Why pending bi*ls wi*l not be paid soon in our county

Ignorance is bliss. Someone should tell Mama Hirohito, the daughter of my mom-in-law this indisputable fact. My life would be more peaceful.

There are some truths I have never been in a hurry to know about – like what our governor thinks about Maandamano. But Mama Hiro has other ideas.

Last Thursday evening I was in the house minding my own business when my soul mate’s voice crashed into my thoughts.

“Dear, can I ask you something?”

“Yes, dear.”

“What is the governor’s stand on Maandamano?”

I was thunderstruck.

“I don’t know,” I mumbled, eager to go back to my thoughts.

“What do you mean you don’t know?” she asked.

I looked at her in askance. How on earth did she expect me to read the governor’s mind? I put this question to her.

“My dear, there is a way you can know the governor’s real stand,” she said. “How?”
“Simple. Just go and ask him. Face him straight and let him tell you whether or not he supports maandamano.” I was now getting a little irked. “Of what use is that to us?” I asked.

My soul mate gave me a don’t -act-so-daft look, and I got the drift. She wanted us to be in the governor’s good books. Lest you don’t get it, there is a strong rumour that pending bills are about to be paid, and Mama Hiro is owed no pittance.

She has been supplying food to the health facilities in our county. The governor will have a strong say in determining who will be paid first. Your guess is as good as mine as to what will happen to those who don’t toe his line.

“If I were you, I would not wait any longer. I would immediately seek to know the governor’s stand over the matter ndio tujipange,” she said. “But anyway, I am not you,” she added. From the tone of her voice, I could tell she was not making a suggestion but an order. So I knew better that argue with her.

“When are you going to see the governor?” she asked.

“Next week,” I said in an attempt to put the matter to rest.

“Why not tomorrow?” she persisted.

“Ok, I will,” I said resignedly.

“Then call him now to book an appointment.” I did exactly that for the sake of domestic peace. I secured an appointment for the morning of the following day.
On Friday, I arrived at the office of the county boss. I did not have a clear idea of how I was going to frame the all important question.

“Karibu, Bwana Gwinso,” the boss ushered me into his expansive office. As we exchanged pleasantries, I was looking for a way of getting into the main purpose of my visit. Before I could say anything of substance, his phone rang. He received the call and I saw his face suddenly transform into an expression of disgust mixed with fury.

“Listen, there is no going back on the matter. That decision is final,” he thundered. “No, no. We cannot pay pending bills first. After all, everybody ako na deni! Even the World Bank has debts!” he roared, hardly giving the person on the other end time to talk. “Those suppliers should know that we have priorities.

Paying them is not urgent! I felt sorry for the person who was being told all this. But worse still, I dreaded the moment I was to break this news to Mama Hiro.

“Look here, Bwana finance, we promised several projects to our people. If we pay our suppliers first, we shall look irresponsible.

That will be totally unfair!” the county supremo bellowed and hang up. He then attempted to put back on his face a calm look – with little success. The look of ire refused to go.

“Bwana Gwinso, don’t you agree that we should use the money we are about to get to serve our people rather than pay pending bills? Eh?” he asked looking at me intently. I don’t know where I got the courage.

I faced him and said, “But Sir, these suppliers also deserve to be paid. Remember some of them also borrowed to supply the goods and services.” The county boss threw me a so-you-are-on-their-side stare and declared, “ I know you have an interest in the matter. But we are not going to pay suppliers till we fulfill our promises to the people.

You can organise maandamano against us if you want,” he fumed and stood up to show me my presence in his office was no longer desirable.

Feeling beaten, I thanked him and left the office. Si kuzuri.