The pig demonstration mounted recently by Kenya’s civil society was a stroke of genius. Absolutely. After all those cries beseeching their legislators not to seek to raise their pay yet again had gone unheeded, the activists decided to simply herd a whole draft of pigs to parliament buildings, where the hogs were seen to be drinking a crimson substance, representing human blood.

Very rude, you might say, and probably a desecration of the hallowed grounds on which the House stands. But, honestly — and truth be told — that is perhaps the only way to take the message home to the legislators that the people are tired of the bloodsucking and nonchalance of their rulers. The imagery delivered by that quaint little demo was just spot-on.

How I wish a similar performance could be staged in Dodoma, the fictitious capital of Tanzania, where parliament meets strictly for the purpose of maintaining the fiction — otherwise we all know that filthy, dark and clogged Dar is the centre — and where from time to time our “honourable members” are heard clamouring for a pay hike.

These people, if you ask me, are already overpaid, most of them for doing Lord knows what. They know, or should know, that they represent the poorest souls on planet Earth, people who have been beaten into the dust by an unfeeling system that consumes without producing, and that has managed the rare feat of generating abject poverty and dire want in the midst of El Dorado-like wealth.

There is, I see, an uncanny DNA that runs through the bloodstreams of African politicians such that they seem programmed to act in similar fashion without orchestration. Their demands have a disconcertingly similar ring, from Nairobi to Niamey, from Dar es Salaam to Dakar, from Cape Town to Cairo: Higher pay, more perks.

I sometimes wonder what would happen if we scrapped the lot, doing away with a paid parliament and in its place crafting a system where citizen volunteers would do national service, for one day every week, to look into legislation and provide oversight to the government. Maybe this way we would get the best minds of the land, motivated by the loftiest ideals and a desire to serve. Maybe, then, the activists would stop treating our parliaments like pigsties.

While the pig show was on in Nairobi, our own House in Dodoma found a very serious matter to discuss: The dress code for parliamentarians, in other words, what to wear and what not to wear in the House.

The Deputy Speaker, as if the House had dispensed with all important matters before it, raised the issue of the way members from Chadema, the main opposition, dressed: A khaki-type suit, comprising trousers/skirt and a type of bush-shirt that you might want to call “safari, ” so similar is it to what we saw in movies with John Wayne (Hatari), Clark Gable (Mongambo) and Humphrey Bogart (African Queen).

Now, in his reading of his dress scriptures, the Deputy Speaker mentioned “safari suit” as acceptable attire, not knowing that that is exactly what Chadema is partial to. Also included in “acceptable” garb are such mysterious items as the “African suit,” (of which I plead ignorance) and dresses — clearly for women — that do not show body contours of some curvaceous individuals (not to attract the lusty eyes of lecherous members, no doubt).

The rest of the list of permissible garb is, quite simply, imports from Europe (Armani suits), Oman (Sultan Qabboos’s regalia) and India (the Sikh turban). Gimme a break, people.

This is a parliament faced with the disastrous, the very worst, performance of our children since the Inundation, with a myriad other social and economic problems besides. I find this to be pig-headed in the extreme.

Jenerali Ulimwengu is chairman of the board of the Raia Mwema newspaper and an advocate of the High Court in Dar es Salaam. E-mail: [email protected]