By Morris Wambua

PHOTO CREDIT: Business Today

Corruption in Kenya is like a relentless swarm of mosquitoes — buzzing around, feeding on the country's blood, and has become impossible to squash.

Every few years, a new hero promises to slay the mosquito horde, but instead of fumigating the system, they seem to get comfy with the pests.

The result?

A never-ending, tragic comedy in which corruption flourishes while Kenya perpetually waits for the punchline.

The Great Anti-Corruption Pantomime

Kenyan politicians love a good costume change, especially during election season.

Each one dons the anti-corruption cape, stands tall on the metaphorical stage, and proclaims that they will eradicate graft.

The billboards, tactical messaging, and the dramatic speeches all inspire hope that finally, the corruption dragon will be slain, and cast into a bottomless pit.

However, as soon as the cameras turn off, the cape is swapped for a silk suit, and the villain gets
back to work — feeding off the very system they swore to destroy.

There’s a reason Kenyan leaders only fight corruption when the cameras are rolling. Behind the scenes, it’s business as usual: deals are struck, hands are greased, and the "heroes" pocket their share of the loot.

For many, "fighting corruption" is the biggest act of their political careers — with every press conference feeling like a well-rehearsed performance.

Behind closed doors, their mantra shifts: "If you can’t beat them, join them." And boy, do they join — with gusto.

Graft is too lucrative to resist, making the whole anti-corruption charade seem like a bad soap opera rerun.

Kenya’s Ethics and Anti-Corruption Commission: A Toothless Watchdog?

One thing is quite clear; the EACC goes on plenty of walks, but never bites. The Ethics and Anti-Corruption Commission (EACC) is like a watchdog with no teeth.

Sure, it barks loudly enough — launching investigations, staging dramatic arrests, and delivering stern press releases.

When it comes to actually prosecuting the big fish, it tucks its tail between its legs and trots back to its kennel.

After all, how do you bite the hand that feeds you

Corruption investigations in Kenya last longer than prime-time soap operas, with cases that drag on for years, sometimes decades and by the time they end (if they ever do), the public has long forgotten what the fuss was about.

Accused politicians, now clad in new suits and titles, emerge with their fortunes intact, ready for the next season of graft.

The investigations collapse under “lack of evidence” or get tossed out when bribes flow faster than the ink on the indictment papers.

It’s a never-ending rerun with a predictable, yet frustrating, twist.

Mosquitoes Combating Malaria: The Perfect Analogy

The relationship between politicians and corruption is as symbiotic as mosquitoes and malaria. One can’t survive without the other.

Without graft, many (mis)leaders would lose their main source of sustenance — their offshore accounts would starve, their campaign funds would dry up, and their lavish lifestyles would crumble.

Fighting corruption for these leaders would be like mosquitoes eradicating malaria — a self-destructive mission.

For Kenya’s political elite, corruption isn’t just a byproduct of the system; it is the system. From the highest officials to the lowliest bureaucrats, everyone has their hand in the cookie jar.

Corruption greases the wheels of government, fuels campaigns, and builds political dynasties. It’s no wonder that instead of fighting it, the political class nurtures it, allowing it to grow into a monstrous beast.

Political Patronage: The Currency of Corruption

In Kenya, bribery isn’t just about pocketing extra cash — it’s a way to secure power. Politicians hand out contracts, jobs, and government resources to loyal supporters, building an empire of influence that keeps them in power.

The higher up you go, the bigger the “gifts” become. Corruption isn’t just a crime here; it’s a reward system.

Tribal politics further fuels the corruption fire.

In many parts of Kenya, loyalty to one’s tribe comes before loyalty to the nation. Politicians divert public funds to their communities, buying support through fake development projects and shiny infrastructure.

It’s a quid pro quo that ensures election victories — even if the roads crack and the hospitals falter soon after.

Kenya’s corruption scandals are nothing short of legendary. From the Anglo Leasing scandal to the more recent KEMSA COVID-19 relief fund heist, the sheer audacity of the crimes is enough to fill an entire hall of shame.

Every scandal seems more outrageous than the last, with billions of shillings vanishing into thin air, only to resurface in politicians’ offshore bank accounts.

Whenever a scandal breaks, the public demands a sacrifice.

So, what happens?

A low-ranking official — often a glorified clerk — is thrown to the wolves.

The big players?

They swim away, free to plot their next heist. It’s like catching a guppy and claiming you’ve cleaned the ocean.

Courtroom Dramas or Netflix Specials?

When corrupt officials step into a courtroom, it’s not justice being served; it’s a Netflix drama with a terrible script.

The theatrics are dazzling: defendants arrive with entourages, looking like royalty, while the lawyers trade barbs for the cameras.

Sadly, behind the scenes, the wheels of corruption keep turning, with bribes exchanged and verdicts all but decided before the trial even begins.

Courtroom antics in Kenya often play out like a bad comedy show. After endless hearings, delays, and "surprise" evidence revelations, the final twist is always the same: acquittal.

The corrupt official walks out, waves to the cameras, and returns to public office. It’s a script we’ve seen so many times that even the audience has stopped paying attention.

Civic Education: Why Don’t Kenyans Know They’re Supposed to Be Outraged

Corruption has become so normalized in Kenya that the public has grown numb. Many Kenyans, especially in rural areas, don’t even realize the depth of the injustice being done.

Public campaigns that aim to fight corruption rarely reach these regions, and when they do, the message falls flat — drowned out by political theatrics and flashy propaganda.

The fight against corruption boils down to one critical factor: political will. And sadly, it’s the biggest missing piece in Kenya’s puzzle.

Without real leadership determined to take on the graft, the country’s anti-corruption efforts will remain as futile as mosquitoes trying to wipe out malaria.

For now, the political elite are just too comfortable feeding off the system.

In the end, the battle against corruption in Kenya feels like a tragic farce — with no real punchline in sight. Every election cycle brings a new set of actors playing the same tired roles, while corruption thrives.

Until there’s a seismic shift in both political culture and public perception, Kenya will remain caught in this never-ending tragicomedy.

So, is anyone really fighting corruption in Kenya?

The short answer is: probably not. The long answer?

Grab some popcorn — the show’s far from over.