If you’ve lived in Nairobi long enough, you know that when a big man in a suit says he has “total confidence,” you should start checking your pockets. CAF President Patrice Motsepe is currently doing a world tour of toxic positivity, claiming he’s “enormously impressed” with East Africa’s readiness for CHAN and AFCON. It’s a beautiful script, really. He talks about trust and success while we look at Nyayo and Kasarani - stadiums that are perpetually “under renovation” like a stubborn WhatsApp status that never changes.

Let’s talk about the Sh44.7 billion price tag for this new dream stadium. In a country where the cost of unga is a daily battle and the “Wash Wash” economy is the only thing keeping the lights on in Kilimani, we are sinking billions into concrete bowls. They call it “sports development,” but we know it’s just the latest high-stakes tender game. By the time November rolls around and these venues are supposedly “ready,” the only thing that will be fully completed is the bank accounts of the tenderpreneurs.

The closure of Kasarani and Nyayo is the ultimate middle finger to local sports. They’ve locked the doors on our own athletes to prepare for a party we aren’t even sure will happen. CAF’s head of communication can dismiss postponement reports all he wants, but we’ve seen this movie before. We remember when CAF halted ticket sales at Kasarani because the place was a safety hazard. They want us to believe they’ve gone from “safety crisis” to “world-class” in a matter of months? Please.

This whole AFCON 2027 push feels like a grander version of the Mulot deepfakes. It’s all “The Engineering of Influence” on a continental scale. They sell us a vision of floodlights and glory, but the reality is a dusty construction site with a “Coming Soon” sign that’s been there since the last administration. We aren’t building stadiums; we are building monuments to our own gullibility.

At the end of the day, the only thing “enormously successful” about these projects will be the disappearance of public funds. While the big men exchange plaques and handshakes in five-star hotels, the average fan will be left watching the tournament from a dingy pub because the local stadium is still a pile of gravel and a broken dream. It’s not football; it’s a heist with better branding.