Money and Power

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Now the story below is going to sound like science fiction or a script from an American badass movie. Well, I don’t care but what I can tell you is that it is a long read. Brace yourself for 11 minutes plus of reading.

When you have money, you have power. When you have power, everybody wants to be with you.

Perhaps I should warn that it is prudent to be wary of a rich person. Rich people are full of themselves and when they are drunk with power, they can be lethal if you’re on the wrong side. If I have learnt anything from working for the rich, it is that it is good to work hard so that you may earn good money. People will stop using you as a doormat.

I have come to put truly so much trust in money than I do with people. I should ask you to cut me some slack for reasons obvious to anyone that it is not my problem to trust money more than people. I have mentioned before that everyone has a price tag. You might never know that you can be bought until so much money is thrown at your face. There is a way you can see money and suddenly fall in love with it even if you’d sworn that you’ll never like money to that extent. Money can make you lose your damn mind. Without a mind, you are nothing but a commodity that can be bought and sold to anyone who can afford you.

Once you have had a taste of good money, you can never allow yourself to go back into the gutters of poverty. A sudden hunger to maintain that new status quo or even go higher arises in you so fast that my point of trusting money more than people becomes valid. You must be foolish to believe that you don’t worship money. 99% of your problems are caused by the lack of money or by the money you have. Since it is perceived that money is the antidote of man’s every problem, if you’re poor, you will pursue wealth. When you become wealthy, money still will cause more problems so that you’re forced by the same problems to go after more money.

When you become rich, your hunger for money increases due to the proportionate increase of your needs. You must work harder to keep the status as well as rise. You need to make more money to have power. There is no man under earth who doesn’t enjoy power. We might be after money, but in the real sense what we are after is power. It is by having power that you get things done. By getting your things done, you are able to enjoy life.

In society, the poor is working towards getting what the rich man has, and the rich man is working hard to ensure he acquires more so that the poor man remains poor. There is no one a rich man is scared of like a poor man. If all poor men became rich, the rich man would never have power. No one will work for or fear him. He will just be like any other common man living in splendour. So what must a poor man do to be a rich man when the rich man is working hard to ensure the poor man remains in his place?

I think that is why we should refer back to my statement in the prelude of this chapter: that it is prudent to be wary of a rich person. Having had the honour of working with the rich has taught me a few lessons about the rich. The rich man fears losing his status. The dread of him abandoning his magnificent mansion splashed with grandeur one day and end up in a hole with no electricity or TV or even a hot shower makes him work harder every day. When his bank account reads below what he deems a direct ticket to abject poverty, he works into the night. He can even leave his family for days in the name of work, to ensure his wealth multiplies.

His woman will understand. Women, by all means, would love any hardworking man. They will love him because of the bright future they see in him, and not necessarily who he is as a person. That is where women should be feared. That they can stay with you not because they adore you as a person but because there is a side of you that can make good money they like. If by any chance that side wilts, she has no business staying by your side, as what she used to like in you is no longer alive. Can we blame them?

In getting others to revere him, the rich man controls their sources of money. In his connivance, he spoon-feeds the poor so that they never think of working hard. He pulls them closer and occupies their minds with small pleasures. Whilst they’re occupied with small casual jobs, jobs that enrich him, he is also handling big jobs behind the scenes.

My troubles with the rich started way before my silent job began. I was in high school when I got to meet very rich women. Women we call sugar mummies. These are sexually starved women who are willing to pay for a penis to grind their pussies. Instead of looking for men their age, they go to young boys who have time, energy and hunger to earn extra coins.

I should have known that women’s main objective in this world is to cause man trouble. Man labours for her. Without women, man would be nothing. There would be nothing worthy laboring for. After all, he labours for that which brings him distress. But this in not in my place today to explain.

Give a woman money and she won’t see the need of a man. If she can earn her own money, all she might need from a man might be a penis. But again, man has made sex toys for her, so she might not need that man after all. Anyway, when a woman decides to buy a penis, it is because she wants to control it. Women yearn for power the same way a man does. Women would love to and enjoy controlling men. If anything, women are more powerful than men. It is women who make men appear powerful. In the real sense, the women own the power, controlling the man from behind the scenes.

If a man should think of truly owning power, then he must never thinking of having a woman in his life. Strong men, stoically steer off women if they want to be powerful. However, it is tough for a man to keep his hands and penis to himself. He thinks that he has to lash his penis on someone for him to stay sane.  He finds a woman to pound. And that woman becomes his weakness. Because women have had the propensity of putting man in compromise since the creation of the world, soon she’ll learn ways to micromanage that man.

I might have grown liking women, but I am extremely wary of them. They are likely to snap any moment and do something silly or dangerous even. They are worse than men, these women. I don’t understand why I am delving into this subject.

In form two, I managed to have my first encounter with a sugar mummy. This is where my story with money and power began.  I began understanding that everyone should work hard to become wealthy. No man should die poor. Her name was Lydia. I didn’t exactly know what she did but when I saw her the first time, I knew, besides God, even the devil must have rooted for me. She was everything I had imagined of.

Conversations surrounding sugar mummy topics were common if you found yourself in the right gang of friends. The chaps from the city knew the holes where you could find them. Some of these dudes were making a kill by connecting us with these women. I had to save Kshs. 1000 to get that connection with Lydia. For a high school student who used to receive Kshs. 500 for pocket money for a term, it was a huge sacrifice to cough such amount of money at once. I had gone to an extra length to raise that money. No one had taught me about sacrifice then; I had to teach it to myself.

My hope was that things would transition smoothly and that ‘my man’ could deliver his promises when time came. I had sworn that if he ate my money and sold me air I’ll have to cut his fingers as they are the ones that took my money. In a world full of mistrust, I was justified to have doubts about him. I had not engaged in any business with him before. Plus, boys from Nairobi were famous for their trickery. It is not that I had not been to Nairobi. I had and in fact, I went there during the holidays. The problem is that I had not been completely assimilated with the Nairobi hype and nightlife. Much seemed to happen at night.

I met Lydia in April, 2009 at a club in Nairobi. I was unsure of myself at the time. Poverty had intensified my ugliness, sending my self-esteem to the basement. What saved me is the courage I usually get when I gain momentum during a conversation. It is as if the world colludes with other forces and it opens the gates to my powerful mind. If people don’t like you by how you look, make them like you because of what is in you. I use this card when I feel my appearance has not matched the expectations of those I meet. I bully them with information, throwing some humor in it to make them laugh. Humour can melt down cold hearts. It is, therefore, judicious for any man to learn how to crack a few jokes.

From my guess, when Lydia looked at my height, she thought that she’d luckily won a jackpot of a long, healthy penis. I hear women associate tall men with long dicks. They also look at the fingers of a man to estimate the length of a penis. It is not earth shuddering to learn that women are more obsessed with sex than men are. They think of it more than men do. The difference is that men go after it whilst women wait to be pursued. If she’s not pursued, she thinks she’s not pretty enough.

That day I engaged in my first sexual encounter, with a woman almost twice my age. I was extremely comfortable. The fact that I had lost my mother early enough had left me yearning for older women as friends because I saw my mother in them. Being green in the field of pussy and dick, I had a lot to learn that day. Having not become an addict to masturbation, I dug very well. My penis stayed up long enough to confirm Lydia’s suspicions. It earned me a place in her kingdom.

I often question life. I am not someone living for the day I’ll die. I have to make discoveries before then and learn the ways of the world. Every point of my life teaches me something. A thing that I have learnt dearly is that there is nothing big we’re waiting for in life. It is not like there is a big reward waiting for me somewhere. With this kind of mantra, I live for the day, enjoying life the way I can. I live for the moment. Of course, I have big dreams but the present moment precedes everything else. That is why I never felt guilty copulating with an old woman. To me, she was the most beautiful, charming woman I had come across.

She was hot, with round fat cheeks that seemed to be well taken care of. They had enough fat for one to cook fries with for a whole year. She had an ass that I could hold onto at night. Her breasts filled my hand and I sucked them with ultimate pleasure. Her body felt warm next to me. When I lay on her soft body, I felt so much happiness, happiness that the world had denied me. Her caresses left me longing for her. Although I felt my bones crack when she rode me like a horse’s saddle, I riled in the feeling she brought to my groin and body.

I had not seen enough poverty as other people. But I had also not seen enough richness. Meeting Lydia stirred a hunger in me that has never stopped. It is true that every man is hungry for something. I had not known what I was hungry for until I met Lydia. I saw what money can do to a man of poor means. Even a small amount could make him turn into a dog. I saw how even grown ass men bowed to her. I have not bowed to a person so far. I don’t believe it would get to that point. Maybe I might have bowed to them in other ways without knowing.

I knew why rich people’s skins looked different- smooth, soft and sometimes lighter. They invested in quality. They ate food I mostly saw being advertised on TV. They slept in beds that I only imagined of in my dreams. When I slept on such a bed the first time, Lydia had to fight me to wake me up. I had enjoyed the longest sleep in my life.

At form two, I was 17 years old. Therefore, I was quick with things. My mind registered a lot. I was an artist- a poet. I wrote very good poems. I was the most sought after poet in our class. It was the first time I had been needed or depended upon for something. I wrote Lydia poems. It was my way of expressing things that I couldn’t say verbally.

A 17 year boy of my stature could figure his environment quite quickly. Despite not knowing what Lydia did, I did want to know more. I ravaged through her documents to know who she was, what her life was besides the screwing we did. I wanted to know the kind of person she was. I am not one of those people who ask people questions to know about them. My methods of discovery include observing and collecting intelligence. I made many discoveries. Crazy discoveries so to say.

There was more than money that kept me in the relationship. I wanted to learn the ways of the rich. She gave me room to learn when I had time. I came over during the holidays. Once in a while, she would come over to school and ask for permission to take me to a doctor. We would pass by a doctor on our way to a hotel room. We would fuck and then she would drop me at school.

There was little change to the life I was leading. Despite the increase of my pocket money, life was much the same as I blew up the money entertaining friends at the school canteen. I am a generous person. If I have money, I literally spend it entertaining others. In less than two weeks, I would be broke like most students.

Men, it is known, start taking everything for granted when they get comfortable. When I felt that I had earned a stake in this world of screwing sugar mummies, I started taking Lydia for granted. Someone should have warned me. If there is anything sugar mummies don’t like, it is being cheated on. They can throw you under a moving train. They can make you nothing in a second. It is then I knew that I was nothing.

But the experience I had with her opened more opportunities for me. Show a smart man bread and he’ll know how to make some for himself. Getting another sugar mamma was not a problem. Once you like the smell of money, you start learning the trails that lead to more. You can smell money when you see it.

From that moment, I have come to believe that very few men earn their wealth genuinely. I am not an advocate of using shortcuts to earn money. There is beauty in the struggle, so I know. That is why I haven’t taken steps to earn money the wrong way. I did, but when I decided to employ struggle in my hustle, I had to start from scratch. When you work for powerful people, it is extremely easy to become rich if you’re smart. For one, you can steal their money. Secondly, you can accept their opportunities and be an accomplice in minting money through corrupt means. Thirdly, you can become their most trusted servant in a way that makes you handle most of their fortune. Finally, you can kill them and run away with their wealth. All that sounds smart? No, it is dumb.

However, it reaches a point where dumbness makes sense. Money, as I said, can be confusing. When it controls you, you can do anything to acquire it. You can go to any length to be someone in society. You don’t want to die like the broke professor, do you? Why be born, live a poor, miserable life and then die miserably? It doesn’t make sense. So why not lead a good life full of anything you want and die a rich person? That makes sense. Nevertheless, is wealth happiness?

Current circumstances dictate that you better cry in a Range Rover than smile on a bicycle. Meaning that happiness no longer controls the equation. All you need is money. More money. And more money. Gather as much as you can, even if you have to steal it. At least you’ll lead a decent life, you’ll wear expensive garments, you’ll eat better food in five-star hotels, you’ll travel the world, people will respect you, you’ll be a role model to some, you’ll be called to give motivational speeches to jobless graduates that have smarter brains than you, you will have millions of followers on social media. The rundown is endless. You see what money can do.

You can gratify your desires with money. But does it solve all your problems? Can it wake you from bed when you’re down with a flu? Can it help you wear your lingerie after a bath? Can it cure your terminal illness? Can it come to comfort you when you’re hurting? Will it carry you out of a burning house? It can make you smile, I am sure of that. When you smile, it warms your heart. For now, that is all you need, right? After all, we’re all dying. Can’t a man enjoy life before they die?

These are some of the thoughts that I have had to entertain when my face meets money. I want to be rich and powerful. I have come to know that getting there I have to go a long way, one I might never realize.

I have worked for drug barons, politicians and media people. I have to come to know more about their spheres of influence. I fear some of them, some fear me. This kind of relationship is hard to maintain. They are the hardest people to trust. Once you feel like you’re starting to trust a moneyed person, slap yourself out of that stupidity, please.

Most of them demand loyalty. Since you’re a small fish in a big fish pond, hoping to become a big fish someday, you think that by licking his ass everything will be okay. Unless you’re a smart ass, you’ll never make it out alive.

There were times when my life had become so desperate that I decided to do anything to survive, even if it meant dying in the event. Maybe I might not have held a gun before 2015, but I had seen violence before. I had walked beside men with guns and daggers.

I had reached out to a friend who introduced me to a drug baron.

“Man, I’m dying. Just hook me with anything. I am ready for anything,” I had told Matogoro. He was nicknamed Matogoro because he had these huge eyes that could seen even tomorrow.

“Are you sure?” He had asked. He knew very well that talking is easier than doing.

“I couldn’t have confided in you if I wasn’t,” I had replied. Matogoro had led a fairly decent life from the age of eighteen. He had not gone past class seven but he had hustled his way from the village to a two-bedroom apartment in Kikuyu. I had known him from way back, having played soccer together in the village. I therefore admired his way of living.

When he took me to a posh home in a quiet neighbourhood in Kabete to meet this man he’d only referred to as Mojo, I was sweating to the last nerve. However, I was impressed that the place smelled of money.

Meeting Mojo was one of those mistakes I wish I could easily wish away. To test my loyalty and readiness for the job, he asked me to kill someone.

“There is someone who has been stealing from me. I want you to kill him,” Mojo had mentioned. Matogoro and two other men escorted me to the compound where the thief stayed. Matogoro shoved a nine millimitre pistol into my arm. I told him I prefer a knife. There was no discussion. Armed with a dagger, I walked into the house.

I bust in without knocking. The thief was nursing a drink from the comfort of his chair while he watched a soccer game on TV. Before he could figure out what was going on, blood was gushing from his throat. I stormed out of the house and reported the job was done. The other guys had to go in and confirm if what I was saying was true.

Honestly, I didn’t have the courage to cut a man’s throat to death at that time. I had knocked him out and then cut part of his neck. So he lay like a dead person. I knew he’d have to run when he woke up. If I understood well how thieves lived, they went on the run if someone attempted to murder them. I had only sent him a warning. He would have been a fool to wait for his death.

Criminal life is riddled with drugs. There is so much shit that goes on that people need to forget. Any time these people are idle, they spend their time boozing and smoking weed or cigarettes. I spent time around men whose utter obsession was to have power. Killing someone, for them, was a necessary evil that propels one to prosperity. They too, believed that no man could ever become wealthy through genuine means. Being on the wrong side of the law changes how you perceive things. You only get scared of the law when it catches up on you. All the other time, you see yourself above it.

Mojo was convinced that I was the right man for the job. I have learned to gain trust from people quite easily and comfortably. It is a simple game- discover what that person needs and feed it to him. If it is information, feed him everything you can. If it is power, show him how he can earn it. If it is money he wants to launder, suggest modern and quick ways to do so. Every man has his own taste of medicine, you only to know which one and be the one to deliver it to his doorstep when he needs it most.  As I mentioned, every man is hungry for something.

I had not known Mojo well so it took me time to know what he was hungry for. As always, I set on an expedition to collect intelligence about his business. Lately, I have come to love details. Knowing details puts you a step further ahead of anyone. I discovered that he was a man who never touched what he sold. He never went anywhere near drugs. I liked how he played smart. His cronies did everything for him. Just like a great businessman, he was exceptionally good with numbers. Business is about numbers, he once told me.

It was difficult to steal from him without him knowing. He smuggled marijuana from Mombasa and sold it to high bidders only. This was not a petty businessman who stationed boys around corners to sell bundles of weed. He worked on orders from rich people. Once it reached at a warehouse in Industrial area, his chemist would test it and confirm with Mojo. Then it would be packaged expertly inside cans and labeled as a spice.

Guys on bikes would then pick the cans and deliver them to specific addresses around Nairobi. Money would then be wired to his various accounts. He had a number of accounts under different names, many of them offshore. He would then go underground for a month because marijuana sells well. In between, he would make weed cakes. These also were delivered to specific addresses, mostly in posh estates. I would have liked to know how he’d managed to get these high end clients.

He was not hungry for money. He knew when he had hit his target. I was getting comfortable being on his side. He liked me for my brains. This is another thing that I have learnt from the rich- they like intelligent people. They are rich courtesy of brains from smart people. We discussed new ways of securing his accounts, how he could increase his network, how to wash his money and new methods of payment. He was careful not to expose himself. I tend to think he even never knew what he was selling. Just like me, he never drank or used drugs.

Staying sober, he once told me, makes you avoid petty mistakes. He went on saying that an ambitious man with his eye on power should strive to be sober always. Much can be lost in a few moments that someone spends on the other side of sobriety.

I didn’t know that going to work for Mojo would put me in collision with Matogoro. I had not predicted the probability of Mojo ever liking me. I have grown up people not liking me. Therefore, I don’t believe in liking people or them liking me. When I became one of Mojo’s closest business masterminds, suddenly I sensed silent uproar among his cronies. I could see it in their eyes, the bitterness. They had spent more time with the boss than I had, yet I had grown balls rapidly to become one of Mojo’s most trusted companion, handling the numbers and strategies together. I think people underrate my brains and tenacity because of my small body. They never stop to ask themselves why I have a massive head. They never wonder why I mostly keep silent. I am silently ambitious in things that I do. When I pour myself into handling a task, I take time to do it, but I ensure I do it the way no one else has ever done it. It is my way of buying into people’s hearts.

When you’re less educated, it is possible to miss little things that matter- things that we can term as common knowledge. If you interact with people often, you’re likely to uncover that common sense is not common to all. Some people entirely depend on their moods to go through life. Matogoro and some of his friends must have lacked that kind of common knowledge. They became jealousy and disgruntled.

Now, friends, let me tell you something about me. I would prefer keeping old friendship than new friendship any time of the day. I don’t have the habits of throwing away friends that helped me when I was down. So when I saw that my presence was bringing jitters, I thought of taking a bow. Unfortunately, before I could do so, Matogoro and his friends had already decided that Mojo never valued them even if they had toiled for him for years, building his drug empire and bringing him wealth of great proportions. They had decided to steal from him and then run away. I had no idea. I wasn’t in the streets or present when they hacked this silly plan.

If only had they asked my advice, I would have greatly admonished them to talk to Mojo and present their grievances. Instead, their lack of enough exposure led them into stealing a good stock from Mojo. Now here is where things go complicated. If you remember, I mentioned that meeting Mojo was a mistake I wished I could wish away. When his marijuana went missing, he asked me to hunt down the three criminals, one of them my good friend, and end them.

This wasn’t a suggestion. It was a command. There was no way I could hunt three criminals and kill them. I would never kill Matogoro even if he were killing me. I knew this man; we had grown together, played soccer together. I knew his family, which highly depended on him.

What I did was to hire two friends to help me track these criminals on the run. After working in the industry of hunting down people, you get to know that people can never hide too well. Someone somewhere must have seen them. All you need is some good amount of money to buy information with. Every drug baron has people who he pays to just keep their eyes open wide. These people watch out for the police, suspiciously looking people, and buildings, they know who goes where. They were the first people I approached for leads. I stuffed a few notes into their hands after their tips.

It took us three days to locate Matogoro and his friends. They were hiding in Kawangware. Seeing me would have put them on alert, I had thought. So I asked one of the friends I was with to go and talk with them. I instructed him to behave as if he was a buyer looking to buy a huge supply of marijuana. Matogoro and his friends had stolen a good amount. If they managed to land a good buyer, each of them would have been at least five million shillings richer. It would have been difficult for them to find a market because Mojo controlled the market. But I also knew that Mojo had never met any of the clients he sold his drugs to. None of the clients knew who Mojo was or how he looked. He just used delivery boys to deliver his drugs and the money would be transferred to one of his accounts. I think that is why Matogoro and his friends were so sure that they could sell the drugs.

My strategy was to get the drugs out of the wrong hands. If they went around carelessly, the police would be tipped and the hunt would begin.  Not that the police didn’t know. Some knew. Mojo preferred making the circle small. If it blew out of proportion, the police would be forced to launch an investigation. The guys from special crime unit and detectives would have rejoiced.

The police feel good when they are given a case to crack. They enjoy tracking down leads and finally arresting the perpetrators.

I thought it was a wise strategy. I knew they wanted to sell the drugs quickly and get out of town before someone chopped off their heads. My plan was to bring them where I could catch them easily. I would come with the money. My friend did an excellent job. We were to meet the following day at an abandoned house in Kawangware. We would come with the money and they’d come with the drugs.

When I shared the deal with Mojo, he saw reason. The only thing he didn’t understand was how giving away fifteen million shillings would make him richer.

“What if we send your police friends? After giving them the money, we will alert your friends at the police, telling them that some men have stolen your money. I am sure they can get it back to you.” It was a swell idea. However, I had failed to figure out how to not get my friend Matogoro from getting killed. I called him that day and told him to leave town immediately. Since people have a problem with taking advice from people with good intentions, he brushed my idea aside. He had already considered me a foe.

The deal went down as it had been planned. Mojo tipped his police friends who then recovered his money. We never saw Matogoro or his friends again. No one knows where they went but I have a pretty clear idea how things ended.

Their disappearance never left me the same man again. I had been with Mojo for only three months yet my actions had caused the death of three friends. The guilt followed me like a devil everywhere I went.

I wasn’t any special either. If I stayed, I would be writing my death warrant. I knew one day I’ll do something silly and it would be my turn to face Mojo’s wrath. If not that, the law was likely to catch up with me and make an example out of me. One thing you should know is that once the law catches up with you, no matter who you’re, your life will never be the same again. That is a journey to your death row.

I took to heels before death beckoned me.

Politicians are likely to be the best liars you’re likely to meet in your life. They are transient. The same way they buy people’s hearts using lies is the same way they give false promises to you when you are working for them. Unless you are in the innermost circle that participates in decision-making, you’ll never be anything to a politician except a bootlicker.  Having had an opportunity to work with them, willingly or unwillingly, I have come to know that power can be deluding. Politicians will do anything to remain powerful. Power is their nourishment. They can maim, kill, bribe or beg to enjoy that power.

The reason why they say that there is no enmity in politics is because politicians know how sweet power is to make permanent enemies. Politics is not a dirty game, the people in it are the ones full of dirt. They throw that dirt in public to disguise the citizenry while they steal behind the scenes. Politics is a stage management platform. While the subjects get embroiled in discussing what the politicians said on TV, the politicians are meeting secretly and plotting on how to remain in power.

It is not necessary for you to be in power to bring change. However, in this country, there is a common belief that for someone to bring change they must enter politics. The main aim of people becoming politicians is to have power. When you have power, you can steal easily. I haven’t met a politician who doesn’t enjoy power.

The first time I officially started worked for a politician was in my sophomore year in college. He owned a small news website that I managed on his behalf. He fed me information about his colleagues and asked me to publish it. He wanted to cut his competitors’ legs. Not that he was paying me well, but I had taken it as a step towards my success.

There is no doubt I spent more days in cells than any other time of my life. I received threats from powerful people. There are times I didn’t know whether to fret or keep steady. Some days I would be tortured in cells. This guy would come too late. Looking back, I don’t understand why I suffered much for so little. Was it the need for extra pocket money? Or was it the fear of losing a crucial connect? I conclude that I am used to suffering for little. It is my birthright.

When the suffering became bountiful for a small man like me to handle, I quit. I had tired for him because he had promised me a slot in one of the local newspapers where he told me he had a stake and influence. However, he was not the man who finally landed me a slot in a newspaper. I had to work my ass off, troubling editors with terrible pitches and article samples for me to get there.

I attribute most of my success as a journalist to Mr Sitole. He is the man who introduced me to freelance journalism. He taught me how to right pitches. I learnt so much from him than I learnt in school.

Nevertheless, that was not the end of my business with politicians. I have been part of the campaign team for other politicians. In 2013 I thoroughly campaigned for Uhuruto. Not that I wanted them to win or anything, I was just doing my job. In the 2016/2017 I met several politicians. I mostly learnt more about politics during my attachment in Laikipia County under the Media and Governor’s press Department.

Media and politics go hand in hand. The media depends on politics for news and politicians depend on media for publicity. They enjoy a mutual relationship. So there is no way you can be in politics and not be aware of the power of media. Media can make or destroy you.

Journalism ethics demand that news should be transparent and balanced. I have come to discover this is like a terrible dream. Most of the news we see are surface news. Much of what goes on in the political arena is never truly reported. Brown envelopes work well in the media. Either you’re given a brown envelope to bury a story or air one. Some journalists have to be bribed for them to air some stories, especially stories concerning wealthy, powerful people.

Journalists wield some form of power. If you piss them, they can throw you under the bus. That is how they are, double-edged motherfuckers. You have to be in the greatest of terms with them if you can’t buy their editors.

My conclusion has been that media is a den of corruption. While the media accuses other people of corruption and all that, behind the scenes they’re depending on that corruption for survival.

Excerpt from My Life in Pieces By Mzangila Snr. You can grab your e-copy at 300/= from these site, or by contacting me at 0716503589 for a pdf copy straight to you.

Mzangila Snr

Where shall we go, we who wander in these waste lands in search of better selves?

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