Welcome to Nairobi, the only city where a Cabinet Secretary can tremble not because he sent youth to die in a foreign war, but because his side-hustle might cost him a seat at the 2027 feeding trough. We are hearing whispers that a certain big man has been using his recruitment agencies to ship Kenyans off to the frontlines in Ukraine and Russia. Don’t mistake his anxiety for a conscience; he isn’t worried about the bodies returning in crates. He is worried about the “unfriendly” optics and the risk of being kicked out of his lofty office. To these people, our brothers and sisters are just “human capital” to be traded for a kickback and a handshake.

Meanwhile, another CS is getting a scripted “tongue lashing” for driving a car that costs more than a primary school’s annual budget. The boss is supposedly mad about the “conspicuous consumption.” Please. The boss isn’t angry that the car exists; he’s angry that the idiot drove it in broad daylight where the Gen Z “troublemakers” could see it. They haven’t stopped eating; they’ve just been told to chew with their mouths closed until we forget how hungry we are. It’s all theatre, a performance of humility staged for a population that can barely afford a packet of unga.

In the ministries, work has officially ground to a halt because the CSs and PSs have already checked out mentally. Why bother with public service when there are gubernatorial seats to buy in 2027? They are using your tax money to fund early campaigns, leaving decision-making to rot. The stakeholders are complaining, but let’s be real - the only “service” these officials provide is ensuring their own pockets are deep enough to survive the next election cycle. If you’re waiting for a government department to function, you’re the punchline of the joke.

Then we have the “parking lot” politicians. Imagine being a high-ranking leader so allergic to transparency that you don’t even have an office. Instead, you’re hosting “investors” in hotel basements, getting your elbows greased in the shadows while your relatives act as lookouts. It’s a lone-ranger economy where the deals are made in the dark and the party is just a flag of convenience. His allies are embarrassed, not because of the corruption, but because he won’t let them in on the “deal.” In this town, the only sin is eating alone.

Down at the security agencies, the chaos is being engineered from the top. A finance bureaucrat in Nairobi has decided to centralize payments, effectively killing local suppliers. They claim it’s “policy,” but we know the rhythm of this dance. It’s about ensuring that every cent for stationery and food passes through a single desk in Nairobi where the “toll” can be collected. They’ll let the officers on the ground starve and go without paper just to ensure the gatekeeper gets his cut.

Even the hallowed halls of Parliament are just a comedy club for the mediocre. You have MPs walking into meetings late, defending agencies they know nothing about just because a check cleared that morning. They get called “Johnny come lately” by their own peers and walk out in a huff, probably to find another boardroom to haunt. This is the leadership we are stuck with: a collection of vultures, grifters, and tourists, all waiting for the next “deal” while the country holds its breath. Nairobi is a beautiful city, but the rot at the top is starting to smell worse than the Dandora dumpsite.