To the farmers of Lari — the men and women who wake before sunrise in the cold mist of the highlands.
To my fellow villagers who walk the long roads of Kirenga, Kijabe, Kinale, Nyanduma, and Kamburu looking for opportunity. And to every voter who knows deep inside that the future of Lari cannot grow from tired leadership. This is for you. Because sometimes the field does not fail. Sometimes the bull is the problem.
In the villages of Lari, farming is more than work. It is a teacher. Every farmer knows one truth: A weak bull cannot produce a strong herd.
If a bull is weak, lazy, or diseased, the farmer does not argue with it. He does not pray for it to change. He does not give it another five years. He simply changes the bull. Because the future of the herd depends on it.
Yet strangely, when it comes to leadership, we, Lari people, forget this wisdom. We keep the same leaders. The same thinking. The same excuses. Election after election. And then we wonder why nothing changes.
Once upon a time, Lari had promise. Its highlands were fertile. Its people were hardworking. Its youth were ambitious.
From Kijabe’s hills to the farms of Nyanduma, the land had everything required for prosperity. But today many residents ask a painful question: Why has Lari remained behind while other places move forward?
The roads remain poor. Opportunities for young people are limited. Agriculture struggles without modern support. Small businesses fight alone.
And year after year the same explanation is offered: “Give us more time.” But Lari farmers know something politicians pretend not to understand.
If a bull cannot perform in the first season, giving it more seasons rarely improves the herd. It only multiplies weakness.
In Lari, politics has slowly become a recycling plant. The same individuals rotate through positions:
A farmer who keeps returning the same weak bull to the field is not unlucky. He is refusing to learn. And if we keep recycling leaders we cannot expect a different future.
One of the most dangerous animals in politics is not the strong bull. It is the weak bull that knows how to speak well. It promises water projects. It promises youth jobs. It promises markets for farmers. Election after election, the promises grow stronger. But the results grow weaker.
And, because leadership is not measured by speeches. It is measured by results. And if the results after 5, 10, 15, years in power are empty, the farmer already knows the answer. Change the bull.
The change must begin where the people live. In:
If voters decide that experience without results is failure, then leadership will change overnight.
But if voters continue rewarding the same leaders for the same failures, nothing will change.
Because a weak bull never replaces itself. It is always the farmer who must make the decision.
In all homes across Lari, we, the people, must whisper a naughty and sincere phrase: “Lari tûtikûhaicwo ríngí ní ndume cianatûhaica.”
Enough is enough. But whispers alone can not change our situation. Votes do.
Every election is a decision about the future herd. Do we keep the weak bull? Or do we bring new strength into the field?
The truth is simple. No constituency develops by accident. It develops when resident voters refuse to accept mediocrity.
The people of Lari must remember a truth their grandparents understood clearly: A farmer who refuses to change a weak bull eventually destroys his own herd.
Leadership is not permanent. Power is not inheritance. And voters are not prisoners.
If the leadership of yesterday and today has failed to build the future of tomorrow, then the decision is obvious. Change the bull.
To my fellow villagers who walk the long roads of Kirenga, Kijabe, Kinale, Nyanduma, and Kamburu looking for opportunity. And to every voter who knows deep inside that the future of Lari cannot grow from tired leadership. This is for you. Because sometimes the field does not fail. Sometimes the bull is the problem.
In the villages of Lari, farming is more than work. It is a teacher. Every farmer knows one truth: A weak bull cannot produce a strong herd.
If a bull is weak, lazy, or diseased, the farmer does not argue with it. He does not pray for it to change. He does not give it another five years. He simply changes the bull. Because the future of the herd depends on it.
Yet strangely, when it comes to leadership, we, Lari people, forget this wisdom. We keep the same leaders. The same thinking. The same excuses. Election after election. And then we wonder why nothing changes.
Once upon a time, Lari had promise. Its highlands were fertile. Its people were hardworking. Its youth were ambitious.
From Kijabe’s hills to the farms of Nyanduma, the land had everything required for prosperity. But today many residents ask a painful question: Why has Lari remained behind while other places move forward?
The roads remain poor. Opportunities for young people are limited. Agriculture struggles without modern support. Small businesses fight alone.
And year after year the same explanation is offered: “Give us more time.” But Lari farmers know something politicians pretend not to understand.
If a bull cannot perform in the first season, giving it more seasons rarely improves the herd. It only multiplies weakness.
In Lari, politics has slowly become a recycling plant. The same individuals rotate through positions:
- Member of Parliament
- Senator
- Governor
- Women Representative
- Ward leadership
A farmer who keeps returning the same weak bull to the field is not unlucky. He is refusing to learn. And if we keep recycling leaders we cannot expect a different future.
One of the most dangerous animals in politics is not the strong bull. It is the weak bull that knows how to speak well. It promises water projects. It promises youth jobs. It promises markets for farmers. Election after election, the promises grow stronger. But the results grow weaker.
And, because leadership is not measured by speeches. It is measured by results. And if the results after 5, 10, 15, years in power are empty, the farmer already knows the answer. Change the bull.
The change must begin where the people live. In:
- Lari/Kirenga villages.
- Kijabe villages.
- Kinale villages.
- Nyanduma villages.
- Kamburu villages.
If voters decide that experience without results is failure, then leadership will change overnight.
But if voters continue rewarding the same leaders for the same failures, nothing will change.
Because a weak bull never replaces itself. It is always the farmer who must make the decision.
In all homes across Lari, we, the people, must whisper a naughty and sincere phrase: “Lari tûtikûhaicwo ríngí ní ndume cianatûhaica.”
Enough is enough. But whispers alone can not change our situation. Votes do.
Every election is a decision about the future herd. Do we keep the weak bull? Or do we bring new strength into the field?
The truth is simple. No constituency develops by accident. It develops when resident voters refuse to accept mediocrity.
The people of Lari must remember a truth their grandparents understood clearly: A farmer who refuses to change a weak bull eventually destroys his own herd.
Leadership is not permanent. Power is not inheritance. And voters are not prisoners.
If the leadership of yesterday and today has failed to build the future of tomorrow, then the decision is obvious. Change the bull.
