There are people in the Bible whose stories make you wonder whether God sometimes uses unusual characters to accomplish extraordinary things. When I think about Rigathi Gachagua, my mind immediately travels back to the story of Joseph, the son of Jacob. I know some people may wonder what Joseph has to do with our former Deputy President. Others may even accuse me of having spent too much time reading the Bible and too little time following Kenyan politics. But allow me to explain myself.
In Psalm 105:17–22, the Bible gives us a fascinating account of Joseph's journey. It says that God sent a man ahead of his people, Joseph, who was sold as a slave. His feet were hurt with fetters, and his neck was placed in an iron collar. He remained in that condition until what God had spoken concerning him came to pass. Then something remarkable happened. The king sent for him and released him. The ruler of the people set him free, made him lord over his household and ruler over his possessions, and gave him authority over those who had previously occupied positions of honour.
What a journey! From the prison to the palace. From the chains to the throne. From being forgotten to becoming indispensable.
Now, when I look at the political journey of Rigathi Gachagua, I cannot help noticing some interesting similarities. Of course, Joseph was sold by his brothers, while Gachagua's political troubles unfolded in the complicated corridors of Kenyan power. Joseph had his dreams interpreted by nobody other than himself, while our politicians have perfected the art of interpreting one another's political dreams. But both stories have something that makes them particularly interesting: the possibility that today's humiliation could become tomorrow's testimony.
Gachagua rose from the political wilderness to become Deputy President of the Republic of Kenya. He was once among the most powerful people in the country. He occupied an office that came with a grand title, a convoy, security personnel, and the privilege of being among the first people to know what was happening in government. He could speak, and the nation listened. Sometimes, even when Kenyans did not particularly want to listen, they still found themselves listening because his statements had a way of dominating the evening news. Then came the political storm.
Suddenly, the man who had occupied the second-highest office in the land found himself fighting for his political survival. The accusations, the impeachment proceedings, the public disagreements and the dramatic political exchanges made his story one of the most entertaining chapters in Kenya's political history. One day, you are addressing the nation as Deputy President; the next, you are explaining why you should not be removed from office. Kenyan politics does not give anyone enough time to enjoy their lunch. But perhaps there is a lesson here. In politics, the same people who help you climb the mountain may be the ones who later complain that you are occupying too much space at the summit. And this is where my imagination begins to wander.
Could Gachagua's political journey be one of those complicated political arrangements whose real meaning will only become clear much later? Could there be a bigger political calculation taking place behind the scenes? Is it possible that his political battles, whether deliberately planned or simply the result of political disagreements, could eventually benefit the very people he appears to be fighting?
Consider this: the Kenyan opposition has always had one major challenge. Bringing together different political personalities, ambitions and interests under one political roof is not an easy undertaking. Everyone wants to be the captain, everyone has a preferred direction, and everyone seems to have a different interpretation of where the ship should be sailing. Sometimes, the opposition does not need an enemy to defeat it. It only needs a meeting.
Now imagine a political situation in which Gachagua becomes the centre of attraction in the opposition. His supporters rally behind him, his critics rally against him, and other opposition leaders begin calculating how much political space he occupies. Instead of concentrating on building a united political front, everyone starts discussing who should lead, who should follow, who should be accommodated and who should be sent to the political waiting room. Before long, the opposition could find itself spending more time negotiating leadership positions than preparing to challenge the government. And who benefits from such confusion? That is a question worth asking.
Perhaps the political theatre surrounding Gachagua could unintentionally serve as a distraction. Perhaps his political troubles could become an instrument through which different opposition camps develop competing interests. Or perhaps the man himself could eventually emerge as a powerful political figure capable of bringing together people who previously had little interest in sitting at the same table. In Kenya, even political enemies sometimes discover that they have a common interest when the next election approaches.
But let us return to Joseph. Joseph was not simply released from prison. He was elevated to a position of authority. The man who had once been treated like a criminal became the person responsible for managing the affairs of an entire nation. Those who had dismissed his dreams eventually discovered that the dreams were not as ridiculous as they had imagined. Could Gachagua have a similar ending?
Perhaps the allegations and political battles surrounding him will eventually be resolved in his favour. Perhaps he will clear his name, regain political influence and find himself occupying another position of considerable authority. Maybe the same political establishment that once appeared determined to push him out of the corridors of power could one day find it necessary to negotiate with him. That would make an interesting political testimony.
Imagine Gachagua standing before Kenyans several years from now, narrating how he was once removed from office, politically isolated, criticised and pushed into the wilderness, only to return with renewed influence. He might even remind his audience that some people who were once celebrating his political downfall are now requesting appointments to his political meetings.
In such a situation, one would need to be careful when choosing where to sit during political rallies. Today you may be sitting in the front row, shouting that someone is finished. Tomorrow, you may find yourself standing outside his office waiting for an appointment. That is the Kenyan version of Joseph's brothers going to Egypt in search of food!
There is another interesting aspect of the Joseph story. Psalm 105 tells us that Joseph was appointed to bind the princes at his pleasure and teach the elders wisdom. In other words, the man who had suffered humiliation was eventually given authority over people who once occupied positions of honour. If we were to translate this into Kenyan politics, it would mean that some of the people who currently consider themselves politically superior to Gachagua might one day find themselves seeking his approval. Those who have been giving political lectures could eventually become students in his political classroom. And knowing Kenyan politicians, I suspect the classroom would have very few empty seats. Everyone wants to learn from whoever appears to be holding the key to the next political opportunity.
However, there is a difference between Joseph and our politicians that we should not ignore. Joseph's elevation was part of God's plan, according to the biblical account. In politics, however, elevation is not always evidence of divine endorsement. Sometimes it is the result of political arithmetic, strategic alliances, public opinion, financial resources and the ability to convince voters that you are the answer to their problems. Politicians may quote Scripture when things are difficult and forget it when things become comfortable. They may speak about brotherhood during campaigns and discover ideological differences immediately after elections. That is why I would not rush to declare Gachagua the Joseph of our generation. The Bible has already given us one Joseph, and he performed his assignment remarkably well. Our politicians still have to demonstrate what they are capable of doing.
Nevertheless, the comparison offers an interesting way of looking at political fortunes. Being removed from a powerful office does not necessarily mean that someone's political journey has ended. Sometimes, a political fall creates a new opportunity. Sometimes, an individual becomes more influential outside government than they were inside it. The real question is whether Gachagua's present political struggles will eventually lead to his political resurrection or whether they will become the final chapter of his ambitions. For now, I am watching with considerable interest.
If Joseph could move from an iron collar to the palace, perhaps Gachagua's political story still has a few unexpected chapters. Maybe he will eventually clear his name, regain his influence and become a significant force in the country's political arrangement. Or perhaps he will discover that the political wilderness is a very different place from the presidential palace.
One thing is certain: in Kenya, you should never bury a politician simply because they have lost an election, an office or an argument. Some politicians are like seeds. The more you bury them, the more determined they become to germinate. And if Gachagua eventually returns to the centre of power, I hope someone remembers to ask whether the people who celebrated his downfall will be available to attend his thanksgiving service.
After all, Joseph's brothers eventually came looking for him. In Kenyan politics, you never know who will be begging for grain when the next famine arrives!
In Psalm 105:17–22, the Bible gives us a fascinating account of Joseph's journey. It says that God sent a man ahead of his people, Joseph, who was sold as a slave. His feet were hurt with fetters, and his neck was placed in an iron collar. He remained in that condition until what God had spoken concerning him came to pass. Then something remarkable happened. The king sent for him and released him. The ruler of the people set him free, made him lord over his household and ruler over his possessions, and gave him authority over those who had previously occupied positions of honour.
What a journey! From the prison to the palace. From the chains to the throne. From being forgotten to becoming indispensable.
Now, when I look at the political journey of Rigathi Gachagua, I cannot help noticing some interesting similarities. Of course, Joseph was sold by his brothers, while Gachagua's political troubles unfolded in the complicated corridors of Kenyan power. Joseph had his dreams interpreted by nobody other than himself, while our politicians have perfected the art of interpreting one another's political dreams. But both stories have something that makes them particularly interesting: the possibility that today's humiliation could become tomorrow's testimony.
Gachagua rose from the political wilderness to become Deputy President of the Republic of Kenya. He was once among the most powerful people in the country. He occupied an office that came with a grand title, a convoy, security personnel, and the privilege of being among the first people to know what was happening in government. He could speak, and the nation listened. Sometimes, even when Kenyans did not particularly want to listen, they still found themselves listening because his statements had a way of dominating the evening news. Then came the political storm.
Suddenly, the man who had occupied the second-highest office in the land found himself fighting for his political survival. The accusations, the impeachment proceedings, the public disagreements and the dramatic political exchanges made his story one of the most entertaining chapters in Kenya's political history. One day, you are addressing the nation as Deputy President; the next, you are explaining why you should not be removed from office. Kenyan politics does not give anyone enough time to enjoy their lunch. But perhaps there is a lesson here. In politics, the same people who help you climb the mountain may be the ones who later complain that you are occupying too much space at the summit. And this is where my imagination begins to wander.
Could Gachagua's political journey be one of those complicated political arrangements whose real meaning will only become clear much later? Could there be a bigger political calculation taking place behind the scenes? Is it possible that his political battles, whether deliberately planned or simply the result of political disagreements, could eventually benefit the very people he appears to be fighting?
I am not saying that William Ruto secretly designed everything that has happened to Gachagua. That would be a serious allegation, and I have no evidence to support it. I am merely entertaining a political possibility, the kind of speculation that makes Kenyan politics an endless source of entertainment.
Consider this: the Kenyan opposition has always had one major challenge. Bringing together different political personalities, ambitions and interests under one political roof is not an easy undertaking. Everyone wants to be the captain, everyone has a preferred direction, and everyone seems to have a different interpretation of where the ship should be sailing. Sometimes, the opposition does not need an enemy to defeat it. It only needs a meeting.
Now imagine a political situation in which Gachagua becomes the centre of attraction in the opposition. His supporters rally behind him, his critics rally against him, and other opposition leaders begin calculating how much political space he occupies. Instead of concentrating on building a united political front, everyone starts discussing who should lead, who should follow, who should be accommodated and who should be sent to the political waiting room. Before long, the opposition could find itself spending more time negotiating leadership positions than preparing to challenge the government. And who benefits from such confusion? That is a question worth asking.
Perhaps the political theatre surrounding Gachagua could unintentionally serve as a distraction. Perhaps his political troubles could become an instrument through which different opposition camps develop competing interests. Or perhaps the man himself could eventually emerge as a powerful political figure capable of bringing together people who previously had little interest in sitting at the same table. In Kenya, even political enemies sometimes discover that they have a common interest when the next election approaches.
But let us return to Joseph. Joseph was not simply released from prison. He was elevated to a position of authority. The man who had once been treated like a criminal became the person responsible for managing the affairs of an entire nation. Those who had dismissed his dreams eventually discovered that the dreams were not as ridiculous as they had imagined. Could Gachagua have a similar ending?
Perhaps the allegations and political battles surrounding him will eventually be resolved in his favour. Perhaps he will clear his name, regain political influence and find himself occupying another position of considerable authority. Maybe the same political establishment that once appeared determined to push him out of the corridors of power could one day find it necessary to negotiate with him. That would make an interesting political testimony.
Imagine Gachagua standing before Kenyans several years from now, narrating how he was once removed from office, politically isolated, criticised and pushed into the wilderness, only to return with renewed influence. He might even remind his audience that some people who were once celebrating his political downfall are now requesting appointments to his political meetings.
In such a situation, one would need to be careful when choosing where to sit during political rallies. Today you may be sitting in the front row, shouting that someone is finished. Tomorrow, you may find yourself standing outside his office waiting for an appointment. That is the Kenyan version of Joseph's brothers going to Egypt in search of food!
There is another interesting aspect of the Joseph story. Psalm 105 tells us that Joseph was appointed to bind the princes at his pleasure and teach the elders wisdom. In other words, the man who had suffered humiliation was eventually given authority over people who once occupied positions of honour. If we were to translate this into Kenyan politics, it would mean that some of the people who currently consider themselves politically superior to Gachagua might one day find themselves seeking his approval. Those who have been giving political lectures could eventually become students in his political classroom. And knowing Kenyan politicians, I suspect the classroom would have very few empty seats. Everyone wants to learn from whoever appears to be holding the key to the next political opportunity.
However, there is a difference between Joseph and our politicians that we should not ignore. Joseph's elevation was part of God's plan, according to the biblical account. In politics, however, elevation is not always evidence of divine endorsement. Sometimes it is the result of political arithmetic, strategic alliances, public opinion, financial resources and the ability to convince voters that you are the answer to their problems. Politicians may quote Scripture when things are difficult and forget it when things become comfortable. They may speak about brotherhood during campaigns and discover ideological differences immediately after elections. That is why I would not rush to declare Gachagua the Joseph of our generation. The Bible has already given us one Joseph, and he performed his assignment remarkably well. Our politicians still have to demonstrate what they are capable of doing.
Nevertheless, the comparison offers an interesting way of looking at political fortunes. Being removed from a powerful office does not necessarily mean that someone's political journey has ended. Sometimes, a political fall creates a new opportunity. Sometimes, an individual becomes more influential outside government than they were inside it. The real question is whether Gachagua's present political struggles will eventually lead to his political resurrection or whether they will become the final chapter of his ambitions. For now, I am watching with considerable interest.
If Joseph could move from an iron collar to the palace, perhaps Gachagua's political story still has a few unexpected chapters. Maybe he will eventually clear his name, regain his influence and become a significant force in the country's political arrangement. Or perhaps he will discover that the political wilderness is a very different place from the presidential palace.
One thing is certain: in Kenya, you should never bury a politician simply because they have lost an election, an office or an argument. Some politicians are like seeds. The more you bury them, the more determined they become to germinate. And if Gachagua eventually returns to the centre of power, I hope someone remembers to ask whether the people who celebrated his downfall will be available to attend his thanksgiving service.
After all, Joseph's brothers eventually came looking for him. In Kenyan politics, you never know who will be begging for grain when the next famine arrives!