14 Years of Katiba Madness: A Look at the Hits and Misses of Kenya’s Successive Regimes

_It’s been 14 years since we got a second Constitution since independence, and what a rollercoaster ride it’s been! From Mwai Kibaki’s ekonomia (economy) promises, to Uhuru Kenyatta’s Jubilee of wonder, and now to William Ruto’s hustler mania, let’s take a stroll down memory lane. And oh, fasten your seat belts, because this ride is anything but smooth!_

Let’s start with President Kibaki. The man who, upon receiving the baton of leadership, turned around and handed Kenyan children the golden ticket: Free Primary Education. The joy in the villages was like discovering that you had accidentally planted a money tree in your backyard. Mamas celebrated, Mambuyu were ecstatic, and watoi… well, kids just realized they had no more excuses to skip school. Thanks to Kibaki, classrooms were overflowing with students like matatus at Kencom during rush hour.

But the free education program wasn’t without its quirks. Schools went from half-empty to overflowing like Mthurwa market on a Saturday morning. One classroom with one teacher, and eighty-eight pairs of eager eyes looking at them like they expected the world’s secrets to be revealed in that math lesson. That’s how teachers became magicians. They could teach, discipline, and do crowd control all at once – someone give our teachers a medal!

Now, we can’t forget that even in a good stew, you sometimes get a burnt piece. Kibaki’s regime was a mix of sweetness and bitterness – much like ugali and sukuma, where the sukuma is always less than the ugali. Anglo Leasing, Goldenberg, and other scandals made Kenyans wonder if the new constitution had a secret chapter on how to get away with theft. Corruption became an art, with officials engaging in high-stakes hide and seek. We still wonder where the Goldenberg money disappeared to – probably in the same place where your socks go when you do laundry.

Then came the dynamic duo – Uhuru Kenyatta and his Deputy, William Ruto. They entered with promises as long as the newly constructed expressway. From roads to bridges to the famous SGR (Standard Gauge Railway), infrastructure was the Jubilee government’s favorite child. Kenyans could finally drive on smooth roads, at least, without feeling like they were in a pothole competition. And let’s not forget the SGR, where taking a trip to Mombasa suddenly felt more luxurious than flying.

But as much as we loved the roads, the reality was that every road project came with its side dish of debt. It’s like ordering nyama choma only to be served a hefty bill for the side dishes you didn’t ask for. We’re still paying for those roads, and probably will be for the next generation or three.

Ah, the Big Four Agenda. What a beautiful dream it was. Housing for all, food security, manufacturing, and universal healthcare. The problem was, by the time Uhuru left office, the Big Four looked more like the Big Zero. Houses were nowhere to be seen, food security was still a mirage, manufacturing had packed its bags and left, and healthcare was, well, still trying to figure itself out.

It was like preparing a grand feast, only for the guests to arrive and find that the food was still cooking. By the time Uhuru was shaking hands with Raila in the famous handshake, Kenyans were shaking their heads in disbelief, wondering if the Big Four was just another item on the menu of political promises.

Speaking of the handshake, let’s take a moment to appreciate the political plot twist that left Kenyans baffled and amused. One moment, Raila and Uhuru were arch-nemeses, and the next, they were hugging it out like long-lost brothers. It was like watching a soap opera where the villain suddenly becomes the hero.

But with the handshake came confusion. Was Raila in government or opposition? Was Uhuru leading Jubilee or ODM? Even the politicians themselves seemed confused. The only thing that was clear was that the handshake was the ultimate political bromance, complete with matching outfits.

And now, we have the self-proclaimed hustler, William Ruto, at the helm. Ruto came in with the promise of bottom-up economics – a fancy way of saying he’s here for the common mwananchi. And what better way to symbolize that than with a wheelbarrow? Yes, the humble wheelbarrow became the emblem of Ruto’s campaign. It’s as if Kenyans were being told, “Forget the Big Four, here’s a Big One – a wheelbarrow!”

The hustler narrative resonated with many Kenyans, especially those who felt left out of the previous regime’s grand projects. Suddenly, everyone was a hustler, from the boda-boda riders to the mama mbogas. Ruto promised to uplift them, and for a while, it seemed like the wheelbarrow might actually roll into prosperity.

But as the dust settled, reality set in. Governing is a different ballgame from campaigning. Ruto quickly discovered that running a country is not as simple as pushing a wheelbarrow uphill. The economy is still struggling, the cost of living is soaring, and Kenyans are wondering when the promised change will actually arrive. It’s like ordering a meal and waiting for hours, only to be served the wrong dish.

So, where does this leave us? Fourteen years after the promulgation of the new constitution, Kenya is still a land of hits and misses. We’ve had our moments of glory, like free education and infrastructure development. But we’ve also had our fair share of scandals, broken promises, and political theatrics.

The revolution that the new constitution promised never fully materialized. Instead, we’ve had incremental changes, some good, some bad, and some downright hilarious. From Kibaki’s quiet gentlemanly ways to Uhuru’s boisterous Jubilee celebrations, and now to Ruto’s hustler narratives, each regime has left its mark on the country – for better or for worse.

As we mark 14 years of our constitution, it’s clear that the journey is far from over. The road ahead is still bumpy, with more potholes than smooth stretches. But if there’s one thing Kenyans have, it’s resilience and a sense of humor. After all, in a country where politics is often stranger than fiction, sometimes all you can do is laugh – and keep pushing that wheelbarrow uphill.

_And who knows? Maybe one day, we’ll finally reach the top._