The Servitude of the People, Fat Cats and Empty Plates

 

You walk into the grand house of a politician, one of those MPs who just got a new “sitting allowance” for the parliamentary session that barely lasted two hours. The man or woman is comfortably sprawled on an expensive leather chair, sipping on some champagne they didn’t even know was made in Kenya. There’s a pile of crisp notes next to them, possibly stolen from a tender for some “unnecessary” project in a remote village that will never see the light of day. 

Meanwhile, you, yes, you, the mwananchi, are probably seated on a plastic chair in a room with a roof that leaks when it rains. If you have a job, it’s probably at the local kiosk, where your pay can’t even cover the price of the gas needed to get to work, much less your children’s school fees. If you’re lucky enough to have access to a public hospital, you might spend the day in a queue that’s longer than the hours it’ll take to get that life-saving treatment.

Now, if you step outside, you’ll see roads that don’t lead anywhere but to more potholes, and public services that resemble a “hope” rather than a “right.” And let’s not even talk about food. While the political elite can feast on a buffet that would make an emperor blush, you, dear mwananchi, are left deciding whether to spend your last coin on unga or on transport to get to the local market where you can pray to find something remotely edible.

The irony, however, is so thick you could cut it with a butter knife. These politicians, the ones you elected, have turned the sacred trust between them and you into a sick joke. They are supposed to be your servants, yet they are living lives of royalty. But don't worry; they’ll make sure to send a tweet or post a picture every now and then, pretending to care about the everyday struggles of the common mwananchi. They’ll even show up to a funeral, throw some flowers on a grave, say a few words about “empowerment,” and then swiftly return to their mansions, laughing all the way to the bank.

What do you get for voting for them? You get taxes, lots of taxes. And the saddest part is that those taxes don’t seem to reach where they are needed. They vanish into thin air, leaving behind ghost projects, crumbling roads, and unbuilt classrooms that were meant to shape the future of your children. Instead, the only future your children are being offered is one of hopelessness, unless, of course, they can figure out a way to join the political elite and get themselves some sweet, sweet “sitting allowances.”

But no, don’t worry, the government will find a way to justify their opulence. “We deserve it,” “We’re in a high-pressure job. We represent the people.” High-pressure job, huh? Try standing in line at a public hospital waiting for a doctor who probably hasn’t been paid in six months, or sitting in a classroom with 60 other kids where the teacher is absent half the time. Now that’s high pressure.

Ah, the promises. Remember those? Those sweet, sugar-coated promises made to win your vote? Affordable healthcare. Better housing. Food security. Oh, what a dream! Fast forward to today, and those promises are about as real as a unicorn in a Nairobi slum. Social and economic rights? More like social and economic lies. They’ve been reduced to mirages, things that look like they’re within reach but always vanish when you stretch out your hand. And the worst part is that the people who made those promises are sitting comfortably in their cushy chairs, sipping on that champagne, and mocking your attempt to get healthcare for your sick child.

According to the latest report from the World Health Organization, Kenya spends a shocking amount on healthcare, but less than half of the population can access the services they need. Public hospitals are so underfunded that some patients are forced to share beds in hallways. Meanwhile, the political class has personal doctors on call 24/7, and the government even pays for their lavish medical trips abroad. Forget about waiting for a doctor; they don’t even know what it’s like to sit in a waiting room.

Housing? Ha! The government will throw a few affordable housing projects your way, but those will be priced so high that only the wealthy can afford to buy. While you’re stuck in a leaking shack, they’re constructing gated communities where security is tighter than the budget for public health.

And food? We’re in an agricultural country, but the farmers can’t afford to feed their own families, let alone sell their crops. Meanwhile, the government has given multinational corporations a free pass to control the food system, driving up prices and making sure that your unga is a luxury that no one can afford. The politicians, on the other hand, will continue to eat the finest meals prepared by chefs that cost more than your entire month’s rent.

Let’s talk about allowances, because nothing screams “we’re working for the people” like collecting sitting allowances for meetings you didn’t even attend. Yes, these elected officials will spend more time at the buffet table than in the chamber. The Kenya National Assembly pays MPs around KSh 700,000 per month, and that’s before we even talk about the allowances. Sitting allowances, travel allowances, meal allowances, the list goes on. Let’s not forget the housing allowances, the fuel allowances, and the endless bonuses that come with doing absolutely nothing. These allowances are often higher than the annual salary of the average Kenyan worker, who is probably working day and night to put food on the table.

Meanwhile, the average mwananchi is left to wonder how a government official can make so much money while the country is in such disarray. They’re making it rain, while you’re out here trying to find enough rain to water your crops. The wealth gap has grown so wide that even the bravest politicians avoid the topic. They’ll tell you about economic growth, but the only thing growing is their bank accounts.

And of course, we can’t forget about corruption. Public funds that were meant for schools, hospitals, roads, and food security have been misappropriated. Last year alone, the Kenya Auditor General revealed that over KSh 40 billion had been misused in government projects, money that could have built schools, hospitals, and infrastructure. Instead, it ended up in the pockets of those who are already too wealthy to care about your daily struggles. This is not just a tragedy; it’s a joke. The kind of joke that makes you laugh to keep you away from crying.

Well, my friend, it’s time for change. Not the kind of change that politicians talk about when they want to get your vote. It’s time for a revolution where the common mwananchi becomes the center of the nation’s priorities. So let’s laugh, cry, and fight for what we deserve. Because the time has come to turn the tables, and this time, the people will be the ones sitting pretty, while the politicians eat humble pie.