I want to know what goes on in Moses Kuria’s head as he goes home every evening. I want to know if, every once in a while, he calls his wife and says, “I’m working late babe, don’t wait up.” I want to know if they squabble about it for a while – like normal people – before his wife finally sighs resignedly and says, “It’s okay babe, call me when you’re leaving the office, I’ll warm your dinner.” I want to know if, when he gets home that night, his wife removes his coat for him and asks, “How was your day at work today?” and he smiles, kisses her on the lips or the forehead or the left cheek and replies, “Well, what can I say? It’s always a pleasure serving my people. I can’t complain now, can I?”

I want to know the last thing Moses Kuria does before hitting the sack. Does he pour himself a double of the finest whiskey money can buy? If so, how does he like it? Neat, perhaps? On the rocks, maybe? Does he read a book? Does he watch a movie? An episode of Game of Thrones, maybe? Does he check his Twitter feed and smile and give himself a light pat on the chest when he sees his name on the Top Trending list? Does he brush his teeth? If so, does he use good old Colgate like the rest of us or does he use something fancy like Sensodyne or, better yet, mouthwash? Does he then make sweet long soothing love to his wife? Is he a five-second man or a two-hour man? When he’s done, does he look her in the eye beautifully and say, “That was amazing, Sweetheart” or does he just roll over and dive into slumber without as much as a goodnight kiss? I want to know if he sleeps beautifully, and with a clear conscience. I want to know whether he has nightmares of people killing each other in Gatundu or he has beautiful dreams, of an even beautiful Kenya.

I want to know what Moses Kuria has for breakfast every morning. I want to know if he takes chai na mkate like the people he represents or if he has things like croissants and sausages and boiled eggs and fresh juice. I want to know if Moses Kuria kisses his wife and kids with that mouth every morning and tells them, “Have a good day, love you” and they reply, “Love you too.” I want to know if his wife actually means it when she says, “I love you too.”

I want to know if Moses Kuria drops off his kids in school or if he has somebody do it for him. Somebody paid using taxpayers’ money. I want to know what Moses Kuria does as he prepares to address a crowd. Does he say a little prayer to the nice Chap above? Does he do a couple of press-ups to sweat it off? Does he have a good luck charm he calls? His wife, perhaps? Anyone from back in the village? That Aunt who sold her only plot of land to send him to school, maybe? Or does he, perhaps, just smoke a blunt – or two – to rid off the anxiety like Wiz Khalifa?

I want to know what goes on in Moses Kuria’s mind as he gives his speeches. Or presses ‘Publish’ on his social media. I want to know whether he’s ever fully aware of the impact of his utterances or he just doesn’t give a rat’s hoot. I want to know what his fellow Members of Parliament and party affiliates tell him after every public appearance. Do they all shake his hand firmly and say, “Nice speech, mate.” Or are there some who whisper in his ear, “Chief, don’t you think you went a little too far back there?”

I want to meet that person who takes Moses Kuria seriously. I want to meet that Editor who allows Moses Kuria’s quotes to be published in the dailies and that poor Kenyan living below the dollar who shares Moses Kuria’s social media updates on their timeline. A friend of mine recently posted on Facebook saying, “The greatest threat to the Mount Kenya community is not Hon. Raila. No! The serpent that will kill you in your sleep is one Moses Kuria.” I clicked the ‘Like’ button. And I never click the ‘Like’ button unless I actually like something.