The Constant Lies By The President Have Destroyed Our Belief System And Ultimately Are Destroying Kenya

Once upon a time, in a land of milk and honey, a shepherd stood before his flock and promised them paradise. He told them, “Follow me, and I shall lead you to the land of hustlers where all burdens will be lifted, taxes will disappear like morning dew, and manna will rain from the skies.” The people cheered. They did not ask how; they only nodded their heads like hungry sheep. And so, the shepherd smiled, knowing his work was done. For when a people are desperate, even lies begin to taste like truth.

In Kenya today, truth has become a rare delicacy, locked away like a cowry shell in the ocean depths. The more Ruto speaks, the less we believe, and yet, paradoxically, the more we follow. This is the curse of constant lies: they are not told to be believed; they are told to drown everything else. A man will eat stones and call them bread if you confuse him long enough. And confusion, dear Kenyans, has become this government’s greatest export.

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They tell us the economy is growing, that 100,000 jobs have sprung up overnight, like mushrooms after rain. Yet when you walk into the market, a tomato stares back at you like it’s plotting revenge. A single onion costs more than your dignity. “We are fixing the economy,” they chant, yet your pocket grows emptier by the day. Have you not wondered why your stomach grumbles louder, even as they sing lullabies of economic recovery? They are playing you like a drum, and the beat only stops when you collapse.

The hustler nation has become a bitter joke, one where the hustlers hustle for survival while the masters drink tea in palatial mansions. The wheelbarrow they gave you rusts under the sun while they drive past in German chariots. “Kazi ni kazi,” they told you, but look around — whose hands are dirty? Theirs are smoother than silk, untouched by the struggles of real labor. And yet they smile and ask for your vote with the sincerity of a crocodile at the riverbank.

Proverbs teach us that “a child who does not listen feels the heat of the fire.” Kenyans, how long will we play with this fire? How long will we allow lies to rob us blind? Our roads are filled with potholes, our hospitals have no medicine, and our schools produce children who can recite theories but cannot find food. All this while Ruto and his choir of loyalists claim they are “working.” If this is work, perhaps laziness would have served us better.

The truth is, we have become a nation accustomed to deception. A thief will steal your goat and help you look for it, and you will thank him for his “help.” Ruto promised to end corruption, yet it thrives like weeds in a neglected field. He swore to bring us dignity, yet we beg for loans like children pleading for scraps. Every lie he tells is met with applause, for he has perfected the art of deception. He can steal your shoes and convince you to thank him for leaving you socks.

And what about our international reputation? Kenya was once the pride of Africa, a shining star on the global stage. Today, we are a laughingstock. Our president hops from one jet to another, shaking hands and smiling for cameras, while back home, we suffocate under the weight of empty promises. Foreign investors look at us with suspicion, like a farmer examining a sick cow. Yet Ruto insists that “everything is fine.” My friends, when you hear such words, clutch your wallet tightly, for trouble is near.

African wisdom says, “A lie can travel halfway around the world while the truth is still putting on its shoes.” Ruto’s lies have sprinted across every village, every town, and every city in Kenya. They have infiltrated