Debris after the campaigns

As you read this blog post, beware of flying jabs and barbs. 

While we collectively wait for the IEBC to finish tallying the March 2013 election results, I thought I might write something on the lighter side. I hope you can chuckle at least once, so that if you have been holding your breath since Monday, we might get some fresh air into your lungs – because, you know, you might be holding your breath again for another 24 hours. 

Since November 2012 I have had a unique source of entertainment in the form of campaign posters. You see, I have a relatively conservative work ethic: I believe that a job worth doing is worth well doing. It follows, in my line of thinking, that if you want to offer yourself to serve your electorate (serving the electorate is certainly a misnomer – please let it pass - we shall deal with that in a later post), you may want to create the impression that you will do a good job.  We judge books by their posters more often that we would like to admit. At least, I do. In case you think I am talking about being flush with money, that’s not it either. We know who’s flush by how much they flashed. Money can certainly buy you professional teams to polish your image and pose, but we assume you have some taste to start with.

Let’s cut to the chase. What’s with using a photograph that gives the impression that your face was smeared on the camera? Then there is a certain gentleman who was vying in Westlands. His campaign posters could be recycled to promote the Brazilian national soccer team. There is such a thing as wearing party colours to the point of ridiculousness. One wealthy gentleman looked like he had posed for a distinguished gentlemen’s clothes catalogue. But there is also something about his pose that makes me think he is about to start deejaying seriously (a la DJ Chris – the two are fabulously wealthy gentlemen of a certain age) or perform a hardcore rap. I am ya dawg, man.

For there was also a young-ification and street-ification thing going on. Let me state that I don’t think street cred can be created overnight. Cult icons like Sonko and Waititu have been perfected their thang for years. Suddenly everyone was Jamoh, not James. I have no words for geriatric Senator Stano. If my grandfather asked me to call him Stano I would think I am hearing voices. 

Kamlesh Pattni’s blue monstrosities get the cake for bad taste. See, posters are meant to be read on the move. They don’t move. So, when you fill one with text (not to mention the illegibility of white text against blue), er, you’re expecting who to stop and read? Good luck, Brother Paul. If you had less baggage, I could have offered to help you design better posters in future. For free. I still might, if you would consider returning, say, ten billion shillings to the Treasury.

All the posters, savvy or otherwise, are a serious eyesore right now. In my thoughts, hate and Nairobi are finding themselves in the same sentence a lot lately. I am curious to see whether and how the campaign materials will be disposed of. Will the contestants hire the same armies of followers to clean up?

In spite of my misgivings I am happy for all the start-up printing businesses that received a shot in the arm during the electioneering period. Watch this space, for in 2017 I shall be serious competition.