Coast’ infamy that drew much laughter and derision at the opposition’s party massive public rallies. On its part, the party in power adopted it as one of their slogans; a slogan well received and much more popular than the party’s official slogan. By dint of this did Mwaroki’s name come to the attention of the party’s top brass. He reasoned that, if he played his cards right, he might just find residence at the August House with the coming elections. ‘Smart and Ambition. Everytime. Anyday.’ His mantra. Of those impressed by Mwaroki’s slogan was the Deputy Prime Minister’s daughter, Thashelin. 45 years old or thereabout, she was poised to inherit the leadership mantle from her father of their small party that anchored the government’s major party. Her grooming entailed being made the Minister of Domestic Happenings as she was rather adept at propaganda. And that’s how they met. The phone rings. It’s a Friday afternoon, everyone revved up for the weekend. A slight hesitation as nobody wants to pick up the phone. The phone keeps on ringing, shrilly, irritatingly. Eventually, someone has to pick it up. That someone is Bernard Mwaroki. The voice is strangely familiar, yet it will take the caller to identify herself before it crystallises in his mind. Am I talking to Mr. Bernard Mwaroki? Bernard Mwaroki speaking. That evening, they met at the Grand Vizier Hotel, a splendid eatery that specialised in Turkish cuisine. The rendezvous being rather at short notice, Mwaroki had had to recycle the suit he had worn that day, though he had freshly shaved and had a change of shirt and undergarments. On her part, Thashelin appeared clad in a long, flowing dira dress with exquisite Persian patterns and one that matched with the hotel’s theme. They sat at the corner table which had been reserved for the Minister of Domestic Happenings. "The Grand Vizier must be
a precursor to heaven.” Thought Mwaroki as he sampled his dinner comprising of güllaç, iskender kebab, dolma, köfte and downed by a glass of şalgam suyu. Consequently, this made him to be a most agreeable
By dint of this did Mwaroki’s name come to the attention of the party’s top brass. He reasoned that, if he played his cards right, he might just find residence at the August House with the coming elections. ‘Smart and Ambition. Everytime. Anyday.’ His mantra. conversationalist. On her part, Thashelin was impressed by her companion. He had potential to achieve much if guided, was her conclusion. Within a month, Bernard Mwaroki was a junior official at Thashelin’s party, meaning that he could be nominated to parliament soon if the current government returned to power, which, in all likelihood, was a given. Further, Bernard and Thashelin were much an item, with their cosy pictures in wide circulation in what was Palito’s gutter press; composed mostly of faceless and irresponsible online blogs that promised ‘shocking news’ every which way with their headlines. In due course, Bernard Mwaroki had bought an apartment in one of those posh suburbs that informed the city’s who-is-who. His
relationship with Thashelin had made such swift progress that there was talk of nuptials between the two, hence the reason he was back home. His mission? To gauge the political mood in his village and decide whether to offer himself up for election as an MP or wait for the promised nomination. Privately, he preferred election rather than the less prestigious nomination; plus, the small matter of political promises having a rather short halflife. Secondly, to float the idea of marriage to Thashelin without raising his parents’ hackles. “Son, are you OK?” His father’s voice halted the meandering of thoughts in his head. He had been doing mental calculations for or against the marriage. For: Marriage would give him the respectability he needed to vie for public office; how can you purport to manage a public office if you cannot even manage a home? Second: Grandchildren to comfort his parents in their old age (would be they willing to embrace his adopted kids?). Third: Access to business and political connections and wealth courtesy of his wife’s side of the family. As to what he thought would be his parents’ opposition to the marriage, it boiled down to Thashelin’s age. Then tribe, though this was a nominal opposition in the grand scheme of things considering that she came from pedigree. So, in response to his father’s concern, he went around and around- beating all the clumps that made up the bush. Eventually, though, he had to man up. He had found a suitable girl to marry. Silence at the table. Mother and father giving each other dark looks. Who was the girl? Did they know her family? Really, a token question (for the record), but one which had to be asked, nonetheless. Thashelin. Thashelin Shigada, the Deputy Prime Minister’s daughter and who was also the country’s Minister of Domestic Happenings. More silence, this time PROSE MAGAZINE | JUNE - JULY 2017
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