I spent a month in Dubai, and I was never worried about whether the lights would go out in the middle of a Zoom call. Not once did I have to check Twitter for a trending outage or plan my movements around unpredictable fuel shortages. It was an unfamiliar kind of peace—one that allowed my brain to focus on thriving instead of surviving. And then I came back home to Kenya, where survival is a full-time job, and dreaming feels like a luxury.
There’s a tax we all pay in this country, but it’s not listed in the Finance Bill. It’s the hidden cost of dysfunction. It’s the hours spent in traffic because someone somewhere ate the money for better roads. It’s the extra money paid to generators because electricity is unreliable. It’s the double cost of internet because Zuku’s internet disappears faster than government funds. It’s the energy drained by worrying about tomorrow because our government is run by men who would sell the rain if they could figure out how to package it. The most corrupt men. The greediest of us all. The most incompetent men and women. The evilest humans to ever walk the earth.
You cannot out-hustle a bad government. You can wake up at 4 AM, run multiple businesses, take night classes, and cut every unnecessary expense, but at the end of the day, you’re still running on a treadmill that was designed to go nowhere. When those in charge are experts in looting and masters of mismanagement, no amount of personal effort can compensate for systemic failure.
It’s like being in a boat with a hole, but instead of fixing the hole, the captain keeps drilling more. You can scoop out water all you want, but you’re still sinking. That’s Kenya today—a nation sinking under the weight of theft, incompetence, and arrogance, while the captain, William Ruto, and his crew of economic assassins, keep drilling.
Some say we need to “tighten our belts” and “work harder.” But how do you tighten a belt when they’ve stolen your trousers? How do you work harder when they’ve taxed even the oxygen you breathe? This is a government that steals from widows, taxes boda boda riders more than billionaires, and borrows money like a drunk who just found out he has a few hours to live.
They told us to be patient, that things would get better. But how do things improve when those in charge are competing to see who can loot the most before 2027? The only strategy this government has perfected is how to empty public coffers faster than the previous thieves. It’s a relay race of corruption, and Ruto’s team is breaking records.
If corruption were an Olympic sport, Kenya wouldn’t just win gold—we’d host the event. We are governed by men who can turn a road project into a ghost project before the first brick is laid. They hold prayer rallies while signing fraudulent deals in the backrooms. They preach about integrity while their offshore accounts grow fatter.
This government is a cancer. And here’s the thing about cancer: you don’t negotiate with it. You don’t manage it with Panadol. You remove it before it kills you. The Ruto administration is eating away at the very foundation of our country, leaving behind only bones and excuses.
A nation where students sit in the dark because the school has no electricity, while the President flies private jets to church. A country where farmers cry over expensive fertilizers, while ministers buy apartments in Dubai. A land where taxpayers struggle to afford basic healthcare, yet our leaders receive medical treatment in the best hospitals abroad.
You cannot budget your way out of bad governance. You cannot out-plan corruption. You cannot save your way out of a system that is designed to bleed you dry. The only solution is to remove the architects of this mess.
Every day, they find new ways to squeeze more out of us. New taxes. New levies. New excuses. They call it revenue collection, but we know what it is—organized robbery in broad daylight. They tell us they are “fixing the economy,” but it feels more like they are fixing us into early graves.
Look around. The youth are unemployed, businesses are collapsing, and even the middle class—the so-called backbone of the economy—is gasping for air. And yet, they tell us to keep hustling. To work harder. As if the problem is us and not the criminals in charge.
They mock us with their arrogance. They say, “mtazoea” (you will get used to it). But what if we refuse? What if we decide that enough is enough? That we will not adjust to oppression? That we will not normalize theft? That we will not out-hustle, out-plan, or out-suffer a government determined to destroy us?
Governments exist to serve the people, not the other way around. When a government fails to do that, it is our duty—our right—to remove it. We are not subjects of a monarchy. We are citizens of a democracy. And democracy means power belongs to the people.
The cost of living will not go down on its own. Corruption will not stop itself. Greedy leaders will not suddenly grow a conscience. If we do nothing, things will only get worse. More taxes. More theft. More suffering. Until one day, we wake up and realize we have nothing left—not even hope.
So we must rise. Not with prayers, not with patience, but with action. The time for waiting is over. The time for excuses is gone. We must take back our country before they sell what’s left of it. Because if we don’t, the only inheritance we will leave our children is debt, poverty, and a history of cowardice.
Let it be said that in our time, we did not sit back and watch thieves destroy our future. Let it be remembered that we stood up and fought back. That we refused to let incompetence, greed, and arrogance be the legacy of our generation.
We have suffered long enough. Now, it’s time to fight.
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