Government and Policy

Kenyan MPs, Senators, Women Reps Earn 72 Times More Than The Ordinary Kenyan

BY Steve Biko · September 1, 2025 08:09 pm

Kenya is a land where the sweat of the majority feeds the gluttony of a few. While the average worker labors day and night for a minimum wage of about KSh 15,202 a month, Members of Parliament comfortably pocket KSh 1,091,500 monthly, padded with obscene allowances like KSh 366,000 for mileage. This is not governance — it is legalized robbery in broad daylight.

Think about that disparity. For every shilling the ordinary Kenyan earns, an MP earns seventy-two. In other words, what a struggling mama mboga earns in six years, one MP makes in a single month. The ratio is grotesque. It is economic apartheid enforced not by colonial masters, but by our own elected leaders. And we, with ignorance clothed in tribal colors, keep voting them back.

The tragedy is that this massive wealth is not earned through competence, brilliance, or sacrifice. It is handed to men and women who, on most days, are either absent from chambers, asleep during debates, or busy exchanging insults like drunkards in a market brawl. Parliament has become a theatre of shame where mediocrity wears a suit and demands respect.

This Parliament does not legislate for the people. It legislates for itself. Every year, they fight tooth and nail not to lower your taxes, not to fix your hospitals, not to fund your schools, but to increase their mileage, their sitting allowances, their car grants, their per diems. Their vision of Kenya is not one of shared prosperity, but of personal enrichment.

While Kenyans drown in poverty, MPs float in obscene privilege. Families survive on two meals a day while MPs complain their take-home is too little to fuel their luxury cars. Students are sent home for lack of fees, while MPs send their children abroad for education. Patients lie unattended in public hospitals while MPs fly overseas for the slightest headache.

This is not representation; it is betrayal. And betrayal is made worse by the fact that we, the betrayed, line up every election to renew the contracts of our oppressors. We cheer them when they visit our funerals, we clap when they dance at rallies, we honor them when they hand us 200 shillings stolen from our own taxes. We are slaves applauding our masters.

We cannot pretend to be shocked anymore. This Parliament is not broken — it is working exactly as it was designed to: to enrich a few and impoverish the many. The greed is not an accident. It is policy. It is a culture. It is a well-oiled machine that converts our sweat into their wealth with ruthless efficiency.

And what do we get in return? Laws that suffocate us with new taxes. Budgets that rob us of food and shelter. Committees that auction their oversight to the highest bidder. A Parliament that legislates not for citizens, but for cartels. They take from us dignity, hope, and future, and in exchange, they give us soundbites and insults.

The greed has reached obscene levels. They have no shame in inflating their allowances while the government cries “there is no money” for teachers, doctors, farmers, or jobless youth. They loot with arrogance, convinced that Kenyans are too divided, too tribal, too ignorant to rise against them. Sadly, they are not wrong — because history shows we keep rewarding them.

It is time to admit the bitter truth: Kenyans are complicit. We are quick to insult MPs on social media, quick to lament on radio shows, quick to curse them in matatus — but come election day, we elect them again. We love complaining more than changing. We treat voting as a tribal duty instead of a civic responsibility, and the result is a Parliament of greed.

The inequality is unsustainable. No society can survive when leaders gorge themselves while citizens starve. The anger will boil. The frustration will erupt. If Kenyans do not remove this Parliament through the ballot, the streets will one day remove it through chaos. Greed always ends in ruin — history is clear on that.

Removing this Parliament is not about politics. It is about survival. As long as these greedy lawmakers remain in office, Kenya will continue sinking deeper into debt, taxes will continue rising, corruption will continue flourishing, and poverty will continue spreading. They are not builders of the nation; they are termites eating the foundations.

But Kenyans must wake up first. Wake up from tribal intoxication. Wake up from the handout hypnosis. Wake up from the illusion that “mtu wetu” will save us. Your tribe cannot save you when hospitals collapse. Your tribe cannot save you when your child is jobless. Your tribe cannot save you when food prices double. Only competent, honest leaders can save you.

We must understand that the ballot is not a joke. It is not a lottery ticket. It is not an invitation to a tribal party. It is a weapon. A weapon either for liberation or for suicide. Every five years, Kenyans sharpen this weapon and then, with shocking foolishness, stab themselves instead of their oppressors.

The math is simple. If an MP earns 72 times more than the ordinary Kenyan, but delivers 72 times less in service, then something is fatally wrong. If an MP is paid millions to sleep, fight, and loot, while a teacher is paid peanuts to educate the next generation, then something is broken beyond repair. That something is Parliament.

Our children deserve better. They deserve schools funded by budgets, not drained by corruption. They deserve hospitals stocked with medicine, not drained by foreign trips for MPs. They deserve a Parliament that writes laws for justice, not for theft. If we keep this Parliament, we rob them of the future before they even taste it.

We must teach these leaders a lesson, not with stones, not with riots, but with ballots. A clean sweep of this Parliament is the only way to reset Kenya. Remove the greedy, incompetent, and inept. Replace them with people of integrity, with leaders who understand service is sacrifice, not self-enrichment.

And yes, such people exist. They are often overshadowed by noise, outspent by cartels, and ignored by the media. But they are there. We must find them, support them, and elect them. Kenya cannot afford another five years of comedy dressed as legislation.

This is not about hating MPs. It is about saving Kenya. It is about ending an experiment that has failed spectacularly. It is about telling leaders that Parliament is not a feeding trough, it is a sacred duty. And those who treat it as a trough must be sent home in shame.

We must remember that sovereignty belongs to the people, not to Parliament. They are our servants, not our masters. We pay them, not the other way around. And if servants eat while the masters starve, then the masters must fire the servants. It is that simple.

The cost of ignorance is too high. For every shilling MPs award themselves, a child drops out of school. For every allowance they inflate, a hospital loses medicine. For every kickback they take, a farmer loses market. Their greed has a price tag, and it is paid in Kenyan lives.

We cannot continue like this. To keep this Parliament is to endorse theft. To re-elect these MPs is to volunteer for slavery. To excuse their greed is to betray your children. 2027 is not just another election. It is a referendum on whether Kenyans choose to be citizens or serfs.

Let us be blunt: this Parliament must go. All of it. Swept out by an awakened people. Sent home to taste the poverty they have inflicted. Taught that leadership is not a business but a duty. Only then will Kenya begin to heal.

For too long, greed has destroyed us. For too long, we have been ignorant and clueless. For too long, we have allowed parasites to feast while we beg for crumbs. Enough is enough. A Parliament of greed cannot coexist with a nation of hope. One must go.

And if we fail to act? If we elect them again in 2027? Then we should not cry when taxes rise, when hospitals collapse, when schools rot, when youth flee the country. We will have chosen our pain. We will have signed our slavery. We will have betrayed ourselves.

The warning is simple, Wakenya: remove this Parliament, or prepare to be buried by it.