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.)
