They say the more things change, the more they remain the same. Or, as the old saying goes, “The King is dead. Long live the King.”
Real change doesn’t come from replacing one set of beneficiaries of a broken, corrupt system with another. It comes from entrusting leadership to people who neither owe their success to that system nor stand to benefit from preserving it.
Mocking Senator Sifuna for having a modest house says a lot about how we’ve normalised conspicuous wealth in public office. In Kenya, some of the most extravagant mansions have been built with wealth that many people struggle to reconcile with legitimate public incomes. A simple home is not a sign of failure—it may well be a sign that someone chose integrity over looting public resources.
I bet a public officer living in a modest house sleeps more peacefully, knowing he hasn’t enriched himself at the expense of millions of Kenyans, many of whom consider even one meal a day a privilege.
Calling Daniel arap Moi the only “Professor of Politics” ignores the reality of his record. His presidency was associated with authoritarian rule, political repression, corruption, ethnic division, and serious human rights abuses. If “professor” is meant as praise, it sends a troubling message about what qualifies someone for that title. In academia, a professorship is earned through scholarship, teaching, and merit—not through presiding over decades of repression. Unless Ahmednasir believes political “professorship” in Kenya should be judged by a completely different standard.
One of Kenya’s enduring leadership curses is that even those with considerable formal education and exposure, such the Grand Mullah are ardent advocates of ethnic arithmetic for national leadership.
I have no personal stake in whether the current Deputy President stays or goes. We have little in common politically. My concern is with the argument that he should be removed because he comes from a minority community and therefore adds little electoral value.
That line of reasoning reinforces one of Kenya’s greatest political failures: the belief that national leadership must be built around coalitions of the largest ethnic blocs. It reduces leadership to a numbers game rather than a question of competence, integrity, and vision.
The consequence is predictable. A handful of larger communities are repeatedly treated as the only realistic sources of presidential power, while more than thirty smaller communities are expected to negotiate for secondary roles.
What is particularly disappointing is that, after decades of politics driven by ethnic arithmetic, there is little evidence that Kenya has prospered because of it. If anything, it has entrenched division, exclusion, and transactional politics.
The message this sends to millions of Kenyans is simple: if you were born into a smaller community, the highest office in the land is not for you—not because of your ability, but because of your name.
How very ironic that a prominent Kenyan lawyer, whose own national standing was earned through academic and professional excellence rather than ethnic arithmetic, would champion a principle that places tribal numbers above merit.
Africa’s problem has never been talent. It is governance. Sport simply exposes what happens across our societies: world-class potential constrained by weak institutions, poor leadership, corruption, and underinvestment. Fix governance, and African excellence will no longer be the exception—it will become the norm.
Watching England vs DR Congo at Gigiri Courtyard. There are plenty of Brits here, but almost everyone else—including many Asians—is backing Congo.
It makes you think. If African football can produce teams capable of challenging the world’s best despite poor governance, corruption, and weak sporting institutions, what might Africa achieve if it enjoyed the same quality of leadership and institutions as the West?
We do not suffer from a shortage of talent; we suffer from a shortage of governance.