We are not even in the official political campaigns but the things we are seeing are already baffling. We know politicians would do anything to win a seat. Further, it is well documented that when many politicians take a shower in the morning they wash away not only the dirt on their body but their morality in the mind too!
Before I get you confused, I am not even talking about the war cries that we have been witnessing across the political divide in the hunt for the votes. I’m more concerned about some female politicians who have jumped into the fray with reckless abandon.
I have no misgivings about the place of women in the political set-up. Unlike my grandfather, I have come to the realisation that women too can sit among elders and open their mouths. Not just when munching the sumptuous meals served to elders, but talk and be listened to.
My astonishment is driven by the rising escapades that my pals in media are going through. Let us call a spade a spade. In the past, male journalists have been accused of objectifying women, especially politicians. They have been accused of focusing on the female politicians bust and zooming in on the cleavage or the legs when that female politician is busy talking about hunger or insecurity in her area.
Now it appears the hunted has turned hunter. A couple of weeks ago, I was sipping coffee in one of the city cafes and it turned out that male journalists are an ‘endeared’ species. These female politicians have realised that it’s time to fiercely compete for the political seats and they are not sparing any arsenal in their stockpile.
It emerged that a good number of my pals have had potentially tense moments with female politicians. This is not when they ask hard questions at press conferences. It is when the female leaders make very telling offers.
One of my pals told of how a popular female politician phoned him for a tip off. The meeting was set for 7pm in a popular joint in Nairobi. As fate would have it, these leaders of ours are a busy lot.
She could not make it for the appointment and she profusely apologised to my guy and rearranged to have the same meeting at 9pm near her house. When he arrived at the appointed joint, he set himself at a strategic corner, his notebook bulging in his pocket and waited.
When she called it was ten o’clock, she had just arrived home to freshen up and she was now requesting him to take an Uber to her place for their meeting. My pal, keen as always to deliver major scoops for his organisation, saw no harm. After all he had staked out for this story for four hours now. It had better be smoking hot.
He took to the address as advised and arrived. He got into the house and was welcomed by the female leader like a dignitary. If it were a movie, one would have thought that my pal was a secret agent delivering crucial nuclear message from a rival country to his contact.
If the welcome shocked him, the offer for a drink flabbergasted him. Initially it was supposed to be a coffee meeting as she poured out state secrets to my guy. Now well past 10pm, the drink of choice had metamorphosed to a bottle of scotch whiskey.
My pal wondered for a moment whether he would get his facts right if he dug into the whiskey, but if he turned it down, would this also affect her readiness to spill the beans?
He succumbed to the whiskey temptations and requested two tots on the rocks. She gulped down her two tots and loosened her long hair. He pulled out his notebook ready to get to work.
She playfully took it and tossed it across the seat and loosened her blouse. It dawned on my boy that this story was indeed big, but he had been scooped!