When I look at Lari, my home constituency, I don’t see a battleground. I see a circle. A circle that keeps turning, slowly, predictably, almost mockingly.
And sometimes, when the noise gets too loud; the rallies, the chants, the arguments in market stalls and roadside kiosks, I find myself laughing. Not because it is funny, but because it is painfully familiar.
In one corner, they sing the name of Hon. Mburu Kahangara with conviction, as if he alone carries the future in his pocket. In another, Hon. Karichu Wanjiru’s supporters speak with equal fire, certain that this time things will be different. And then there are those who stand firmly behind Hon. Nyutu Wamwere, defending his record like it is a sacred text that must not be questioned.
Three camps. Three flags. Three “saviors.” But to me, they look like three bulls in the same field. Strong. Loud. Dominant. Charging in different directions but tied to the same post.
The troubling thing is not their rivalry. Politics has always thrived on rivalry. The troubling thing is our memory or lack of it. Because these are not strangers. They are not new faces promising unknown futures. They are known quantities, familiar chapters in a book we have already read.
We know how each one performs given an opportunity. We have seen their priorities, their strengths, their blind spots. We have lived through their seasons of leadership. And yet, as 2027 approaches, the air feels less like a moment of reflection and more like déjà vu dressed in new campaign colors.
Each group insists theirs is different. “Give him another chance.” “This time he has learned.” “He was blocked before.” “We didn’t support him enough.” The reasons vary, but the faith is unwavering. And I don’t argue with them. People have the right to believe. The right to hope. The right to choose and support whoever they want. But deep down, I wonder: are we choosing change, or are we choosing familiarity disguised as change?
Because if you strip away the slogans and the excitement, what remains is simple: whoever among the three wins will perform as they have done before. Not because they are evil or incapable but because people rarely become something entirely new overnight. Leadership, like character, leaves a trail. And Lari has already walked that trail with all three.
Yet here we are again divided, passionate, convinced that this time the outcome will somehow break the pattern.
The markets will still open early. The youth will still gather at corners discussing opportunity. The farmers will still wait on promises that stretch from one election to the next. Life will go on, as it always does. And perhaps that is why I laugh.
Not out of disrespect for my people, but out of a quiet realization: the real contest is not between Mburu, Karichu, and Nyutu. It is between memory and hope. Between what we know and what we wish were true. And until we confront that tension honestly, the circle will keep turning… and Lari will keep mistaking motion for progress.
And sometimes, when the noise gets too loud; the rallies, the chants, the arguments in market stalls and roadside kiosks, I find myself laughing. Not because it is funny, but because it is painfully familiar.
In one corner, they sing the name of Hon. Mburu Kahangara with conviction, as if he alone carries the future in his pocket. In another, Hon. Karichu Wanjiru’s supporters speak with equal fire, certain that this time things will be different. And then there are those who stand firmly behind Hon. Nyutu Wamwere, defending his record like it is a sacred text that must not be questioned.
Three camps. Three flags. Three “saviors.” But to me, they look like three bulls in the same field. Strong. Loud. Dominant. Charging in different directions but tied to the same post.
The troubling thing is not their rivalry. Politics has always thrived on rivalry. The troubling thing is our memory or lack of it. Because these are not strangers. They are not new faces promising unknown futures. They are known quantities, familiar chapters in a book we have already read.
We know how each one performs given an opportunity. We have seen their priorities, their strengths, their blind spots. We have lived through their seasons of leadership. And yet, as 2027 approaches, the air feels less like a moment of reflection and more like déjà vu dressed in new campaign colors.
Each group insists theirs is different. “Give him another chance.” “This time he has learned.” “He was blocked before.” “We didn’t support him enough.” The reasons vary, but the faith is unwavering. And I don’t argue with them. People have the right to believe. The right to hope. The right to choose and support whoever they want. But deep down, I wonder: are we choosing change, or are we choosing familiarity disguised as change?
Because if you strip away the slogans and the excitement, what remains is simple: whoever among the three wins will perform as they have done before. Not because they are evil or incapable but because people rarely become something entirely new overnight. Leadership, like character, leaves a trail. And Lari has already walked that trail with all three.
Yet here we are again divided, passionate, convinced that this time the outcome will somehow break the pattern.
The markets will still open early. The youth will still gather at corners discussing opportunity. The farmers will still wait on promises that stretch from one election to the next. Life will go on, as it always does. And perhaps that is why I laugh.
Not out of disrespect for my people, but out of a quiet realization: the real contest is not between Mburu, Karichu, and Nyutu. It is between memory and hope. Between what we know and what we wish were true. And until we confront that tension honestly, the circle will keep turning… and Lari will keep mistaking motion for progress.
