Dear scoundrel of a politician,

I write to you today, just to ask a couple of questions. Okay, maybe not a couple, a tonne of questions.

Do you even have a conscious? Do you even have a soul? Are you even human? What kind of people are you? What kind of vulture steals from the weak? What kind of messed up crook steals from the starved? How do you even sleep at night? How do you let the minofu ya nyama get down your throats?

What sort of monsters are you? What heartless creatures are you? Who bore you? Who brought such misery into existence? Do they regret missing a durex that day? Can you imagine what a haven the country would be without you, you despicable creature? Yes, you are a creature. One that has no name, one that I shan’t even try to name. You are disgusting. You are deplorable.

How can you take food from the mouth of starved citizens?

How do you kill hundreds and thousands of Kenyans who lack health care, because oh, you pocketed all the billions of THEIR money? You murderer! How do you come to peace with that? How do you like your children enjoying dead people’s money, buying Aston Martins with OUR money.

You are heartless monsters.

Words can’t even fully describe my hatred for you. How I wish my fellow compatriots could hate you with a passion. How I pray they could not be blinded by your hypocrisy and end up rewarding you with public offices. How I beseech the Almighty to send down a strike of thunder to strike your gluttonous self to the ground.

Times like this I wish it were the Old Testament times. When Mr. God would simply appear as a writing hand on the wall for retribution and within days turn you into a grass-eating animal. Yes, I would wish that on you, and worse.

But for now, since all I can do is rant and chant in a letter you may never receive, let me name call you as much as I can. At least let me have this privilege, as you have stolen all the rest from me. Let me just have this slight satisfaction of calling you out and letting my disgust for you manifest. Let me indulge myself in this anger that makes me forget the countless predicaments I’ll have to face when I leave my door.  Don’t steal my name calling from me, am sure MY tax payer millions should be enough for you, you gluttonous greedy self-possessed pig.

Yours faithfully,

An angry tax payer.

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Spoken words fly away, but written words, written words remain engraved.


  1. #let it spread like wildfire. Reach their ears. And let them know, our silence is not out of will. We’re studying hard to earn those offices. Let it go down, that we shall return to quench this burning thirst.
    #Ifikie young taxpayers… Our bounce back gonna be special.

    Liked by 1 person

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