Kenya: A Nation Built On Bribes And Broken Promises

In the market place of morality, where integrity is an abandoned stall covered in dust, Kenyans continue to grease the wheels of corruption with the eagerness of a hungry hyena spotting fresh meat. We lament the rot in our institutions, but with the same lips, we whisper, “Kitu kidogo ni muhimu.” Indeed, how does one condemn the flood while digging trenches to divert more water into their own compound?

We clutch our chests in outrage when politicians loot billions, yet we proudly slip a folded note into the calloused palms of the traffic officer who stops us for overlapping. We curse the gods when a building collapses, burying entire families, yet we rush to bribe the city council officer to approve substandard materials for our own construction projects. The ancestors must be watching us with morbid curiosity, wondering how we mastered the art of deception so effortlessly.

A farmer in Eldoret will complain about the government’s failure to support local agriculture while bribing a National Cereals and Produce Board officer to ensure his substandard maize is bought and stored. A doctor will lament the sorry state of our healthcare system, yet demand “tea” before attending to an emergency patient. The irony, like a jigger, burrows deeper into the flesh, and we seem too numb to feel it anymore.

In the corridors of justice, a magistrate will declare, “Justice must be served!” while sliding a manila envelope into his desk drawer, ensuring that justice is served—but only to the highest bidder. Lawyers, our supposed gatekeepers of fairness, will ghostwrite rulings and share the proceeds with judges who swear by the constitution, yet bow to the god of corruption.

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A parent will weep about the lack of jobs for their educated child while slipping an envelope into the hands of a police recruitment officer to ensure their son gets a slot—never mind that the boy can’t run a hundred meters without collapsing like a sack of rotten potatoes. Years later, the same parent will cry when their corrupt son is caught extorting bribes from boda boda riders. Ah, the sweet taste of hypocrisy!

Have you ever walked into a government office? The clerks have perfected the art of selective blindness. They see you only if your palms are oiled. Without a bribe, your file will gather dust like an abandoned love letter. But once you ‘appreciate’ their efforts, your application moves at the speed of light, as if angels themselves are carrying it to the next desk.

Politicians pretend to loathe corruption with the same energy that fish pretend to hate water. They shake their fists, promising to “deal with corrupt individuals,” all while stuffing their pockets with looted billions. Meanwhile, voters, those ever-loyal customers of deceit, line up every five years to sell their votes for a plate of rice and a T-shirt. The devil does not come dressed in horns and a tail; sometimes, he wears a campaign poster and calls himself “Mheshimiwa.”

Businessmen, too, have joined the game. Need a tender? Forget quality, forget capability—just ensure the procurement officer’s bank account gains weight overnight. Contractors win bids, construct roads that disintegrate at the first sign of rain, and then bribe auditors to sign off on the crumbling mess. Later, we all gather to weep when our children drown in potholes disguised as highways.

At the border points, customs officers work with smugglers to ensure contraband floods the market. Expired medicine, fake fertilizers, and harmful sugar laced with mercury flow in like blessings from a fraudulent prophet. Yet we wonder why cancer and kidney failure are the new epidemics.

Religious leaders, those self-proclaimed moral compasses, are not left behind. Some demand ‘seed offerings’ to secure divine blessings, while others use the pulpit to sanitize politicians in exchange for hefty donations. The holy water has long been diluted with corruption, and the congregation drinks it eagerly.

In our schools, corruption is the first subject children learn. Parents bribe headteachers to enroll their academically inept children in prestigious schools. Exam papers leak like a poorly covered secret, and those who pay thrive while honest students are left questioning the worth of hard work.

In hospitals, an expectant mother will die at the reception while nurses discuss how much money they need before attending to her. Medicine meant for public hospitals mysteriously vanishes and reappears in private clinics owned by the same officials tasked with safeguarding it.

Loan defaulters boast about their connections, knowing no one will come knocking. “I am untouchable,” they declare, even as banks collapse under the weight of unpaid debts. We scream for economic growth, but our actions strangle the very industries meant to sustain us.

At weddings and funerals, we contribute generously to fundraise for friends who succumbed to preventable diseases in hospitals where money, not medical need, determines who receives treatment. Yet, we will never march to demand accountability for the healthcare funds that vanished into thin air.

Engineers cut corners, building houses on riparian lands. When the rains come and sweep everything away, we call it an act of God. But even the ancestors must be shaking their heads, knowing it was an act of greed.

An employee at a government agency will demand bribes to release funds meant for development projects. When the community protests, the same employee joins them in chanting, “Haki yetu!” Perhaps the ancestors should wake up and take notes—this generation has invented a new breed of hypocrisy.

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At the ports, cargo clearance is a game of who pays more. Smugglers navigate the system like seasoned sailors, while genuine traders drown in bureaucratic quicksand. The result? A nation where counterfeit goods thrive, and genuine businesses collapse.

We bribe to get passports, birth certificates, and ID cards, as if being recognized as a citizen is a privilege to be purchased rather than a right. Government officials drag their feet, ensuring those who refuse to pay wait months while the ‘well-connected’ get their documents in days. Our very identity as Kenyans is up for sale, yet we wonder why integrity is a foreign concept in our society.

Corruption is a national religion. We worship at its altar, our sacrifices being our integrity and future. We kneel before its priests—politicians, bureaucrats, and public servants—hoping for miracles that never come. We pray for change, yet actively sabotage it with our actions.

Until the day we choose to stop bribing, to stop taking shortcuts, to stop rewarding thieves with political office, Kenya will remain a sick nation, infected by a disease whose cure we already know but refuse to swallow.

“A snake that refuses to shed its skin will perish in the sun.” Until we change our ways, we are that dying snake—slowly cooking under the harsh sun of our own making.

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