When Parliament turned into Sodom

File | NATION Continental House, where MPs have offices where heavily made-up girls wore their “personal assistant” badges in a way to be admired and walked the corridors without care.

By JOE KHAMISI
Posted  Monday, April 25 2011 at 22:00

In Summary

• The intrigues, politics and sideshows behind MPs’ hunger for higher pay and the dark secrets behind the ultra-modern private offices for members are revealed today.
  In his autobiography, The Politics of Betrayal: Diary of a Kenyan Legislator, former Bahari MP Joe Khamisi details how some lawmakers turned their cubicles into lodging facilities and private business centres.
  “The reputation of members was further tarnished when it emerged that the sewage system at Continental House had clogged due to careless disposal of used condoms. The blockage, which was reported more than once, forced the administration to post notices on the corridors and in washrooms asking occupants not to dump used condoms in toilets,” he writes.
  Mr Khamisi also says an enraged legislator almost assaulted him in Parliament for opposing new higher salaries. The report was eventually adopted and MPs’ pay shot to Sh485,000 excluding allowances.

On February 11, 2002, the Parliamentary Service Commission (PSC) — the body that oversees the welfare of MPs and staff — appointed a tribunal to review and make recommendations on the terms and conditions of service for MPs including their salaries, allowances and benefits.

The tribunal was also to look into the allowances for staff, as well as salaries, allowances, and retirement benefits for the President, the Vice-President, and the Speaker. Chief Justice (Rtd) Majid A. Cockar chaired the tribunal. After nine months of listening to submissions from sitting MPs, public service institutions, professional bodies and trade unions, the tribunal finally presented its report to the Speaker of the National Assembly, Francis ole Kaparo, on November 5, 2002.

The tribunal concluded that, “the job of a member of Parliament is a selfless job for which no amount of money would be enough to compensate for the inconvenience, the risks and the bother the job entails…a member of Parliament is sometimes seen as a “mobile bank.””

Overwhelmingly adopted

A few weeks into the first parliamentary session under Kibaki, the report was presented to the House for debate, and as expected, it was overwhelmingly adopted, I being among only three MPs to oppose it. Although MPs were constantly under pressure from their electorate for financial support, I felt it was morally wrong for a section of the population to be so heftily remunerated, while the majority lived below the poverty line.

My stand was criticised by some legislators, and at least one MP attempted to rough me up along the corridors of Parliament for “denying us what we deserve.” A month later, amidst a nationwide outcry, the Bill was adopted without much of a contest, increasing the MPs’ salaries from a package totalling Sh395,033.30 per month to Sh485,000 per month, Sh200,000 of it taxed.

The package did not include sitting allowances, a three-point-three million car grant, and a winding up allowance of 1.5 million shillings in five years. Together with other allowances, a Kenyan MP became one of the most highly paid legislators in Africa, equalling lawmakers in some of the developed countries.

In addition, MPs with special responsibilities such as the President, the Vice-President, ministers, assistant ministers, and Whips also received attractive salary increases, so did the Speaker and his deputy. The PSC defended the proposed package as “appropriate”, but the public outcry was immediate and deafening, even as TI came out with a report supporting the MPs pecuniary dilemma.

The TI report said the bulk of an MP’s expenditure was on handouts to constituents who expected them to contribute to harambees, that is, community fund-raising initiatives, school fees, medical expenses and so on. In effect, the report said, MPs were sustaining an unofficial welfare system, but also contributing to corruption and dependency among communities.

It had been expected that with the huge salary increases, MPs would cease to engage in rogue activities, but that was wishful thinking. Bad elements in the Legislature continued to engage in stealing taxpayers’ money right from inside the Chamber itself by fiddling with attendance sheets and earning illegal sitting allowances.

The practice was for MPs to be marked present by orderlies as they entered the Chamber. At the end of each session, the list of attendees would be submitted to the Assembly Clerk, who would then calculate the sitting allowance to be paid to each MP at the end of the month.

However, the manual system was manipulated through collusion between some sleazy MPs and crafty parliamentary staff. Some lawmakers paid off staff to mark them present while they were miles away from the vicinity of Parliament. The system of manually marking attendance may have been effective during the colonial days of the Legislative Council when members were fewer, but it was definitely ineffective after the number of legislators had increased so tremendously.

Technical appearances were another method used by MPs to swindle taxpayers. This peculiar art form was popularised by Kenneth Matiba, the FORD-Asili leader after he lost the presidential election in 1992. He accused Moi of rigging him out and announced in protest that he would only make enough technical appearances to comply with the Standing Orders, which required MPs to be present at least once every eight sitting days.

Anyone planning to be absent beyond that period had to seek written permission from the Speaker. Also, since there was no limit as to how long a member was required to be in the House, some lawmakers would show up just long enough to be noticed and marked present. They would then saunter out without concern and disappear into Nairobi traffic, satisfied that their sitting allowance for that day was safe and sound.

That form of booking out was perfectly legal, meaning a member could enter the Chamber five minutes to closing time and still be recognised to have attended that day’s session. In mid-2007 close to the general elections, truancy became so serious that no business could be conducted in most days because of lack of quorum. Only 30 members out of 222 were required to sustain business, but even those few could not be realised in most days.

It also became common for MPs to deliberately miss Parliament to protest against matters unfavourable to them. For example, frequent absences during the debate on the Miscellaneous Bill in October 2007 were cleverly stage-managed to force the government to accede to MPs demands for gratuity at the end of their term.

Because the government was anxious to have the Bill passed, it had to give in by including a provision that satisfied the legislators’ demands.

That form of blackmail was used successfully to undermine the government during several occasions in Parliament.

MPs had other ways of earning extra income beyond their fat salaries. One of them had to do with overseas travel. Through their House committees, lawmakers routinely planned trips abroad, some of them completely useless, to earn travel allowances. There wasn’t a single committee that did not benefit from overseas excursions, not even the Catering Committee, whose members travelled abroad to study how food purchases were managed.

Favourite destinations included Europe, the US, and some countries in Asia. South Africa and Botswana were the only countries in Africa that were on the list of parliamentarians. The higher profile the committee, the more overseas trips it could justify. For example, the Defence and Foreign Relations Committee had more reasons to travel overseas than, let us say, the Agriculture, Lands, and Natural Resources Committee.

Similarly, the Committee on Administration, National Security, and Local Authorities had fewer opportunities than, for example, the Education, Research, and Technology Committee. That was the reason why membership to House committees was always a subject of intense lobbying by Parliamentarians.

On several occasions, host countries complained about the size of parliamentary delegations from Kenya and about not being informed in advance of their arrival. Consequently, some host countries were forced to introduce stringent measures aimed at discouraging trips by Kenyan legislators due to costs and protocol concerns. The excesses of the Ninth Parliament were not isolated.

During the first eight months of the Tenth Parliament that started at the beginning of 2008, legislators had already exhausted Sh116 million in overseas travels. In defending their frequent trips abroad, members argued that the trips were necessary as learning experiences. The net effect, however, was that taxpayers’ money was being used to benefit the bellies of only a few.

In their quest to maximise on travel earnings, some MPs resorted to some outlandish methods. They would search the Internet for international conventions bearing the faintest connection to parliamentary work, human rights, or global events and would then solicit invitations from those organisations and apply for permission to attend them at the expense of Parliament. A formal invitation from a foreign organisation was all one needed to make an application for authorisation.

But it was not just MPs who yearned for the good life in overseas junkets. The Assembly Clerk and Speaker kept a busy schedule travelling abroad on official business. In May 2005, concerned about their frequent absences, I submitted a parliamentary question directed at the minister of Finance that read as follows:-

1. Can the minister tell the House the amount of money spent by the Government to finance foreign trips by the following officials, between January 2003 and January, 2005:-

(a)The Speaker of the National Assembly

(b)The Clerk of the National Assembly

2. Can the minister give a breakdown of the cost of air-tickets and personal allowances for the two; number of days spent overseas and purpose of the visits?

3. Can the minister also table a list of all foreign trips undertaken by members of Parliament during the same period showing the cost of air-tickets and personal allowances; period of stay abroad for each member and purpose of visits?

The question was rejected on grounds that the matter was a domestic affair and did not warrant public debate. The refusal to allow public scrutiny of the National Assembly’s financial portfolio, showed lack of transparency and accountability in an institution charged with safeguarding public coffers, even though it did not mean some form of impropriety had been committed by any administrator in Parliament.

In October 2004, a plot to impeach the Speaker was hatched. A section of lawmakers cited the purchase of Continental House whose cost, they claimed, had been highly inflated, as the reason for the rare action. They were to rely heavily on the report of the Ndung’u Commission on Illegal and Irregular Land Allocation, which had concluded that taxpayers had been “ripped off of hundreds of millions of shillings” in the deal.

The report noted that the purchase of the MPs’ office complex had been conducted in “a highly suspect manner which cost the Exchequer huge amounts of money.” When the building was advertised for sale on March 31, 1995, according to the report, the National Assembly was one of several bidders.

However, the National Assembly lost the bid to a company called Archway Holdings, which bought it for Sh225 million. Three months later, the National Assembly bought it from Archway Holdings for Sh465 million, an amount considered by some legislators to be unreasonable, especially since another Sh300 million had to be used for renovation.

The Speaker was not amused when a finger of guilt was pointed in his direction, saying he was merely the chairman of a sub-committee that approved the deal.

“If Parliament makes a mistake, I cannot be held personally responsible because it will be a case of the collective House making the mistake rather than myself.” But the MPs appeared determined.

On October 13, 2004, the MP for Eldoret East in the Rift Valley, Joseph Lagat, filed notice of a motion which read as follows:-

“That, aware that this House is desirous of a sober and harmonious relationship between the Speaker of the National Assembly and the members; concerned that the integrity of Parliament as the supreme watchdog institution over the Executive has been questioned due to various suspect quotations for works by the National Assembly through the Parliamentary Service Commission; cognisant of the fact the custodian of the order and the integrity of the Honourable House is Mr Speaker; this House resolves that the Hon Francis Xavier ole Kaparo, vacates the office of the Speaker of the National Assembly in accordance with section 37 (2)(C) of the Constitution of the Republic of Kenya.”

That section of the Constitution stipulated that the Speaker shall vacate his office if the National Assembly so resolves, by a resolution supported by the votes of not less than 65 per cent of all its members (excluding the ex officio members). The motion was potentially damaging to the dignity of the House and, in particular, to the reputation of Kaparo, who was considered among the best Speakers Kenya had had until then.

As Kaparo threatened to sue if it turned out that the matter had been “actuated by malice,” the more liberal members, including myself, called for caution on the part of MPs. I said the motion would raise “the already high political temperatures” and urged my colleagues to find less confrontational ways of dealing with the matter. Kaparo himself described the motion as “misguided and ill-advised.”

In cautioning MPs about the matter, he noted that it was very hard to build a reputation but very easy to destroy it. “It is very easy to make accusations,” he said, “but very hard to prove them.” The motion never proceeded as Lagat withdrew the motion before it had a chance to be debated.

Allegations of corruption in the administration of Parliament have been made for years. Back in 1996, MP Martin Shikuku, described the House as “cancerously corrupt” as he questioned the tender award for a planned rehabilitation of the House. At the time, MPs were querying a contract worth Sh151 million awarded to a company that was under investigation by the Parliament’s watchdog, the PIC. Members were not happy with the inflated cost of the tender and questioned the credibility of the chosen contractor.

The National Assembly’s long history of sleaze, some say, began after the departure of the last white Speaker, Humphrey Slade, in 1969. His exit opened floodgates for some African administrators who followed to raid Parliament with impunity. Buildings soon ran into disrepair, toilets stunk to high heavens, the once sparkling carpets shredded, the quality of food deteriorated, and, generally, the standard of cleanliness plummeted.

The catering department stopped purchasing from recognised butcheries and vegetable shops and resorted to sourcing their goods from connected farmers and meat sellers in the fringes of the city. Soon, members noticed that their succulent T-bone steaks had been replaced with inferior quality meat. Mandazi, doughnuts, and tasteless beef sausages had replaced the fresh egg and cucumber sandwiches and biscuits that were served during morning and afternoon tea.

At one time, the fare at the cafeteria was so predictable and so monotonous that most legislators preferred to go for tastier nyama choma outside Parliament.

The acquisition of Continental House, next to Parliament Buildings — regardless of the controversy surrounding it — was, undoubtedly, the most notable achievements of Speaker Kaparo. Before that, MPs had no offices and no support staff to assist them in parliamentary work, and had to operate either from the lounges or from their own cars. At Continental House, they have a fully stocked library and conference facilities, as well as a roof-top restaurant.

However, the impression given by the media of a state-of-the-art building with superb facilities, including a well-furnished gymnasium complete with sauna, jacuzzis, and salons, was not entirely true. Although those facilities physically existed, the reality was far from the truth.

From the time of installation, the jacuzzis, for example, had never worked and had remained dysfunctional throughout the life of the Ninth Parliament. No one could explain why they were not functioning. Similarly, the saunas were in a perpetual state of disrepair. Either the system would pack up altogether, or the temperatures would be too hot or too cold for comfort. At one time, the administration attempted to persuade the Parliamentary Service Commission to sanction the use of Sh2.3 million for repair work. This was declined.

The massage rooms did not fare any better. For example, although the administration spent a lot of money for what they thought were the right massage tables, they turned out to be of the wrong dimensions. They were too thin, squeaky, and uncomfortable. The air-conditioning system in the gym, and indeed in the whole building, rarely worked, and users were either freezing or frying in the heat.

Compared to many gyms in the country, the exercise club at the National Assembly was a third rate facility at the time I was there. Shower rooms and toilets were often blocked or plumbing was falling apart. And although salons and barber shops were in the initial plans, they could not be activated because of lack of certain equipment.

Worried that they could endanger their lives in what was clearly a sordid state of affairs given the frequent malfunctioning of electronic equipment, MPs, at one time, protested to the administration and threatened to boycott the gym if repairs were not undertaken speedily. Dissatisfied with the general state of the gym, many MPs preferred to use exercise rooms in five-star hotels in town, where facilities were far superior and the general state of cleanliness much more satisfactory.

The administration spent a lot of money buying customised towels and gowns for all the 222 members, complete with embossed name tags, when it was obvious that MPs were basically on a five-year contract. By the time I left in 2007, a heap of unused gowns was still collecting dust at a corner in the gym. I wonder what happened to all those gowns belonging to MPs who didn’t make it back to Parliament in 2008.

So, while externally, the impression was given of bliss for its occupiers, internally the story was quite different. During the dry season, the offices became unbearably hot and doors had to be left open, while in July, August, and September, the offices were too cold for lack of a heating system.

And although the administration always encouraged MPs to acquire computer skills, very few computers in members’ offices were hooked to the Internet, yet millions of shillings were used to lay cables between Parliament Buildings and Continental House, and to instal equipment in members’ cubicles. The only computers that had internet facilities were in the library, but even there the service could not be guaranteed because of connectivity problems.

On the positive side, however, the Continental House was undoubtedly one of the best innovations to have happened in Kenya’s parliamentary history. Its acquisition promoted efficiency and gave members a sense of pride. Unfortunately, however, the offices were not always used for the purpose they were meant for. Some lawmakers turned their cubicles into some sort of lodging facilities and private business centres, where import and export enterprises thrived.

The business of selling one brand of vitamin supplements was particularly rampant along the corridors of Continental House. Young, beautiful girls, some brought in from far-flung villages, ostensibly to work as personal assistants, did more than just typing and filing. The heavily made-up girls wore their “personal assistant” badges in a way to be admired and walked the corridors of Continental House without care. There were indeed some respectful and decent workers in the building, but those were highly outnumbered.

The most embarrassing event during the Ninth Parliament was when an MP was accused of raping a woman in his office. The matter was widely publicised and became a subject of unkind jokes by radio disc jockeys. The unfortunate incident required that the accused member write a police statement. At a press conference, which was also attended by his wife, he denied everything. The matter did not go to court, but the incident portrayed MPs as low-lifers, dishonourable, and immoral creatures who use their privileged positions to engage in unbecoming and criminal acts.

The reputation of members was further tarnished when it emerged that the sewage system at Continental House had clogged due to careless disposal of used condoms. The blockage, which was reported more than once, forced the administration to post notices on the corridors and in washrooms asking occupants not to dump used condoms in toilets. There was, however, no concrete evidence that the used condoms came from members since so many other people used the building.