Getting them votes

I am on the campaign trail. The people forced me into this. There I was, chilling at the beach, sipping a bloody Mary, thinking lustful thoughts when the people approached me. They said the constituency badly needed me. That everything had gone to the dogs since I had taken a back-seat from active politics. Me? Active politics? Never been there, have no plans of going down that road. Sorry people, now if you do not mind, you are blocking the sun. And I think one of you either didn’t take a shower or he/she took those ads on TV about certain products washing whiter than white too seriously…they meant clothes you know. Now please people, leave more quietly than you came. Take care not to disturb bihogo, the goat tethered at the entrance. Oh, and don’t mind Diddy, the barking dog, he’ll only bite one of you. The rest of you’ll be safe.

That’s what I wished I could say. I was actually civil with the people. Smiled and said they’d read my mind. Said I’d always wanted to serve my country. Said I was excited about the opportunity.

“I am EXCITE!!!”, me says to them, as Borat would have so aptly put it.

They hi-five each other and get worked up. They tip over my drinks as they move to carry me. Dudes (and that woman at the back there), I haven’t even finished paying for those drinks!!

The campaigns start. My writing isn’t worth jack so I talk Kubiri into writing my manifesto and speeches. Now Kubiri isn’t the best with words but he’ll do; he knows what his peers want to hear; talk of free soap for everyone, occasional visits from a dentist, a movie night in the village square every fortnight (he even slipped in the fact that the movies wouldn’t entirely be of one color; they could be red, green, even blue…the last color so excited the crowds)..I promised the youth a gym complete with all the vehicle spare parts they needed to lift to tone their muscles, I promised the giggly girls beauty spas and a real live Mexican soap acted there in their midst, every evening, I promised the old men a Lil Kim concert (though without electricity this would be tricky one. She can project her voice I’m told)…the manifesto had nothing for the plump housewives since they felt they were way above the Mexican soap bug. Kubiri was doing a survey and it had come down to either promising the house wives a troupe of strippers or a ‘Bachelor’ show starring 50 Cent. It would be called ‘Fiddy picks one or dies trying’….Fiddy would have to pick a house wife to have and to hold or he’d be taken to the guillotine…

All was going well. The streets were pulsating, and Sleek was the name on all lips, even the pretty pretty lips. So nice. We, my team and I, had a grand drink-up planned for voting day. Everyone would be in ‘a state of euphoria’ as they waltzed to the ballot box to place the tick next to my name.

Then the rumors started. Rumors that I was involved in a terribe terrible gangster rap battle with a certain street kid. Rumours that I was planning to take part in a certain orgy orchestrated by a one Rique. Rumors that I had a long history of partying and living on the edge. Rumors that I secretly watched Mexican soaps and Nigerian movies, laughing at the humor in them. That last rumor really hit me bad. I knew that Mboli, my opponent, and his team were hard at work spreading these rumors. They were so hard at work, even the livestock started avoiding me. True story, you’d see the chicken struggling to keep eye contact with me so that they’d know where I was heading and avoid me.

Kubiri, my designated money thrower and speech writer, started avoiding me. “How could you fight with a street kid? That was so wrong!!” were his last words to me as he threw down the wad of money and his speech sketches and walked out…

“I can do this…I can do this…I can do this,” I chanted to myself, jumping up and down and getting worked up. This I’d learnt from ‘How to react when your manifesto writer walks out: An idiot’s guide’. The book was really helpful. I picked it up from a big shot politician…I won’t say who. But you all know him; think big eyes, loud speech, lotsa rhetoric and has a thing for green suits….I set about winning the erection, with or without a team. Pity drinking outta the way, I decidied that a massive drink-up would really help my voters ‘waltz’ all the way to the ballot box.

Drink-up went well…the electorate got blazed. Alcohol has a way of freeing your speech and allowing your feelings to flutter to the top…all the high people kept spontaneously bursting into song, singing praises for Mboli, my opponent…and then it was election day…