I look at Lari Constituency — the place where I was born, raised, and still call home — and I keep asking myself one painful question: Where did our people make mistakes? Because as far back as I can remember, nothing has really changed.
I have known Kinale Ward since its earliest days. The roads there have been a “garden” — muddy, uneven, and unreliable — since the late 1980s, when I first visited my uncle. Decades later, I can still tell you exactly where to pass and where not to pass when it rains. That knowledge has never become obsolete — because the roads never improved.
The story is no different in Kijabe Ward. When I was young, I used to visit my aunt in Githogoyo. Back then, development felt distant. Today, it still does. The same for Mbau-ini, Korio and Matathia.
Where I come from — Lari/Kirenga — the situation is not any better. The same struggles persist. Travel through Karera, Githioro, Manyoni, Kibagare, or Githuya and you will see the same story repeating itself — year after year, decade after decade.
I have also spent time in Nyanduma and Kamburu. The conditions there are no better. In fact, if you listen closely, you will notice something revealing: many residents there prefer to say they are from Githunguri because it sounds better. On the other hand, people from Lari/Kirenga, Kijabe, and Kinale often say they are from Limuru. That is not just geography — that is a crisis of identity. People do not want to be associated with Lari.
I remember the first time I went to Nduriri Secondary School. The road was terrible — deeply rutted, muddy, almost impassable. Today, it looks almost the same. Time has moved forward, but the road has not. During the last general election, I served as a Presiding Officer at Kagwe Township Primary School. From where I sat, I could see hope in the faces of voters as they lined up. They believed their vote meant something. They believed they would be remembered. But what did they get in return? Forgetfulness. Neglect. It felt like political dementia — leaders forgetting the very people who trusted them.
That experience forced me to reflect deeply, and I arrived at a difficult conclusion: we must examine how we vote. For years, we have been voting without thinking. We have been choosing the same leaders again and again, expecting different results. We have been repeating the same political cycle like people who refuse to learn from experience.
We have been choosing the same bull — over and over — and wondering why nothing changes. Now I believe the time has come to change the bulls that have been mounting Lari. Ní ihinda ría kûgarûríra ndume.
No one who has led Lari before should be given another opportunity. Not one. We do not need recycled leadership. We do not need familiar faces with familiar promises and zero result. We need entirely new leaders — people who have never been part of Lari’s leadership system. This is not about anger. It is about survival. It is about dignity. It is about restoring pride in a place people are slowly learning to disown.
If Lari is ever to change, the change must begin with the voter. We must stop voting out of habit. Stop voting out of loyalty. Stop voting out of emotion. We must start voting with reason. Because after a lifetime of watching Lari remain exactly the same, I am convinced of one thing: nothing will change — until we change how we vote. Ndume yanahaica Lari ndígacagûrwo ríngí.
I have known Kinale Ward since its earliest days. The roads there have been a “garden” — muddy, uneven, and unreliable — since the late 1980s, when I first visited my uncle. Decades later, I can still tell you exactly where to pass and where not to pass when it rains. That knowledge has never become obsolete — because the roads never improved.
The story is no different in Kijabe Ward. When I was young, I used to visit my aunt in Githogoyo. Back then, development felt distant. Today, it still does. The same for Mbau-ini, Korio and Matathia.
Where I come from — Lari/Kirenga — the situation is not any better. The same struggles persist. Travel through Karera, Githioro, Manyoni, Kibagare, or Githuya and you will see the same story repeating itself — year after year, decade after decade.
I have also spent time in Nyanduma and Kamburu. The conditions there are no better. In fact, if you listen closely, you will notice something revealing: many residents there prefer to say they are from Githunguri because it sounds better. On the other hand, people from Lari/Kirenga, Kijabe, and Kinale often say they are from Limuru. That is not just geography — that is a crisis of identity. People do not want to be associated with Lari.
I remember the first time I went to Nduriri Secondary School. The road was terrible — deeply rutted, muddy, almost impassable. Today, it looks almost the same. Time has moved forward, but the road has not. During the last general election, I served as a Presiding Officer at Kagwe Township Primary School. From where I sat, I could see hope in the faces of voters as they lined up. They believed their vote meant something. They believed they would be remembered. But what did they get in return? Forgetfulness. Neglect. It felt like political dementia — leaders forgetting the very people who trusted them.
That experience forced me to reflect deeply, and I arrived at a difficult conclusion: we must examine how we vote. For years, we have been voting without thinking. We have been choosing the same leaders again and again, expecting different results. We have been repeating the same political cycle like people who refuse to learn from experience.
We have been choosing the same bull — over and over — and wondering why nothing changes. Now I believe the time has come to change the bulls that have been mounting Lari. Ní ihinda ría kûgarûríra ndume.
No one who has led Lari before should be given another opportunity. Not one. We do not need recycled leadership. We do not need familiar faces with familiar promises and zero result. We need entirely new leaders — people who have never been part of Lari’s leadership system. This is not about anger. It is about survival. It is about dignity. It is about restoring pride in a place people are slowly learning to disown.
If Lari is ever to change, the change must begin with the voter. We must stop voting out of habit. Stop voting out of loyalty. Stop voting out of emotion. We must start voting with reason. Because after a lifetime of watching Lari remain exactly the same, I am convinced of one thing: nothing will change — until we change how we vote. Ndume yanahaica Lari ndígacagûrwo ríngí.
