As
fairytales go, this one has all the ingredients for a compelling classic. A
foreign prince, king's daughter, swords (guns) drawn, a wicked step-mother,
senseless courage and the promise of a wedding.
In order to
pass this piece by this paper's usually hawkish editors, I guess I must qualify
my opening statement. The Armenian star of this tale is only allegedly related
to the Armenian Prime Minister, and the palace has disowned the king's
daughter. The wicked step-mother is much loved by most but the rest of it is
pretty real, although coming in a period when we are already overloaded with
the tragedy on Mt.
Elgon and the clamour for
minimum constitutional reforms, it is a tad rich.
The
Armenian brothers, without asking anyone's blessing, suddenly thrust themselves
(there's more of that fairytale language) on to the national stage when one of
them announced that he would be publishing a book detailing his interaction
with nefarious government officials.
While we
were still chattering about what exactly these revelations would be, Miss
Winnie wa Mwai announced on national television that the gallant Artur Margaryan
was the love of her life. She had met him she said, in exotic far-off Dubai, where after seeing
him pull a sword out of a rock; she fell head over heels in love with him. As
the poor interviewer was reeling from this revelation ( who in their right mind
announces their eternal love for an international fugitive on national radio ),
Princess Winnie announced that she was planning to get married and have babies
with the poor misunderstood Armenian cum Indian cum Czech.
Phew, what
a lot to take in, and the impending wedding did capture the national
imagination, so much so that opposition politicians, always hungry for a slice
of the limelight waded in announcing (drum rolls please) that the elusive Margaryans
had been feted at State House. How they managed to get into the country at all (considering
their humiliating deportation) is anyone's guess. Flying carpets perhaps? That
I suppose would be easier to explain than the fact that they had managed to
become Assistant Commissioners of police and to publicly upbraid the
zero-tolerating fire-breathing MP for Kangema (some more of that griot's argot).
So, so
compelling all of this. These men were supposed to be mercenaries or assassins
(two words having been declared synonyms in Kenyanese). Not that we care but
this seems to be the unfairly enduring perception of these international
philanthropists who had been planning to build a housing project for Nairobi's poor. As is if
to pre-empt the accusers, the brothers (I am taking liberties here, only one of
the two has a voice) announced that they had been offered several contracts to
make briefer the lives of prominent opposition politicians. These juicy details
would make up chapter one of the coming unputdownable paperback. Chapter two I
presume would carry details of their alleged donation to Raila Odinga's
girlfriend, and their deal with Kalonzo Musyoka to buy him a bullet-proof vest.
In Chapter three, the Kenyan State House may see the pages of a book for the
first time and Chapter four may carry details of diamond smuggling from the
West.
It is all a
little difficult to digest, so I hope you will forgive me for any errors in
this essay. The chronology may be a little off, there may be a distinct hint of
levity, the details may be dodgy and Artur is neither planning a roundtable nor
pulling swords out of rocks. Still it sounds like a fairytale, and the only
real thing is my wish that it would all go away.
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