Ruto Has Turned The Presidency Into His Personal Jini For His Commercial Personal Interests

They say that when the hyena wants to eat its children, it first accuses them of smelling like goats. William Ruto, Kenya’s accidental president and full-time deceiver, has turned this ancient wisdom into state policy. In the name of development, he builds castles in the air—funded by loans from the unborn, repaid with the blood of the young, and decorated with promises as empty as the National Treasury.

From the very moment he occupied State House—not through a clear mandate but by algorithmic sorcery—Ruto has desecrated the presidency with lies that stink more than a fish left rotting in the sun. And he doesn’t just lie; he baptizes his lies in scripture, dresses them in designer suits, and serves them to hungry Kenyans who are too tired to question why every miracle begins with a budget line.

We are not a nation anymore. We are a cartel’s playground.

This regime has done what even Moi didn’t dare: kill children in broad daylight for daring to believe in the Constitution. These young souls, full of hope and idealism, marched with nothing but placards and dreams. In return, they got bullets. The blood on Ruto’s hands won’t wash away with tithes and televised prayers. God is not mocked.

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Meanwhile, the opposition—once loud and roaring—is now a choir of the bought and silenced. With the flick of an appointment or the whisper of a threat, Ruto has turned critics into lapdogs. The country has no opposition now; only spectators in parliament watching the auction of our democracy.

Our foreign policy? That ship sank. Ruto has turned every overseas trip into a marketing tour for his side hustles—fake oil deals, phantom investors, and brotherly hugs with the likes of Kagame, as Kenyan passports gather dust in visa queues.

The separation of powers is now a running joke in Nairobi’s corridors of power. Parliament is a rubber stamp. The judiciary, once noble, now dances to State House tunes played on instruments funded by illegal supplementary budgets. The Executive doesn’t just overreach—it strangles.

Devolution is being dismantled brick by brick. County allocations are delayed intentionally so that governors can be blackmailed into silence. Projects stall, health workers strike, garbage piles, but Ruto’s inner circle builds new skyscrapers overnight. You do the math.

Every independent commission—from the EACC to IPOA—now serves as a public relations arm for State House. They bark only when Ruto says bark. They look away when Gachagua’s family gets sudden wealth. They fall asleep when Sudi buys another chopper.

Government projects have become pyramid schemes. Housing levies, hustler funds, and digital highways—each rolled out with pomp, only to benefit cronies and Chinese contractors. You’ll find the same five names behind every tender. This is not governance. This is organized crime with a flag.

Let’s talk about churches. Ruto has weaponized pulpits. Every Sunday, he stage-manages prosperity gospel rallies masquerading as worship. Pastors now double as money couriers, laundering state loot behind hallelujahs and holy water. Jesus wept.

His economic policies? Designed to choke. Taxation without mercy. Fuel levies that make the cost of ugali a luxury. Every boda boda rider now rides not for bread but for debt. Every mama mboga is now a bank debtor. Every jobless youth is told to pray and wait. For what?

Meanwhile, the national debt crosses Sh12 trillion. What do we have to show for it? A few roads, a digital ID, and a broken people.

While Kenyans drown in despair, Ruto and his cabal dine on the fat of the land. Private jets, foreign properties, children in Ivy League schools—paid for by the sweat of hawkers, teachers, nurses, and police officers. This is treason.

This country is bleeding from every orifice. The healthcare system is a mockery—machines that don’t work, drugs that expire before arrival, and nurses who haven’t been paid for months. Patients are forced to choose between death and debt. All while Ruto signs fake MOUs with fake investors for phantom health cities.

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Education? A distant memory. CBC is a labyrinth that confuses even professors, and now universities are graveyards of knowledge. Lecturers strike, students drop out, yet billions are set aside for digital labs that only exist in PowerPoint.

Farmers are starving. Imagine that—farmers in the breadbasket of East Africa, starving. Fertilizer scandals multiply like locusts, and the maize subsidy schemes are just ways to enrich Ruto’s allies. While the farmer tills, the politician tills the budget.

The youth? Oh, the youth. Betrayed, unemployed, hunted, and lied to. Promised millions of jobs, given a million hashtags. Promised online hustles, given offline misery. Every day is survival; every night, prayer without hope.

And when the people rise, they are met with brutality. Extrajudicial killings have returned under a new name: police reforms. They tell us it’s about national security. But whose security? Certainly not the child with a placard. Certainly not the mother who buries that child.

Meanwhile, media companies cower. Editors fear phone calls from the Office of the President. Investigative stories are shelved. Journalists are followed. Others are bribed into silence. Truth now lives in exile.

Ruto has not only defiled the presidency; he has redefined the art of deceit. He has converted public office into private business. He has sold hope wholesale and exported integrity.

But the time of reckoning is coming. The Constitution gives us tools. Chapter Six isn’t just poetic language; it’s a weapon. Article 1 reminds us: all sovereign power belongs to the people. We must invoke it. Not with stones and fire, but with truth, resistance, and law.

We must rise.

We must document every lie. Every tender. Every dead child. Every fake promise. We must compile this gospel of betrayal and present it to the world.

Ruto must be constitutionally removed, prosecuted, and sentenced. Not out of vengeance—but out of necessity. If we do not make an example of him, then we declare open season on the republic.

Let the oppressors tremble. Let the liars hide. Let the looters flee. The people are awakening. The drums are beating. And justice, slow as it may be, is sharpening its machete.

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