KENYA: The electric buzz of change is sweeping across Kenya. Since landmark elections three weeks ago, a new corruption-busting government has steamrolled into power, dramatically sweeping away the decrepit regime of Daniel arap Moi and his coterie of cronies.
Moi was one of Africa's famous "Big Man" rulers - a polite euphemism for "nasty and power-crazed" - and so most Kenyans have been saying good riddance. Yet I have a confession to make: I think I'm going to miss the old rogue.
For sheer entertainment value, he was hard to beat. Kenya under Moi felt like a little like Ireland under Haughey. The weather may have been different but the climate was the same - sweaty backroom deals and flashy cars; swaggering politicos with invincible grins; unexplained wealth and threadbare tax returns.
Granted, no sheepskin coats but chicken dinners galore.
Both men had their palaces of patronage: Charlie had Kinsealy, Moi had State Lodge Nakuru, his residence an hour north of Nairobi where loyalists went in and discreet wads of cash came out.
Neither leader was keen on personal questions. In fact Moi was loath to answer any at all - I think I attended two presidential press conferences over three years. And both could make you laugh - Moi inspired a Scrap Saturday-style hit TV show - even if Kenyans did it on a rumbling stomach.
Kenya's new guy is far less entertaining. If Moi was cut, thrust and occasionally stab, Mwai Kibaki is more of a slippers-and-cocoa man.
He is has a gentlemanly reputation and spends his spare time hanging out at snobby social clubs once the preserve of colonial-era whites. He drinks warm beer and listens to jazz. And his favourite game - very undictator like, this - is golf.
In the old days, cartoonists used to depict Moi brandishing his rungu, the great gold-and-ivory baton which symbolised his power. They have Kibaki waving a nine-iron.
Few Kenyans can appreciate my nostalgia for Moi and with good reason. If Charlie and his chums fiddled the taxman, Moi's mates fleeced a nation. The past 24 years have been a dark slide into poverty for everyone, save the thieving elite. And for exactly that reason, the past three weeks have been a time of intoxicating hope.
From the grimy slums to the slick city offices, there is an almost tangible sense of excitement and optimism. For the first time in decades, there is a sense that politicians can improve life, not make it worst.
Drunk on the zeitgeist, ordinary folk are getting in on the act - there have been several incidents of bus passengers ganging up on roadside police and demanding they return all bribes.
Kibaki's cabinet has scrambled into action - firing civil servants, investigating "missing money" and repossessing state property sold at a knockdown price to Moi cronies.
The next big target is the judiciary, a notorious group perfectly captured by the slogan "Why bother hiring a lawyer when you can buy a judge?"
The Big Man cult is going, albeit slowly. The ubiquitous Moi portraits are being ripped from office walls and replaced by a smaller number of Kibaki ones. Political exiles are returning home. The state Kenya Broadcasting Corporation has watered down its tone and the president can even admit to being sick.
Kibaki is currently in hospital with blood clots to the leg, yet government continues. Moi never, ever admitted to being sick.
It hasn't been all plain sailing. A slew of directives from over-enthusiastic new ministers has sparked problems. A promise of free schooling by the Minister of Education was popular but caused chaos as poor parents overwhelmed poor schools.
Similar moves caused the alarmed Finance Minister to warn his colleagues against making pledges the country cannot afford.
There has been violence - an eruption of tribal clashes in one area, while nearby the murderous Mungiki sect caused a few dozen deaths. The police, elements of which still have a dubious loyalty to Kibaki, responded with a heavy-handed shoot-to-kill policy.
The new government will inevitably disappoint because the problems are just so daunting. The optimism is new but this is still the old Kenya. The newspapers are still packed with death notice photos of young AIDS victims.
The police still shake down motorists at the roadblock near my house. An army of homeless children still roams the streets.
The Moi legacy lives on in the strangest places. Last week I renewed my government press accreditation at the Department of Tourism and Information.
Afterwards the official presented me with a 2003 calendar and, opening the first page, I found a handsome colour portrait.
Who was smiling out except for his His Excellency - President Daniel T. arap Moi.