Still, my heart goes out to all those souls which struggled hard for change, change they could believe in. I think to myself, if I crossed my fingers so hard they were knotted, if I shut my eyes and wished myself transported into that psychedelic world where lotus-eaters munch on oranges and wipe the dribble off their hair, then I might understand why so many good and kind people feel themselves impelled, against their better senses, to support a crusade founded, and thriving, after a most cynical fashion, on the ignorance and basest prejudices of our country-men. 

So was your writer engaged - in such an exercise; a meditative, empathetic jaunt, Westward Ho - when his reverie was rudely obtruded upon by the righteous rumblings of the arrival of Raila's List, rudely known as the Twentagon, but in politer if less edified dialects as the Twelve, the Apostles, the Chosen. Yes, Them, Wao.

Energy sufficient to express my heart-felt sorrow at that list have I none, and more besides would be needed to cover for the execration that escaped me when I first saw it. I feel, if you will permit me, for Raila Odinga. No man, not even Raila Odinga, should have to present such a list to the world, not when he has 'spent his entire life fighting for the liberation of Kenya.' But I sympathize even more with those who worshipped at the temple of Unreason, and who now, in debate, find themselves having to demand that the ODM be given the Ministry of Energy, so that William Ronkorua Ole Ntimama can have it. Bill-Lie-Low, remember him?

But such is faith, and if faith be the suspension of reason, then they are not tasked with too onerous an undertaking. Hard work now, however, for all those pundits unwedded to mediocrity and corruption.

Hard work too for all those campaigning against Mobitelea, for the Communications Minister who drove it through will now be ensconced in a plush office somewhere as a Deputy Prime Minister.  If you look hard enough in his drawers, you may find door labels proclaiming Mr Goldenberg. His then-counterpart at the Ministry of Finance, who was also a part of the agreement, will likely be a minister too; as will the-then Head of the Civil Service and Secretary to the Cabinet. Oh, so will the-then Comptroller of State House, and the man the old king handed the Rift Valley over to -Mister-Big-Stuff-KNAC-All-Africa-Games, yeah, that's me!

And it is not just that. As we navigate the land reform programme and blame those pesky Gikuyu folk for taking over the Rift Valley, it will be nice to have the baronial and recent Governor of the Rift Valley in the Cabinet, and just for good measure, it is likely too that the long serving commissioner of lands, also known as mweka muhuri, the man with all the files, will not be too far off.

Anglo-Leasing, in all its natural goodness, will also lie here, waiting, waiting to embrace its old mid-wife now elevated to glory. The closets will be bursting, but they will stay as they are, all together now. The new thieves, the old thieves, the good thieves, the bad thieves, a congregation of crusaders against Wanjiku. I wonder about national reconciliation and all that, all the warlords, the party of violence and intimidation, 1992 to the present, the men at arms, all gathered now, with the kiss-relayed blessings of the 'democratic forces.'

Going after these, the Goodfellas will prove doubly difficult as one of the main media outlets in the mother country is bossed by the former president's private secretary, and director of not-so-goodwill. His lovingkindness came in handy during the three minute hate, and it is improbable he should be less than giddy about lending a hand this time around. In the old days, after all, he was, in our whisperings and imaginings, the old king's right hand (perhaps his dab hand left fingerprints at Mobitelea) and, as the new king of that pesky province so kindly reminded us, 'why would we implement the Ndung'u Report when we are adversely mentioned in it?'

I feel it is well to cut the poorer end of the spectrum some slack. After all, Kenyans are not exactly famous for their ability to think outside their immediate surroundings, or to tell when they are being taken for a ride. Even when they do, they are notorious for refusing to get off the vehicle, believing themselves safe when they are surfing the tsunami. But I sympathise so much less with others, the Knowing, those whose jobs tasked them with the protection of the Kenyan people: the likes of the Kenyan Media, or Kenyan Human Rights Organisations, the Ethnic Cleansing Deniers. I feel for them, for the egg on their face, for the betrayal they must feel, maybe the embarrassment, having spent their last three years declaring solidarity with the darkness. Then I remember that these, our righteous soldiers, allied themselves with the darkness in full knoweldge of the consequences likely to follow. They knew exactly who their comrades-in-arms were, they have all the files, and all the histories, and it is not funny anymore. Enter for all of us, The Pain.  

Stephen Wanyama is a KenyaImagine writer. He (often) philosophizes with a hammer. This article is published exclusively for KenyaImagine. Reproduction is unauthorised except with the express permission of the editors who can be reached at This e-mail address is being protected from spam bots, you need JavaScript enabled to view it .