In Kenya, politics is not just a national sport—it’s a buffet, and every election season, familiar faces take their seats at the table to eat, while the rest of us watch from the sidelines, licking empty plates.
Corruption in Kenyan politics has become so routine it could be mistaken for tradition. But beneath the dark humour lies a painful truth: decades of looting have cost the country opportunities, infrastructure, and dignity.
So grab your fork—we’re digging into the past and present of corruption in Kenya. And yes, we’ll be serving the truth with a side of sarcasm.
A Brief History of Loot and Laughter
Let’s start at independence in the 1960s, when Kenya’s founding fathers swapped colonial chains for Italian suits and well-oiled land deals. Jomo Kenyatta’s promises of prosperity quickly turned into elite land redistribution—where the only thing shared with wananchi was disappointment.
In the 1980s, under Daniel arap Moi, corruption got an upgrade. From the infamous Goldenberg scandal to mysterious procurement deals, state resources were plundered with flair. The economy suffered, but the political elite thrived. The looters didn’t even bother hiding the receipts—they knew they’d never be asked for them.
From Kibaki to Jubilee: Changing Faces, Same Tricks
The Kibaki era brought hope, reforms, and digital dreams—but corruption wore a new suit. The Anglo Leasing saga spilled into the new millennium like an uninvited guest who refused to leave. Despite efforts to clean house, the rot ran deep—and it was bipartisan.
When Uhuru Kenyatta and William Ruto took over under the Jubilee banner, promises flew like campaign choppers: laptops for schoolchildren, an SGR railway to boost trade, and digitisation of government services. Instead, laptops became ghosts, and the SGR became a wildly overpriced project. Corruption, it seemed, had gone digital.
The Hustler Government: Bottom-Up or Trickle-Down Theft?
Enter the Ruto administration—a self-proclaimed “Hustler” government aiming to uplift the bottom. But while hustlers line up for job opportunities and cheaper maize, politicians seem to have embraced a new hustle: “tenderpreneurship.”
From mysterious appointees to county officials building villas larger than the projects they manage, devolution has simply localised the looting. Governors now have convoys, PR teams, and questionable budgets—and counties often resemble small kingdoms with no accountability.
Why Kenyans Laugh Even When It Hurts
Let’s be honest—Kenyans are painfully aware of this mess. But what do you do when you’ve seen the same movie over and over again? You laugh. Satire, Twitter memes, and barroom banter have become coping mechanisms in a country where every new scandal gets a hashtag before it gets a hearing.
Unfortunately, laughter can also be a trap. It dulls outrage and normalises the unacceptable. Because in Kenya, “serikali saidia” has become more of a punchline than a plea.
What Can Be Done? (Besides Praying and Voting Reluctantly)
Change won’t come from another press release or flashy manifesto. It starts with accountability—real, painful, consequence-heavy accountability.
- Audit leaders regularly and independently.
- Support whistleblowers (not just on social media).
- Vote with brains, not tribal loyalty.
- Resist normalising “small corruption” in daily life.
It also means supporting a new generation of thinkers, leaders, and digital activists who are using tech and media to challenge impunity.
Final Thoughts: Stop Clapping for Thieves
The truth is uncomfortable: Kenya has been blessed with brilliant minds—but many of them are using their talents to embezzle rather than empower.
Imagine if the same cleverness used in looting tenders was applied to solving drought, unemployment, or education reform. We’d be the Singapore of Africa. Instead, we’re the “we’ll investigate” capital of the continent.
So maybe it’s time we stopped clapping for thieves in expensive suits and started demanding better. Because while the political elite are feasting, it’s the people who are being eaten alive.
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Share your thoughts below. What’s your take on corruption in Kenya—and what would you do to fix it?
