How goons turned a Beyond 2030 Workshop into a Tutam Rally

This story has significance for readers across Kenya and beyond.

When I left you last week, the Mwisho wa Lami Alumni Association had suddenly come back to life. For months, the group had been largely dormant. Save for the occasional funeral announcement and the subsequent raising of money to offset funeral expenses, there was very little activity. And this was for people 80 per cent of us did not even know. In between, there would be arguments.

“Treasurer, how much have I contributed towards funerals this year…Why is my name missing?... I sent my contribution directly to the bereaved. Please count it here… This John we are raising money for, is he a member of Benevolent? He never sent anything when I lost my mother-in-law’s cousin’s sister-in-law…” and so on and so on…

But things were now different. We had a Beyond 2030 conversation coming up; I was in the driving seat, and I was carrying along the Alumni Association, together with other Mwisho wa Lami groups. As such, the Alumni Association was talking again. The meeting was scheduled for Friday. I was determined to make it a serious conversation. It would be about Beyond 2030.

We would have economists and development experts speaking to us about the future of Mwisho wa Lami, technology, jobs, education, healthcare, smart cities, AI, machine learning and many other good, shiny things. By Friday morning, the venue was already filling up. The Beyond 2030 team arrived with banners, notebooks, branded T-shirts and a projector. The projector was so large that I immediately knew we were going to learn things we had never asked to know. There were charts about population growth, artificial intelligence, digital economies, climate change, urbanisation and future jobs. I looked at the programme. It was impressive. For the first time, I felt that perhaps we were finally becoming the association I had dreamed about when I started it. Then Sande arrived. He walked in, looked at the banners and immediately frowned.

“Dre. What is Tutam doing here?”

I sighed. “It's not Tutam.”

He pointed at the banner. “Beyond 2030.”

“Yes.”

“Which year is it?”

“2026.”

“So you are telling me this meeting is about 2030?”

“Yes.”

He shook his head. “I don't trust it.”

Kizito arrived shortly afterwards. I explained the programme to him. He listened carefully, then asked one question.

“Will Juma be here?”

“Maybe, in the afternoon.”

He nodded. “Then this is Tutam.”

I told him it was not. He told me he knew what he knew.

The programme started. The first presenter gave a very good presentation. He spoke about the future of employment, artificial intelligence, how technology would change education and how young people would need to develop new skills. Everyone listened. Even Sande. Then the speaker asked whether anyone had a question. Sande raised his hand.

“Beyond 2030, will boda bodas still exist?” he asked.

The economist smiled. “Yes. Transportation will continue to evolve—”

“Will I still be riding mine?”

“Possibly, although electric mobility may become more common.”

Sande looked at me. “Dre, you hear?”

“What?”

“These people want to kill boda bodas.” The room burst into laughter.

The economist tried to continue. Another speaker talked about the future of education and explained that teachers would need to embrace technology and artificial intelligence. Someone at the back shouted, “So will teachers still have jobs?” The economist said yes. I was relieved. Then someone asked, “Will teachers still be paid on time?”

The economist paused. “I am an economist, not a magician.”

That nearly ended the meeting. By lunchtime, the atmosphere was excellent. We had discussed education, roads, water, healthcare, digital connectivity and employment. Someone even proposed that the Alumni Association should establish a SACCO. I was thrilled.

“Finally!” I said. Sande looked at me.

“Don't get excited,” he said. “We tried that before.”

“That was the Young Teachers Consortium.”

“Exactly.”

“But we have learned from our mistakes.”

He looked at me seriously.

“Have you?”

I changed the subject. Then the MC announced that the afternoon session would begin shortly.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we shall now welcome our chief guest, Mr Juma.”

There was applause. Juma entered. But he did not come alone. Behind him were about 30 people. Then another 20. Then another group. Before long, the venue had filled up. I looked at the entrance. People were still coming. Some were wearing Juma T-shirts. Others had caps. One person was carrying a banner. I immediately became uncomfortable. I walked over to one of Juma's aides.

“I thought this was supposed to be a small engagement.”

He smiled.

“It is.”

I looked at the crowd.

“This is small?”

“Very small.”

That was when I noticed something else. The Beyond 2030 banners had mysteriously disappeared. In their place were banners bearing Juma's name. I looked at the stage. The economist who had spoken in the morning was now in a Juma T-shirt. He was wearing a cap and was looking rough. He was no economist, but a goon. The development expert too was in Tutam Regalia. The projector was gone. The microphone, however, remained. And it was now being held by a man wearing a Juma T-shirt – the same man who had introduced himself as an AI enthusiast. He too was a goon!

He started shouting, “Juma! Juma! Juma!”

The crowd responded, “Juma! Juma! Juma!”

I looked at Kizito. He looked at Sande. Sande looked at me.

“Dre.”

“Yes?”

“Beyond 2030 has arrived.”

“What do you mean?”

“This is Tutam.”

I tried to calm everyone down.

“Good people, please. We are here for a conversation about the future of Mwisho wa Lami.”

The man with the microphone shouted, “YES! AND JUMA IS THE FUTURE!”

The crowd cheered. Then Juma took the microphone.

“My people!”

“Yeeees!”

“Are you ready for 2027?”

“Yeeees!”

“Are you ready for change?”

“Yeeees!”

“Are you ready for a new MP?”

“Yeeees!”

I closed my eyes. Sande was laughing. Kizito was furious.

“This is exactly what I told you!” he shouted.

Juma continued.

“Beyond 2030 starts with 2027!”

The crowd went wild. I looked at the banner. It now read:

BEYOND 2030 — THE FUTURE STARTS WITH JUMA!

Before I knew it, Nyayo had walked to the front and grabbed the microphone from Juma. He gave it to Sande.

“This was supposed to be a Beyond 2030 meeting, not a Juma rally!” The crowd booed. The economist, together with the AI person, attacked Sande, but Nyayo defended him.

“Tutam!” someone shouted.

“Wantam!” Another shouted,

“Sisi Ndio Sifuna!” yet another shouted,

Within seconds, the room had split into political camps.

One side started chanting for Juma. Another side started chanting against him. Someone shouted that Juma had never won an election. Someone else reminded him that he had contested four times. A third person shouted that the only reason he kept losing was that Mwisho wa Lami had refused to support him. Sande climbed onto a chair.

“People of Mwisho wa Lami!”

Nobody listened.

He shouted louder. Someone threw a bottle of water. Before I knew it, there was pandemonium on the stage. A chair fell. The projector, which had mysteriously returned, crashed onto the floor. Someone stepped on the Beyond 2030 banner. There was running and shouting everywhere. The meeting came to an end. And just like that, the most promising meeting the Mwisho wa Lami Alumni Association had held in years had become a political rally. I left after everyone had left. By the time I got home, my phone had more than 200 unread WhatsApp messages. The Alumni group had exploded. One member had resigned. Another had accused me of selling the association to Juma. Kizito had announced that he would never attend another meeting I organised. Tito was asking for the minutes. But that was not the worst.

It turned out that the so-called Beyond 2030 people were actually Juma people. And when I asked for my pay, having successfully organised a rally for Juma, I was told that I would not be paid since the rally had been unsuccessful. I was furious.

“Next time, invite Juma's supporters, not goons!”

I was beginning to understand why Juma had never won the MP seat. And, judging from what I had just witnessed, he may never win it.

Reporting originally appeared via Nation Africa. Read the full source for additional context.