By Morris Wambua

Introduction: The Stage Is Set, But Who’s Watching?

There’s an old African proverb that says, “When the elephants fight, it is the grass that suffers.”

In Kenya's case, we must ask: what happens when the elephants aren’t even fighting and they're just dancing, loudly, on the very grass they promised to protect?

This is Kenya’s political circus, where the acrobats aren’t the daring kind that swing from trapeze ropes, but rather politicians somersaulting over their responsibilities with a grace that would shame even the clumsiest clown.

Yes, folks, Kenyan politics has officially entered the realm of farce.

The recent impeachment motion against Deputy President Rigathi Gachagua should have been a moment of accountability, an opportunity to debate matters of national importance.

Instead, it’s turned into yet another performance—complete with smoke, mirrors, and empty seats in the audience.

Kenyans aren’t cheering; they’re laughing, shaking their heads, and, worst of all for the political class, they’re starting to ask some very uncomfortable questions.

So, as the curtains rise on this impeachment charade, it seems only fair to ask: who’s benefiting from this act? And how long can the ruling class keep up the show before the public demands refunds in the form of mass resignations?

The Impeachment Fiasco: Much Ado About Nothing

When Shakespeare wrote “All the world’s a stage,” he might as well have been talking about Kenyan politics because here, the stage is always set, the players are always performing, and the audience—well, the audience has long since seen through the tired script.

The impeachment of Deputy President Gachagua, was an event that should have been a nail-biting thriller but instead turned out to be the political equivalent of watching paint dry.

The motion, allegedly crafted to address Gachagua’s tribalism and leadership failures, was supposed to ignite passionate debate.

However, the motion has done little more than trigger yawns in a nation that’s too busy struggling to make ends meet.

Kenya, with a robust debate on the michief of the political class, and a tough economic situation where jobs are scarcer than a politician’s integrity, and yet here we are, watching the ruling
elite debate who’s the better failure.

It’s like two drowning men arguing over who’s wetter!

And what about THE PEOPLE?

Instead of rallying behind either side, the public has declared both sides bankrupt—of ideas, leadership, and most importantly, credibility.

The overwhelming response?

If Gachagua’s leadership is so bad, then why is Ruto still in office?

If the administration as a whole is ineffective, then let them all pack their bags.

"Throw them all out," the public seems to say, “and take your circus with you.”

Kufa dereva, kufa makanga, pia, kufa makanika, kufa kamagera. Yaani, anguka nayo!

Public Participation: A Cloak Worn by Wolves

Public participation is the golden fleece of democracy, or so we’re told.

Like the Biblical Pharisees, our politicians now stand at the street corners, loudly proclaiming their commitment to involving the people.

“Let the people decide!” they cry, waving their hands like prophets of the ancient world.

"The People have spoken!"

"Wananchi wameamua!"

But, as with those Pharisees, we know that these grand displays are all for show.

Behind the scenes, decisions of real consequence are made in dark rooms where the public isn’t invited, let alone consulted.

It reminds one of the old folk tale where a cunning fox invites the hens to "discuss" the state of their coop, only to slip out the back and start feasting on the fattest chicken!

While the public is gathered in “forums” to air their grievances—complaining about the economy, unemployment, and the rising cost of doing business—our MPs are busy forcing hogwash debates that serve only their interests on mwananchi, all under the cover of "public participation."

It’s all part of a well-worn script: distract the masses with town halls and village meetings, let them vent their frustrations, then quietly return to the capital and approve whatever self-serving measures were planned all along.

It’s democracy, Kenyan-style—where the people are heard, but never truly listened to.

The Economy: A Ship Without a Captain

An old Kiswahili saying goes, “Samaki mkunje angali mbichi”—bend the fish while it's still fresh.

The meaning is simple: address problems before they grow out of control.

Sadly, in the case of Kenya’s economy, our leaders are not just bending the fish—they’re letting it rot and pretending the stench is someone else’s problem.

Under President Ruto's and Deputy Gachagua's leadership, the economy has been handled with all the care of a bull in a china shop.

Job opportunities—especially for the youth—have become more elusive than an MP after being declared winner in an election.

It’s as if the country is on a ship that’s lost its captain, drifting aimlessly while those on deck fight
over who should be holding the wheel.

The irony is so thick you could spread it on toast: the people elected to fix the economy seem to be breaking it.

The youth of Kenya—Generation Z in particular—have had enough. They don’t want platitudes or promises of a better tomorrow.

They want action today.

Sadly, instead of reforms addressing real issues like education, healthcare, and job creation, they get a political class more interested in lining their pockets than fixing the holes in the ship’s hull.

It’s like trying to catch a thief, only to find out the thief is also the town’s police chief.

Tribalism: The Broken Record of Kenyan Politics

When all else fails, Kenyan politicians know they can always rely on tribalism—the tried-and-true method for distracting the public from the real issues at hand.

When accused of incompetence, corruption, or worse, our leaders drape themselves in the flag of their tribe and shout from the rooftops that they’re being persecuted not for their failures but for their identity.

Kenyans are waking up to the fact that tribalism is just a fancy word for political manipulation.

The public is increasingly refusing to be divided along ethnic lines.

They’re no longer interested in whether their leader is from their tribe; they want to know if their leader can deliver results.

In this case, the current administration has failed spectacularly.

The use of tribalism as a shield has worn thin, like an overused lie that no longer holds any weight.

In the Bible, we’re told that by their fruits you shall know them—and by the fruits of the Kenya Kwanza government, we know exactly what kind of tree we’re dealing with.

The fruit is rotten, and no amount of tribal rhetoric will mask the smell.

Parliament of the Absurd: The Worst Since Independence

If there were a Guinness World Record for the most dysfunctional parliament, Kenya’s current crop of MPs would be serious contenders.

This is a parliament that has taken ineptitude to a level so high it deserves a spot in the clouds alongside Mount Kenya. Wameguza murima!

Instead of passing laws that would improve the lives of ordinary Kenyans, this parliament spends its time bickering, grandstanding, and protecting selfish, narrow interests.

It’s as if they’re competing to see who can be the least effective.

The prize for this competition?

A country on the brink, an economy in shambles, and a public that has completely lost faith in its (mis)leaders.

If this parliament were a meal, it would be a dish so tasteless even the chef would refuse to eat it!

It’s no wonder that the people have already grown tired of these people, just two years in office!

The People’s Verdict: Pack Your Bags, All of You

As the impeachment motion fizzles out like a wet firecracker, the Kenyan public has made its stance crystal clear: we’ve had enough of this political sideshow.

Both President Ruto and Deputy President Gachagua should do the honorable thing—if such a thing even exists in Kenyan politics anymore—and resign.

But not just them.

This entire parliament needs to go, for it has proven time and again that it is incapable of governing in the interests of the people.

They’ve wasted enough of the country’s time and resources with their bickering and infighting.

Funny bills all the time!

The game is up, the audience has seen the trick, and the calls for change are growing louder by the day.

Conclusion: When the Curtain Fall

Kenya stands at a critical juncture. The current political elite, like the Biblical Pharisees, have shown themselves to be hypocrites, more concerned with appearances than with substance. The people have spoken, and they’re no longer content to be mere spectators in this ongoing farce.

It’s time for the political class to step aside and let real leaders take the stage—leaders who will prioritize the needs of the country over their own self-interest.

And if they refuse?

Well, the people have shown that they are more than willing to bring down the curtain on this sorry act. Chukua kura!