How To Make Money In Kenya: A Crash Course On The Path to Political Prosperity

Kenya, as they say, is a land of plenty—plenty of confusion, that is. A place where, for far too long, we have allowed evil men and women to mold the reality of our lives like clay on a potter’s wheel. Yet, the pot that has emerged is chipped and cracked, but we, loyal subjects, continue to fetch water with it, wondering why we are always thirsty. “The eyes see, but the heart denies,” says the old African proverb. We see the corruption in plain sight but choose to look away, hoping that someday, something good will sprout from rotten seeds.

The unwritten rule of Kenyan success is simple: loot from your employer first, then buy a one-way ticket into politics. Why break your back for an honest day’s work when you can channel public funds into private pockets and then proudly take the title of ‘Honorable’? The employers, like the rest of us, are but lambs in the slaughterhouse of prosperity; they don’t see the blade coming until it’s too late. In a land where the hyena grins, but the rabbit still dares to dance, we are forever poised between fear and hope.

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But if mere looting doesn’t suit your appetite, why not up the stakes? Kill and plunder; let your heart grow numb to the cries of the innocent, for in Kenya, the innocent rarely have a say. History has been kind to those with blood on their hands—they now sit on velvet thrones, smiling as we cheer them on. “The hand that feeds the hunter does not tremble,” so they say, and these hands are well-fed, never trembling in their thirst for more.

If physical violence is not your calling, try a subtler approach. Rape, maim, and destroy—that’s a pathway too. After all, isn’t Kenya known as the land of survival by any means? Let your actions show that morals are for the weak. And then, when you’ve done enough damage, wash away your sins by standing on a pulpit, praising the Lord with a Bible in one hand and your ill-gotten riches in the other. For every coin tossed into the offering basket, another soul is bought to silence, turning the house of God into a marketplace of deceit.

In Kenya, it pays well to lie on the pulpit. Our ‘saviors’ kneel and pray with golden chains around their necks, bought from our sweat and tears. “When the locusts sing, the crops begin to weep,” an elder once said, and here, the locusts have sung so loudly that even the skies mourn. They spin tales of salvation while looting us blind, and we, naive sheep, follow them willingly to the slaughterhouse.

Backstabbing is an art perfected on Kenyan soil. Here, betrayal is a stepping stone, not a crime. If you wish to be someone, start by being someone’s worst enemy. After all, loyalty is for the impoverished souls who believe in love and friendship. The prosperous Kenyan betrays, for in betrayal lies the promise of power. So, cut down your friends, trample on your neighbors, and watch your reputation soar. Like an old saying goes, “To eat with a friend is to eat with an enemy.”

The final golden ticket? Wash-wash, Kenya’s beloved art of money laundering. Paint yourself in gold, even if your heart is as dark as midnight. Run your businesses in the shadows, wash your money in clear streams, and reemerge a hero of the people. And when you’ve amassed enough wealth, step into politics, for there is no need to answer to the law when you are the law. As they say, “The rat that does not steal dies of hunger.”

If ever there were a prize for incompetence, Kenya’s political class would be the undefeated champion. Here, those who can’t lead are handed the reins, and the few who dream of better are shown the door. Ours is a government run by wolves, feeding on sheep who think themselves safe. Every term, we watch them circle, eyes aglow with hunger, yet we ask them to protect us. They grin, we clap, and the cycle begins anew.

In a country where the thief is the king and the virtuous is but a jest, is it any wonder our fields are barren? An elder once said, “When the drum is beaten in the village, the goats know the dance.” But our goats—our leaders—dance to the beat of corruption, oblivious to the destruction left in their wake. And while they feast, we gnaw on the bones of empty promises, wondering when our stomachs will finally know peace.

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Kenya is, indeed, not a real country. It is a theater, where actors take the stage to play their roles, leaving the audience in awe and bewilderment. Each election, we watch, clapping for the same villains, hoping for a different outcome. But “when the leopard changes its spots, it does not change its heart.” We should know this by now.

Yet, here we are, pretending that someday, things will be different. It is not the mountains we climb that wear us down but the stones in our shoes—these so-called leaders who mock our struggles with empty smiles. We speak of change but do nothing to usher it in. How long shall we be a people who bury their heads in the sand, hoping that by doing so, the storm will pass?

The problem with Kenya is not our lack of resources, but our lack of will. The sun rises and sets, and with each cycle, our leaders grow wealthier while we sink further into despair. We are not cursed; we are simply asleep, lulled into a false sense of security by the very thieves who rob us blind. “When a man sleeps, his enemies multiply,” says the old proverb. And sleep, we have.

As we awake, may we remember that Kenya is but a reflection of our choices. The evil men and women in charge did not appear overnight—they are a product of our own neglect. In their eyes, we are mere stepping stones on the path to glory. But the stone does not have to remain silent forever. One day, it too must speak, or risk being trampled into dust.

It’s time we take back our country, before our children grow up believing that only by looting, killing, and lying can one prosper in Kenya. A child who learns that water is fetched with holes will always live in thirst. Let us patch those holes, change our course, and remember that even the tallest tree was once a seed in the ground. It is time to plant a new seed for Kenya, one that will bear the fruits of integrity, for only then can we truly call ourselves a nation.

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