Why Shutting Down Thika Road Exposes the Rotten Core And Incompetence Of Kenya’s Leadership

Only in Kenya does a government think it makes sense to shut down one of the busiest highways in the country from six o’clock in the morning for a football match that begins at four in the afternoon. Only in this republic of fools do men and women in uniform decide that the best way to manage crowds and security is to punish millions of motorists who have absolutely nothing to do with the game. It is not just irresponsible—it is unforgivable incompetence dressed up as statecraft.

Thika Road is not some village footpath. It is the artery that connects Nairobi to the entire Mt. Kenya region and beyond. It is the road that feeds goods into the city, carries workers to and from their jobs, and keeps the wheels of the economy turning. To shut it down without shame or sense shows that the people in charge of our security and transport are not thinking beings but glorified traffic cones with uniforms.

A competent government would plan. It would deploy security in strategic locations, open alternative routes, use technology to monitor and control crowds, and ensure that life goes on for the majority who have nothing to do with the stadium. But in Kenya, the shortcut is always the preferred route, and the shortcut here is to close everything down and declare it “order.” It is laziness on steroids.

The police, who are supposed to serve and protect, instead display the intellectual depth of a teaspoon. They cannot conceive of solutions beyond roadblocks and whistling at motorists. They cannot imagine that a modern city requires modern policing, not caveman tactics. They would rather traumatize the public than stretch their brains to think creatively.

This tragedy is not limited to the police. It is systemic. It is the entire government culture that rewards loyalty over competence, sycophancy over intelligence, and corruption over merit. That is why the ones making decisions about traffic management are relics who should be retired, yet they cling to power and insist on dragging us back to the Stone Age.

When you shut down a road at 6:00 AM for a 4:00 PM game, what you are saying is that you do not trust yourself to manage anything. You are declaring that you lack the capacity, the skills, and the mental bandwidth to run a simple football event in a city. That is an admission of failure so massive it should lead to resignations. But in Kenya, failure is not punished—it is promoted.

The government wants to pretend it is securing the stadium and protecting lives, but what it is actually doing is showing us how incapable it is. If other countries can host World Cup finals, Olympic games, and international marathons without shutting down entire cities, why can’t Kenya handle a simple game without bringing the whole highway to its knees? The answer is clear: stupidity sits at the heart of power.

What is worse is the contempt shown to the public. Millions of Kenyans are told, in effect, “Your time does not matter. Your work does not matter. Your emergencies do not matter. Stay in traffic for ten hours because the police are too incompetent to do their jobs.” This is not governance; this is tyranny through foolishness.

It is insulting that we pay taxes for this nonsense. We fund a police service that cannot serve, a transport system that cannot transport, and a government that cannot govern. Instead of solutions, we get road closures. Instead of innovation, we get roadblocks. Instead of leadership, we get noise, sirens, and chaos.

The decision to shut down Thika Road reveals the intellectual bankruptcy of our leaders. It is not just about traffic. It is about a mindset that cannot solve problems, a culture that chooses the path of least resistance, and a regime that does not care about its citizens. If you can casually disrupt millions of lives for your incompetence, what else are you capable of?

This stupidity has real consequences. Businesses suffer as goods cannot move on time. Workers lose hours trapped in traffic. Emergencies are delayed. Patients die on the way to hospitals. Students miss exams. Families are broken by the frustration of spending hours in gridlock. The ripple effect of one idiotic decision stretches into every corner of society.

But the government does not care. Its officials are ferried in convoys with sirens blaring, clearing roads that everyone else is forbidden to use. They live in a parallel universe where inconvenience is for the ordinary Kenyan, never for them. That arrogance is what fuels their idiotic decisions.

The police leadership congratulates itself after every event, claiming success because “no incidents were reported.” But of course, there were incidents—mill