Say it with me...what the...?

I’ve been meaning to put this song up for ages, but for some reason the posts never quite fit.  Not that this one does, but given that I’m about to have a bit of a rant, I thought to play you a lovely soothing song, a love song no less, because it’s Sunday.  ‘Too Far From Home’ is, to my mind, Eric ‘he that has owned my heart since Beats of the Season ‘95’ (I really should abbreviate that, no?) Wainaina’s finest moment.  Its not his most profound lyrically, although it is very poetic, and yes, the nyatiti is excellent, and his voice is as close to perfect as I’ve ever heard it, but there’s something else…

Hata vile nilikuwa mchaji Mungu,
Sina sali itakayoweza kuniokoa,
Upendo wako ni mfoko,
Umenifanya nizame,
Niongoze nikufuate…

It’s been one of those months, no?

Now I’m a cheap Kikuyu woman, fond of discounts and clearance ‘everything must go’ sales, constantly watching my peni mbili.  I like to think of myself as a fiscally prudent woman (not so much, but I’m having a bit of a rant, so just let that one slide, yes?).  So you can imagine my surprise when my countrymen collectively shrugged their shoulders in resignation when the much touted electronic thingimajigi that cost us, collectively, upwards of 7 Billion Shillings not only failed, but failed so spectacularly we had to return to our previous ways of counting on our fingers and toes (real or imagined).  What the fuck?

I understand that sometimes shit don’t work out, and sometimes technology has a way of making us more stupid than we already are, but for 7 Billion, my friend, I expect not only electronic identification and tallying, I expect the damn thing to turn the bloody pages for me as I tick the 67 ballots.  Not only did my polling station not have a functioning thumb thingimajigi, they made no attempt to explain it to me.  To be completely honest, having gone through previous elections where a bugger striking my name off a piece of paper was the routine, I didn’t even remember that my thumb was supposed to be checked until I got out of the centre.  I want my money back, and I expect many heads to roll for that farce.  BVR what now?  I shall say it again, what the…?

And can the rest of you please stop shrugging stoically like this is normal, its not.  We got screwed, collectively, 7 Billion times, and not in a good way.

I’m that idiot that was diligently following the IEBC tallying board, watching the numbers tick upwards slowly, marvelling at the new fangled technology (all 7 Billion worth.  What?  I’m not letting that story go any time soon…) and humming along to the melodious tunes of the various choirs at Bomas, they who felt the need to keep singing ‘You lift me up’, as if to soothe what should have been a very angry beast (that would be us, raia, we who spent more time than is acceptable in lines going nowhere, but I digress…).  Thing is, it soon became apparent that there was something amiss when the number of rejected votes was fast approaching 10% of votes counted.  10%?  How now?  That would mean that 1 in 10 ballots were messed up, which means 1 in 10 people didn’t know how to fill in a ballot?  Hmmm…  Yes, there were many ballots to fill out, and some were pretty long, so it’s possible that some people got confused, no?  Turns out, no.  Apparently, that 7 Billion bob system, yes that one, it took to multiplying the number of rejected votes by 8, or 18, or 67, depending on who you believe.  What the…?

Don’t worry, I’ve already bitched about my refund, this is not about the money.  All I want to know is, if you were multiplying shit, why the hell didn’t you think to multiply my Martha’s votes by kendo 10?  Boss, we were chapwa’d by Dida.  Dida?  What the…?  On that note…

Seriously though, what the hell?  I’m not sure whether to laugh or cry, but if you voted for the man, put it on a t-shirt, because you, my friend, are a superstar!  Just for the record, I’m not being in any way sarcastic.

Once the IEBC big screen froze, I had no choice but to turn on the TV, a decision I now regret immensely.  If you recall, I’m the idiot sans live TV, which means I haven’t seen a newscaster/presenter for a while.  Picture, if you will, the look on my face when I clapped eyes on the ‘ladies’ of Citizen, and KTN.  Can you say troubled?  Would someone please tell me when it came to pass that all women on TV must be clad in tight clothing, at all times, even the Muslim ladies in their headscarves and tight pants?  What the…?  I mean really, those dresses were so snug I swear I could see their diaphragms, and other, contract.  Now I get why men run home to watch news, that shit is like soft porn, only without the soft lighting, or the nonsensical dialogue… no wait, it does have the nonsense, no?  ‘Ladies’, its one thing to look presentable, it’s another thing to look like you’re looking for tips, and not tips on how to calculate percentages.

Hata kama mko na pesa mingi, did you really need to plant it inside the pool, and then have Janet Mbugua do the catwalk thing every hour?  What the hell?  Although, in fairness, that woman, in those dresses, and with that ass, it would be a crime not to milk it (there’s no pun there, you bloody perverts), no?  What?  Oh please… don’t even try to pretend you weren’t turning your TV around to check it out in 3D.  I was, and I’m not too proud to admit it.  And no, I’m still not a lesbian, I’m just idle most of the time, and those geniuses weren’t saying anything worth focusing on, no?  Moving on swiftly, Citizen TV, what the…?

Because I don’t watch much TV I don’t know their names, but there was the guy who used to do, and I assume still does, the business segment in the afternoon (or morning?), the Indian mama (wait, that sounds rude, I meant to say the lady of what appears to be Indian ancestry) and the inimitable Larry Madowo.  On this one I know I’m not alone, what the fuck kind of crack were they smoking?  These buggers were the highlight of my TV watching, if only because they were so foolish, intentionally, you couldn’t help but laugh.  That said, the level of blondness they exhibited was a bit scary, and I am now convinced that a certain someone may swing the other way (wait, that sounds rude, I meant to say someone reminded me of Anderson Cooper, in a good way).  Putting up the spoof picture of Lucy spanking The Baks?  What the…?  Who is your mother?

These ones deserve a permanent ‘What the…?’ for foolishness exceeding the norm, always.  We get it, Kamwana bought you, or more likely hired you, a helicopter.  Perhaps now you could engage in news gathering?  Just a thought.

These buggers claimed to have an election portal, complete with an interactive map.  Perhaps I need to explain to them what interactive means, because clicking on a map and then spending half an hour watching that wheel thingi go round and round and round… that’s not interactive, its just plain useless.  For some reason, Nation just doesn’t seem to get this internet thing, at all, but that’s a story for another day.  As for their crap high-tech portal, they may want to ask for their money back as well, hopefully it’s less than 7 Billion (yup, I’m still not letting go…).

‘Statistical deadheat!’ they said, as they promised us a run-off.  Now they’re talking about margins of error?  What the fuck man?  These buggers must be on their knees praying that the CORD petition is successful, and that there was some dodgy mathafus going on, otherwise…

Boss, how many times must I say this?  In Africa the incumbent never loses.  You, sir, were the incumbent, and we are in Africa, and somehow you still managed to lose?  What the…?  What’s that?  They cooked the books?  What the hell were you doing meanwhile?  When a Prime Minister, and the Vice President, can’t fudge the numbers, then perhaps he’s not a real PM, and perhaps the VP is useless.  Oh my… I think I finally understand the kikapeti thing you kept going on about.  You really got shafted, didn’t you?  Now you know what the other half of the loaf is for, yes?  Ignore my evil laughter.

I haven’t come to terms with this reality yet.  I need a few more months, and a lot more booze.  What the…?

Now I know, you’re no good for me baby,
You’re my fork in the desert road,
But I know, there’s no turning round,
I’m too far from home...

I would like to dedicate this song to Mr Issack Hassan, he that I suspect may have led me up the garden path, and then down another one, just because he could.  Worst part is, I suspect still have love for the man, useless bugger I am.  These men I fall for, they’re no good for me baby…