly over Kwa Ben hills. Roosters crowing faintly.
Women sweeping compounds. The air is calm. Almost reflective.)
Mzee
Kihoto: Lari voters do not
forget names. They forget outcomes.
Crowd: (Looking at campaign posters. softly, almost
prayerfully) He was our leader…Even this was our leader…They shall lead us
again…
Mzee
Kihoto: Faces are remembered
carefully. Results are forgotten generously.
(Lights
shift slowly. Small rally at Rukuma shopping centre. Plastic chairs. Dust. Easy
applause. Njereri waves confidently like a man returning to property he never
lost.)
Njereri:
My
people! You know me! I have served you before!
Mzee
Kihoto: Yes. He served. But
nothing arrived; no roads, no water, no transformation. Only speeches survived
his leadership.
Crowd: (excitedly) He knows us! He understands
our struggles!
Mzee
Kihoto: In Lari…understanding people is often mistaken for helping
them.
(Lights
shift. Makobi speaks. Roadside meeting at Matathia. Smaller crowd. Louder defensiveness.)
Makobi:
Development
requires patience! I was working tirelessly!
Mzee
Kihoto: Time passed. Work never
appeared.
Crowd: (defensively now) At least he tried!
Mzee
Kihoto: Trying becomes celebrated where accountability disappears.
(Lights
shift slowly. Two more former leaders stand together awkwardly. Both smiling
too hard. Both carrying old promises polished like recycled furniture.)
Mugethi: Give
me another chance! I have learned from past mistakes!
Mzee
Kihoto: The past he references so emotionally contains very little.
Crowd: (hopeful but confused) Maybe this
time…Maybe now…Maybe things will change…
Mzee
Kihoto: Hope in Lari is rarely built on evidence. It survives
mainly through repetition.
(Lights
shift again. Large rally at Kirasha. Big crowd. Big convoy. Heavy authority. Very
little substance.)
Mukabi:
During
my two terms…we achieved tremendous progress.
(Silence.
Nobody claps immediately.)
Mzee
Kihoto: Two full terms. Yet; no visible transformation, no lasting
project, no surviving legacy. Only memory of maize, beans, rice and handouts.
Crowd: (weakly now) He is still our leader…
Mzee
Kihoto: Loyalty survives longest where accountability dies first.
(Lights
soften slowly. Quiet Kibagare pathway. No convoy. No music. No rally. Only Gichuka
Waithera and Wamwai; the only female aspirants, walking quietly together.)
Wamwai:
They
do not know us.
Gichuka
Waithera: Yes. And honestly, they do not want to. They are comfortable
with what they know.
Mzee
Kihoto: Neither of them has failed Lari. Neither carries corruption
scandals. Neither has stolen public resources. But they carry another burden: unfamiliarity.
Crowd: (dismissively) Who are they? Where have they
been all this time?
Mzee
Kihoto: In Lari newness creates suspicion. But repeated failure
creates comfort. A known devil is better.
(Lights
widen slowly.)
Crowd: (together) We trust the leaders we
already know!
Mzee
Kihoto: Even when those leaders delivered nothing.
Crowd: They
are ours!
Mzee
Kihoto: The people of Lari desire change deeply. But repeatedly
choose familiarity instead. They reject the unknown…even when the known has
already disappointed them many times.
Gichuka
Waithera: (quietly) Change
arrived. But they were blind.
Mzee
Kihoto: And so, the cycle
survives. Not because leadership refuses changing…but because memory itself
refuses learning. Until one day; memory breaks, courage awakens, or nothing
changes at all.
(Lights
fade slowly.)
Scene XI — Election Day
(Dawn.
Long queues. Silence. Cold morning. Tension everywhere. For the first time in
the play; No music. No dancing. Only waiting. Villagers queue quietly.)
Woman:
I
barely slept.
Elder:
Election
days feel like ‘Exodus’.
Kamau:
Do
you think anything changes today?
Elder:
Every
election do change something. Usually in favor of politicians.
(Soft
laughter. Gichuka Waithera walks quietly among voters. No convoy. No
bodyguards. People greet him politely but cautiously. Meanwhile Mungai arrives
dramatically. Security. Convoy. Media. Crowds surge immediately. Phones
recording.)
MC Jay:
Leader
of the people!
(Cheers
erupt.)
Gichuka
Waithera: (watching quietly)
Crowds are not people. They are pictures.
Mzee
Kihoto: Yes. But pictures win elections now.
(Voting
continues. Silence grows heavier. The audience feel; history repeating itself.
Then night. Large crowd gathered around Lari tally center. Tension unbearable. Phones
glowing. Generators humming.)
Announcer (Offstage): Total votes cast—
(Crowd
silent.)
Announcer: Honorable
Gichuka Waithera—
(Crowd
listens intensely.)
Announcer: Six
thousand, two hundred and eleven votes.
(Applause
from supporters.)
Announcer:
Honorable
Mungai—
(Massive
silence.)
Announcer:
Fifty-eight
thousand, four hundred and ninety votes.
(Explosion.
Music. Screaming. Whistles. Celebration chaos. Fireworks. Dancing. Mungai
lifted onto shoulders.)
Crowd:
Mungai!
Mungai! Mungai!
(Gichuka
Waithera stands completely still amid chaos. No speech. No anger. Just quiet
understanding.)
Kamau:
How?
Nyina
wa Wanja: Because hunger votes faster than reason.
(Mungai
grabs microphone triumphantly.)
Mungai:
The
people of Lari have spoken! And their voice is Gods voice. Democracy has won!
(Wild
cheering.)
Mzee
Kihoto (stepping slowly into
light) No. Democracy has not won. Hunger has revealed itself.
(Celebration
continues behind him like madness.)
Mzee
Kihoto: And somewhere beneath the music… beneath the dancing…beneath
the fireworks…Lari quietly prepared to suffer again.
(Lights
slowly fade while celebration continues.)
Scene XII — The Man Who Kept His Word
(Lights
rise slowly. Evening. Cold wind moving through the Kiirita forest. Villagers
gathered in small groups around radios and phones. Election results spreading from
hill to hill. Some celebrating loudly. Others quiet. Uncertain.)
Mzee
Kihoto: In the year when the winds of Lari beat hardest against its
villages…two men stood before the people; Mungai—the favored son of Kimende. And
Gichuka Waithera— quiet, steady, firm like a Mugumo tree rooted deep in
stubborn ground.
(Soft
drumbeat.)
Mzee Kihoto: The ballots were counted. The numbers
announced. And the voice of the people was declared. Even the Kiirita forest
listened carefully that night.
(Gichuka
Waithera steps slowly onto an improvised podium. No anger. No bitterness. Only
calm. The crowd falls silent.)
Gichuka
Waithera: People of Lari…your voice has spoken. And the voice of the
people… (laughing sarcastically) is
the voice of God.
(The
crowd shifts uneasily.)
Gichuka
Waithera: Today…I accept this outcome fully. I concede defeat with a
clean heart. May Mungai lead you wisely. May he carry; your hopes, your hunger,
and your future with courage.
(Long
pause.)
Gichuka
Waithera: As for me…I now leave the political road of Lari. I shall
not fight him. He has five good years to lead. And I shall honor; your
decision, your choice, my word, and God.
(He
bows his head gently. Some villagers clap respectfully. Others whisper
nervously. Some suddenly regretful already.)
Mzee
Kihoto: And with those words…Gichuka Waithera stepped away. Not
merely from a podium—but from the noise of Lari politics itself.
(Lights
fade slowly. Months later. Lights rise sharply. Mungai now addresses crowds
from elevated platforms. His voice louder. His posture heavier with power. Bodyguards
around him constantly. People have no access of him.)
Mungai:
I
am your elected leader! Follow my direction! Only I understand the future of
Lari!
(Villagers
murmur uneasily.)
Wacera: (whispering) This man has changed. He
once greeted us in marketplaces. Now he walks like thunder itself.
Njuguna:
And
where is Gichuka Waithera now? Is this not the moment he should return?
Mama
Waceke: (softly) A man
who gives his word before: God, elders, and conscience… binds his own tongue. He
said he would not fight Mungai again. So now…even if Lari house burns—he
watches quietly from afar.
(Lights
dim slowly. Mzee Kihoto walks slowly
across stage as years pass visually. Rain. Mud. Campaign posters aging. Roads
worsening. Children growing older.)
Mzee
Kihoto: And time moved. Mungai’s shadow stretched longer across
Lari. The villages began murmuring regret quietly. But Gichuka Waithera? He
appeared only briefly. Like memory itself. But never uttered a word of Lari
leadership.
(Lights
reveal short silent moments across stage.)
Mzee
Kihoto: A quiet Saturday afternoon in Gitithia greeting children
beside muddy roads.
(Lights
shift.)
Mzee
Kihoto: A Saturday morning in Ciringi Ikumi buying bread and sugar
quietly for relatives.
(Lights
shift.)
Mzee
Kihoto: A brief visit to Githogoiyo checking on cousins.
(Lights
shift.)
Mzee
Kihoto: A slow walk through Kwa Mathore laughing softly with family.
(Pause.)
Mzee
Kihoto: But politics? He touched it no more.
(Villagers
gather slowly center stage.)
Crowd: Heri
tungechagua Gichuka Waithera… We should have chosen Gichuka…
Wacera:
Does
he not see what Mungai has become? Does he not hear us calling him back?
Mama
Waceke: He hears. But a promise is not cloth. It cannot be changed
daily. A man who gives his word…must swallow both its honey and its thorns.
(Lights
shift slowly. Single spotlight. Gichuka Waithera sits alone abroad. Books
beside him. Quiet apartment. No campaign songs. No politics. Only silence.)
Mzee
Kihoto: Across oceans Gichuka Waithera built another life. He studied,
worked, walked streets where nobody shouted his name. And yet…sometimes…Lari
returned quietly to his thoughts.
(Soft
drumbeat. Gichuka closes his book slowly. Looks toward audience.)
Gichuka Waithera: A leader must know when to
speak,
and also when silence becomes the higher discipline.
(Pause.)
Gichuka
Waithera: I gave my word. And I shall keep it. Even if regret calls my
name loudly. Even if the people remember too early. Lari must learn through
time, through consequence, through reflection.
(He
rises slowly and exits. Villagers return quietly. Older now. Softer. More
thoughtful.)
Njuguna:
(quietly) So he shall never return?
Mama
Waceke: Not to the battle he already laid down. But memory survives
longer than power. Sometimes…that is enough.
Crowd:
Gichuka
Waithera…The man who bowed. The man who left. The man who kept his word.
(Long
silence.)
Mzee
Kihoto: And so, it was written quietly in the heart of Lari; both
bad and good leaders emerge but the people choose bad ones.
(Lights
fade slowly. The villagers hum softly. A mournful tune. Then darkness.)
ACT IV — THE REGRET
Scene I — Six Months Later
(Darkness.
Slow sounds emerge. Wind. Metal sheets rattling. Distant coughing. A leaking
tap dripping rhythmically. No campaign music. No whistles. No convoys. Only
ordinary struggle. Lights rise slowly. The market looks older now. Dustier.
Tired. Campaign posters hang in torn fragments from poles. Mungai’s smiling
face is faded and peeling. The unfinished road remains unfinished. Potholes
larger. Nyina wa Wanja sits quietly beside nearly empty baskets. Business is
slow. Very slow. Kamau enters carrying a worn jerrycan. He looks thinner. Less
energetic. Less sarcastic.)
Nyina
wa Wanja: You disappeared.
Kamau:
Water
queue at the river. Three hours. The borehole stopped again. The electricity
bill is not paid.
Nyina
wa Wanja: Any job?
Kamau:
Only
promises. Those remain fully employed.
(A
weak laugh.)
Nyina
wa Wanja: At least your leader won.
Kamau: Do
not start. I already regret professionally every morning.
(Silence.)
Kamau:
Did
you hear the dispensary ran out of medical supplies again?
Nyina
wa Wanja: Again?
Kamau:
Now
patients bring; gloves, syringes, painkillers, hope, and sometimes their own
chairs.
Nyina
wa Wanja: Lari is dying slowly. It is in hospice unit.
(Long
silence.)
Scene II — The People and Their Hunger
(Matimbei
village. Dust moving slowly through the air. Villagers gathered angrily beside
a broken road. The atmosphere is tense.)
Crowd: (overlapping voices) Mungai has failed
us! The roads are terrible! Dispensaries do not work! Schools are collapsing! Even
sewage now travels faster than development!
Mzee
Kihoto: And so the people spoke loudly. Certain; of the villain, of
the failure, and of the blame.
(Mungai
enters slowly carrying a small sack of maize. No bodyguards. No convoy. Only
tiredness.)
Mungai: You
accuse me of hating development. You say:
I rejected roads, neglected hospitals, abandoned schools. But answer me
honestly.
(He
studies them quietly.)
Mungai: When I spoke about roads…what
did you tell me?
Crowd: (immediately defensive) We do not eat
roads!
(Long
silence.)
Mzee Kihoto: And
there…buried inside one sentence stood the tragedy of Lari roads.
(Lights
shift slowly. Elders seated beneath a tree at Mbau-ini. Gichuka Waithera stands
quietly nearby listening.)
Mzee
Kihoto: Every future knocked politely. Every idea requested entry. But
each vision was judged: not by long-term value—but by immediate appetite.
Mungai:
I
said; “Let us repair dispensaries.” And you answered—
Elder
One: We already have Kijabe Hospital nearby.
Mungai:
I
said; “Let us strengthen schools.” And you replied—
Elder
Two: Gíthomo ti thuruarí. Education changes nothing.
(Mungai
lowers head briefly.)
Mungai:
So
eventually…I asked myself; why construct what people themselves despise?
(Kongothiria
village. Food distribution begins. Immediately the atmosphere changes. Smiles
return. Energy returns. Hope returns temporarily.)
Crowd: (smiling warmly now) Mûndû witû! Our
person! He understands us! He feeds us!
Mzee
Kihoto: And suddenly…roads became: rice. Hospitals became: handouts.
Schools became: sacks of maize.
Mungai: (quietly aside) They demanded survival
today. And so…I surrendered tomorrow completely.
(Gichuka
Waithera steps forward slowly.)
Gichuka
Waithera: You are not poor because of land. You are poor because of your
heart desires. You prefer what fills the mouth—instead of what builds the
future.
Crowd: (hostile immediately) Why insult us?
Have you ever fed us?
Gichuka
Waithera: No.
Crowd:
Then
leave us. Tûtitaragwo ithuí.
Gichuka
Waithera: I wanted to bring; roads, hospitals, schools. Systems that
work. Not for us only but also for our generations. But envelopes… handouts…. Temporary
comfort…. Gave birth to the current Lari.
(Heavy
silence.)
Mzee
Kihoto: They knew he spoke truth. And truth becomes dangerous…when
it exposes comfortable habits.
(Lights
soften. A child tugs gently at an Elder’s robe.)
Child:
Grandfather,
why are our leaders mute in parliament and county assemblies? Why do fire
engines fail to reach homes that catch fire? Why are our schools without
facilities and enough teachers?
(The
Elder cannot answer. Looks away slowly.)
Mzee
Kihoto: Children ask questions adults survive by avoiding.
(Lights
shift sharply. Mungai and Gichuka Waithera face one another directly. No crowd
now. Only honesty.)
Mungai:
Do
you think I do not understand the Lari problems? These people punish ideas. But
reward gifts. To govern them peacefully…one must feed them first.
Gichuka
Waithera: And in doing so…you trained them to remain hungry forever.
(Long
silence.)
Mzee
Kihoto: Mungai was not the disease. He was merely the symptom. The
sickness was in the people. Always choosing wrongly.
Crowd: (softly now) We deserve; roads,
hospitals, schools.
(Pause.
stronger, painfully honest) But handouts will still win.
(Lights
dim slowly until only the Child remains visible.)
Child:
What
happens…when eventually nobody remains willing to give handouts anymore?
Mzee
Kihoto: A new breed of
leaders will lead Lari. But that won’t happen in the near future…
(Blackout.)
Scene III — The Roads
(Lights
shift. Villagers struggle pushing a broken vehicle through mud. Rainwater fills
deep potholes. Children walk barefoot carefully carrying shoes on their hands. A
pregnant woman struggles across stage.)
Driver:
Push!
Push!
(Several
villagers strain together.)
Elder:
This
road was launched four times.
Villager:
And
abandoned five times.
(Laughter
mixed with frustration.)
Woman:
Where
is the MP now?
Elder:
In
Nairobi discussing development on television.
(The
vehicle becomes stuck again.)
Driver:
Eh
God! Remember us!
(Villagers
eventually stop pushing. Exhausted. Defeated.)
Kamau:
You
know what hurts most? Not bad leadership. But predictable bad leadership. Before
every election we know exactly what will happen. And still we repeat it.
Elder:
Because
memory is short when hunger is long.
(Mzee
Kihoto enters slowly holding old campaign poster.)
Mzee
Kihoto: This poster once promised transformation. Now even the rain
is removing its lies.
(He
tears poster slowly.)
Scene IV — The Shovels of Lari
(Early
morning on a muddy road in Rukuma. Sounds of heavy rain fading slowly. Shoes
sinking into mud. Water dripping from iron roofs. A vehicle engine struggling
somewhere offstage. People grunting while pushing something heavy.)
Mzee
Kihoto: In Lari, public services do not break during elections. No. During
elections, they work or seem to work. But they break after elections. That is
when promises melt into mud.
(Enter
villagers carrying; shovels, wheelbarrows, stones, jembes, sacks of soil. They move with painful familiarity, like
people repeating an old ritual.)
Youth
Leader: Come quickly! The cabbage lorry got stuck again!
Crowd:
Bring
stones! Bring leaves! Bring jembes!
Woman
from Kirenga: Yesterday we repaired this road!
Youth
Leader: And today the rain voted against us again.
(Laughter
mixed with frustration.)
Mzee
Kihoto: From Lari/Kirenga to Kijabe…From Nyanduma to Kamburu…From
Kijabe to Kinale…the people have become their own government. But the leaders
says, “barabara ithûkíte kûndû guothe.”
(Villagers
begin filling potholes. Some shovel mud. Others push stones and fresh leaves into
water. Children help silently. Everything feels too familiar.)
Young
Boy: Why are we always the ones fixing the road?
Mzee
Kihoto: Because if we wait for the county or national
government…your beard will grow and be grey before it is repaired.
Crowd:
Eh!
True! True!
Woman
from Kirenga: At least we are helping ourselves.
(Pause.)
Mzee
Kihoto: And that…is how noble suffering becomes permanent policy.
The leaders know you will fix your problems on your own.
(Lights
shift slowly. Inside the MCA’s Office. A clean office. Soft music. Tea being
poured. Comfortable chairs. Laughter. The contrast with the muddy road feels
painful.)
Ward
MCA: How is
the ground situation?
Buroga:
Excellent.
Ward
MCA: Excellent?
Buroga:
The
people repaired the roads themselves.
Ward
MCA: Wonderful citizens.
Buroga:
The
traders unclogged the sewer too.
Ward
MCA: Responsible people.
Buroga:
And
the market women collected garbage money again.
Ward
MCA: Development-minded voters.
(They
laugh comfortably. Lights shift back outside. The villagers are still
struggling in mud. Still pushing. Still sweating.)
Mzee
Kihoto: The leaders sleep peacefully because the people have
volunteered to suffer quietly.
Tenant:
We
contributed money again yesterday.
Nyina
wa Wanja: We bought gloves and cleaned the market ourselves.
Tenant:
The
sewer blocked again this morning.
Nyina
wa Wanja: The smell now has its own address.
(Laughter.)
Tenant:
Why
do we keep doing government work?
(Silence.)
(At Kagwe
Market. Garbage piled nearby. Flies buzzing loudly. Dirty water flowing beside
vegetables.)
Nyina
wa Wanja: Move that cabbage away from the sewage water!
Woman
from Kirenga: We should organize another cleaning day.
Gichuka
Waithera: No.
(Silence.)
Crowd:
No?
Gichuka
Waithera: Yaah. Let the
garbage stay.
(Shock.)
Tenant:
Kiongozi…
people will complain.
Gichuka
Waithera: Good.
Woman
from Kirenga: Children may get sick.
Gichuka
Waithera: And maybe then the leaders will remember you exist. Lari
leaders are awakened by chaos.
Youth
Leader: But helping ourselves is unity.
Gichuka
Waithera: No. It is soothing voters’ bitterness and helping leaders
escape responsibility.
(Pause.)
Mzee
Kihoto: The words fell heavily. Like rain on iron sheets.
Tenant:
So
what should we do? Leave roads muddy?
Gichuka
Waithera: Yes.
Nyina
wa Wanja: Leave sewers clogged?
Gichuka
Waithera: Yes.
Woman
from Kirenga: Allow garbage everywhere?
Gichuka
Waithera: Yes…until embarrassment becomes louder than our silence. Until
neglect becomes political. Until leadership failure can no longer hide behind
your endurance.
(Long
silence. Thunder rumbles in distance. Heavy rain begins again. Cars stuck. People
trapped. Mud everywhere.)
Voice
of The Rain: You covered potholes…but you covered leadership failure too.
Crowd:
The
road is gone! The bridge is flooded!
Young
Boy: Where is the MCA?
(Silence.)
Mzee
Kihoto: During campaigns, leaders arrive before sunrise. During
floods…even their phones drown.
(Villagers
gather slowly. No one working now. No shovels moving. No one volunteering. Only
anger.)
Tenant:
No
more garbage contributions.
Nyina wa
Wanja: No more carrying medical supplies to dispensaries.
Woman
from Kirenga: No more buying stones for roads.
Youth
Leader: Then what do we do?
Gichuka
Waithera: We complain loudly. Publicly. Relentlessly.
Mzee
Kihoto: For the first time…the people discovered that bitterness
could also become political language.
(Campaign
music suddenly heard in distance. A convoy approaches.)
Ward
MCA
(offstage): My people! My hardworking people!
(No
cheers.)
Ward
MCA:
Why are the roads so bad?
Crowd:
Because
you are the leader.
(Silence.)
Buroga:
Why
is garbage everywhere?
Nyina
wa Wanja: Because we stopped doing your job.
Ward
MCA:
Why didn’t you unclog the sewer?
Tenant:
We
already elected people for that.
(Long
silence.)
Mzee
Kihoto: And suddenly…the mud became political. The garbage became
political. The smell became political.
Gichuka
Waithera: Bitterness is dangerous only when it sleeps.
Woman
from Kirenga: And dignity begins the day people stop normalizing neglect.
(The
villagers stand silently beside the flooded road. No shovels. No wheelbarrows. No
stones. Only silence.)
Young
Boy: Will the road be repaired?
Mzee
Kihoto: Eventually.
Young
Boy: By who?
(Long
silence.)
Crowd:
By
those elected to repair it.
(Thunder
in distance.)
Mzee
Kihoto: Lari people were never poor in strength. Only too hungry for
handouts. And willing to do what the government is supposed to do.
(Curtain
falls slowly. Silence. Then distant sounds of rain…and sinking tires.)
Scene V — Mungai’s Office
(Sharp
lighting contrast. Modern office. Leather chairs. Air conditioning hum. Imported
bottled water. Flat-screen television playing news. The world here feels
completely disconnected from Lari villages scenes. Mungai sits confidently in
expensive suit.MC Jay enters nervously with files.)
MC Jay:
People
are complaining again.
Mungai:
People
vent. People complain. Continue.
MC
Jay: The dispensary issue is growing online. Roads too. And youth
unemployment—
Mungai:
What
are the headlines today?
MC Jay:
Mostly
criticism.
Mungai:
Good.
Attention means relevance. Silence is more dangerous politically.
MC Jay:
Should
we respond?
Mungai:
Of
course. Announce; ministry officials are on the ground, a public participation
is next week, and a youth empowerment summit is next month.
MC Jay:
But
nothing will happen.
Mungai:
Exactly.
But announcements create emotional ventilation. People do not always need
solutions. Sometimes they only need the performance of concern.
(Silence.
Even MC Jay is disturbed now.)
MC Jay:
Do
you ever feel guilty?
(Pause.
Mungai studies him carefully.)
Mungai:
Guilty?
My friend…I did not invent this system. I only mastered it. People say they
want honesty. But honesty is unpopular during suffering. Truth is slow. Handouts
are immediate. Emotion is immediate. Tribal comfort is immediate. Fear is
immediate. And elections are won immediately.
(Long
silence.)
Mungai:
You
still think politics is morality. No. Politics is public appetite management
and leader’s self-interest.
(Lights
dim.)
Scene VI — Kimende Market Again
(Late
afternoon. Kimende market again. Quieter than before. Gichuka Waithera walks
through slowly. No campaign posters. No slogans. No ambition. Just observation.
People notice him awkwardly.)
Woman:
That
is Gichuka Waithera.
Man: The
one who lost.
Woman:
The
one who told the truth.
(Nyina
wa Wanja approaches carefully.)
Nyina
wa Wanja: You came back my son.
Gichuka
Waithera: No. I am on the way to see my aunt.
Nyina
wa Wanja: I thought you are back and most politicians disappear after
elections. Because they never belonged from the beginning.
Gichuka
Waithera: I am not campaigning anymore. But I can listen and watch
what is going on.
(Pause.)
Kamau:
We
failed you.
Gichuka
Waithera: No. You cuddled hunger more than ideas. That is human.
Kamau:
Still…you
were right.
Gichuka
Waithera: Being right is politically useless if people cannot
emotionally afford your truth.
(Silence.)
Nyina
wa Wanja: Do you hate Lari people now?
Gichuka
Waithera: No. I understand them better. Poverty changes decision-making.
A starving man does not debate philosophy. He negotiates about food first.
Elder:
Then
what hope remains?
(Long
silence.)
Gichuka
Waithera: Suffering. Memory resurrection. Habit change. And changing
bulls that have ever mounted Lari.
(The
others listen quietly.)
Kamau:
But
people are tired.
Gichuka
Waithera: Yes. And tired people become dangerous to bad leadership. Because
eventually they stop believing improvement is possible.
Scene VII — The Funeral
(Night.
A funeral gathering. Dim lanterns. Rain threatening. Mourners seated silently. A
child has died because treatment came too late. No speeches initially. Only
grief.)
Woman
Mourner: The ambulance never came.
Man: Fuel
shortage.
Woman:
Always
shortages for poor people.
(Long
silence.)
Pastor
Ndolo: God gives and God takes away—
Nyina
wa Wanja: Stop.
(Everyone
shocked.)
Nyina
wa Wanja: Every funeral we blame heaven for failures created on earth.
Children are dying while politicians launch billboards. Even village
dispensaries collapse while leaders buy convoys. Roads disappear while
campaigns become concerts. Fire engines are nowhere to be seen. And we continue
dancing every election season like memory itself is cursed!
(Silence.)
Kamau:
We
sold our votes…then bought our suffering back slowly.
(Mzee
Kihoto rises painfully.)
Mzee
Kihoto: No. You sold more than votes. You sold accountability. You
sold standards. You sold tomorrow. And every election…you pray regret will
somehow become development.
(Heavy
silence. Distant campaign music suddenly heard faintly again. Very faint. But
unmistakable. Everyone freezes.)
Elder:
Already?
Kamau:
Another
election?
Nyina
wa Wanja: So soon?
Mzee
Kihoto: No. Not soon. The circus never actually leaves. It only
rests.
(Lights
dim slowly. The faint campaign music grows louder in darkness. Like a curse
returning.)
ACT V — THE FINAL WARNING
Scene I — The Silence After
(Complete
darkness. No music. No slogans. No cheering. Only wind. Slow light rises on the
unfinished road. The same road. The same potholes. The same broken signboard: “Coming Soon: Modern Lari Highway” The
sign now hangs crooked. Half destroyed by rain. Mzee Kihoto enters slowly
carrying a lantern. He walks carefully around potholes as though navigating
history itself. He stops center stage. Looks at audience. Long silence.)
Mzee
Kihoto: There is something dangerous about repeated suffering. Eventually…people
adjust to it. (Pause.) At first bad
leadership shocks a nation. Then it disappoints a nation. Then finally… it
entertains a nation. (Long silence.) And
that is when collapse truly begins. (He
places lantern beside road sign.) I have watched this community for many
years. I have watched; roads launched more times than completed, dispensaries
opened without medicine, schools built or painted without teachers, youth
graduate into unemployment, and leaders become richer. Yet every election…the
music returns. And suddenly memory disappears.
(Lights
widen slowly. Several villagers emerge silently from darkness; Nyina wa Wanja,
Kamau, Elder, women carrying water, unemployed youth, tired workers. Nobody
speaks initially. They simply exist. Heavy. Exhausted.)
Nyina
wa Wanja: I used to think poverty was our greatest problem. Now I know
the problem is our mind. We keep voting in the wrong people because of
handouts. We are definitely like a chicken that is lured with maize to get into
a cage. If we do not use our mind well we will keep repeating our mistakes.
Elder:
We
no longer expect honesty. Only slightly better thieves.
(Bitter
laughter.)
Kamau:
Do
you know what frightens me most? Not politicians. Not bad leadership. Not even
poverty. What frightens me… is how easily we the people adapt to bad leadership.
And finally, we become parents of bad leadership.
Woman:
What
choice do ordinary people have?
Kamau:
Memory.
Memory of bad leaders. Memory of poor choices. That is the choice. But we do
not accept we make fatal mistakes.
Scene II — Mungai’s Speech
(Suddenly
loud campaign music erupts again. Brighter lights flash violently. Whistles. Drums.
Convoy sounds. The circus returns. Exactly as before. New posters descend. “Mungai for 2027 — For Greater
Transformation” The audience feel disturbed by the repetition. MC Jay
rushes across stage energetically.)
MC Jay:
People
of Lari! The leader of development has returned!
(Forced
cheering from hired crowds.)
Crowd:
Mungai!
Mungai! Mungai!
(Mungai
enters older but still charismatic. Confident. Smiling. Dangerously
comfortable.)
Mungai:
My
people! I have heard your concerns! This term we move forward together! More
jobs! Better hospitals! Water projects! Youth empowerment! Economic
transformation! A great Lari!
(Cheers
erupt mechanically.)
Kamau: (watching quietly) The same script.
Nyina
wa Wanja: Different T-shirts. Different party. Same tûnûgû. Same hunger.
Same people.
Mungai:
Do
not listen to pessimists! Do not listen to intellectuals who only criticize! This
community needs hope! Emotion! Unity! Togetherness!
(Crowd
cheers wildly.)
Mzee
Kihoto: (stepping forward
slowly) And there it was again. The oldest performance in the republic. Relief
food dressed as leadership. Noise dressed as progress. Emotion dressed as
vision.
(Mungai
continues speaking behind him as though politicians never stop talking.)
Mungai:
(background) Transformation!
Development! Empowerment! Hakuna kuangalia nyuma. Its forward ever.
Scene III — Gichuka Closing Conversation
(Lights
isolate Gichuka Waithera standing quietly away from rally. Kamau approaches
him.)
Kamau:
Will
you run again?
(Long
silence.)
Gichuka
Waithera: I do not know.
Kamau:
They
were not ready for you.
Gichuka
Waithera: No. A population shaped by poverty cannot transform its
leadership overnight.
Kamau:
Then
what changes a country leadership?
Gichuka
Waithera: People who are awake. People who look back where they came
from. People who know their problems. People who know where they want to be.
People who know the power is in their hands. People who are not hungry as they
approach the ballot.
Kamau:
And
if they never change?
(Gichuka
Waithera studies distant rally quietly.)
Gichuka
Waithera: Then elections simply become lactation periods for bad
leadership.
(The
rally freezes suddenly. Music cuts abruptly. Complete silence. All characters
slowly turn toward audience. Not each other. The audience.)
Mzee
Kihoto: Every nation eventually receives the leadership it
repeatedly excuses.
Nyina
wa Wanja: You cannot choose bad leaders…then mourn bad leadership
later.
Elder:
You
cannot sell your vote…then act surprised when your future disappears.
Kamau:
You
cannot trade five years for one afternoon of handouts…then call yourself
betrayed.
Gichuka
Waithera: Democracy does not fail only because leaders are bad. It
fails when citizens normalize bad leadership. Each term bad leaders are chosen,
democracy is taken a million miles toward hell.
(Long
silence.)
Scene IV — Monologue
(Lights
dim except single lantern near Mzee Kihoto. The others slowly fade into
darkness. Only Mzee remains visible. The unfinished road behind him. The torn
posters. The broken promises. The permanent waiting.)
Mzee
Kihoto: History is patient. It watches nations carefully. And
sometimes…history does not destroy countries through war. Sometimes…people
destroy themselves gently. Election by election. Excuse by excuse. Silence by
silence. (Pause.) The tragedy of Lari
was never that bad leaders existed. Bad leaders exist everywhere. No. The
tragedy was that citizens learned to clap for their own neglect. (Long silence.) And once applause
becomes stronger than accountability…the circus never ends. (He lifts lantern slowly.) A people who
refuse to think…will forever give birth to bad leadership.
(Blackout.)
END