Oscar Sudi’s silence in Parliament speaks louder than words

Whenever he thinks about opening his mouth in Bunge, Oscar Sudi, the mheshimiwa for Kapseret, remembers that not-so-distant September morning when he almost broke his tongue.

Only that would explain his consistent silence in Bunge, strange for a man usually very ebullient. Some might argue that Sudi rarely speaks because he understands little English (kizungu mingi, in his words), but he has plenty of other options. Kiswahili and sign language work perfectly fine.

Ridiculed for his handicap in English, Sudi chose to recite his oath of office (or eat the Bible, as people from the lakeside would say) in English. A few minutes’ shy of 11 am, Sudi stepped forward to usher in his second term as the Kapseret mheshimiwa.

“I, Oscar Kipchumba Sudi,” the MP, calm and collected, began before he stumbled on words he must have spent days memorising.

“Having been elected a member of National Assembly, do swear in the name of the mighty God that I will bear truly faith, discharge the people, alleged to the faithful, allegiance to the people and public of Kenya,” Sudi said those exact words as Bunge orderlies watched on concerned.

One tried to guide the MP through but, on realising the futility of the task, let Sudi say what he wanted.

“I will obey, respect, all serve, protect and even this Constitution (sounded more like this confusion) of the Republic of Kenya and I will faithfully, con-something-lly (conscientiously) discharge the duty of Member of Parliament. So help me God,” he went on.

Sudi delivered his oath at a pace that mirrors that of a teacher dictating notes to students who only “escort their classmates to school.”

It is unclear whether Sudi was involved in this escorting business but it is telling that like many escorts, he did not finish the journey with those he was seeing off. Sudi probably does not remember uttering some of the words he did but he likely remembers the day as one he spoke the most English in his life. He perhaps remembers the sweating as the words failed him. His tongue must have been relieved when he was done with the oath.

Such scenes would be enough to cause nightmares to the second-term lawmaker and nudge him into competing with corpses for who can stay silent longer.

In Bunge, Sudi, who successfully avoids the noisemakers list, must strike his colleagues as soft-spoken and possibly shy. He wouldn’t fool anyone who knows him beyond the walls of the august House, where he reveals his alter ego.

Sudi, in Dholuo, means “move over”, and the mhesh tells his quiet side just that when he is in the outside world, where he is quite the talker, so much so that some consider him a nuisance.

He holds his opinion in high regard and imagines the rest of the world does, too. And so in funerals and on social media, he often shares his two cents on a wide range of subjects, all of which he believes himself to be overqualified in.

Sudi recently spoke about respect for elders, warning the youth against placing their God-ordained leaders inside coffins. He also warned against having a loose tongue, a crime some would find him guilty of committing.

He is an expert in politics and advises his peers. Thanks to his closeness to the powers that be, Sudi hoists himself above the rest. Being as street-smart as he is, the former matatu tout figured out he did not require papers to dine with the movers and shakers.
Unlike education, which cannot be transmitted through diffusion (the movement of particles from a region of high concentration to a region of lower concentration), dining at the feet of kings can earn you crumbs.

Besides, who needs school when you can buy papers, as some jealous Kenyans accused him of doing when he was awarded an honorary doctorate in leadership and management? Watching how easily Sudi wore a gown, some governors must have regretted crossing the border to earn a degree from imaginary universities.

In the world of politics, Sudi goes by “Engineer”. How he got the name – no one knows. Being as complicated as it is, engineering is the last profession Sudi would qualify to pursue, as it involves cramming more difficult words than conscientiously. How lucky he must be that his MP job only requires him to bray “aye” or “nay”.

Fed up with Sudi’s constant vlogs, some bloggers have challenged the lawmaker to spelling bee contests. Such tasks take Sudi back to that September morning when the English in his head refused to come out.