Why Knowing Our Presidents Matters: A New Series on Kenya’s Leadership Legacy

Every five years, Kenyans line up to vote. Some do so out of hope, others out of habit, and many out of resignation. We listen to speeches, wear campaign colors, chant slogans — and yet, we often know so little about the people we hand our future to.

This isn’t just about ignorance. It’s about a missing culture of inquiry.

Many Kenyans can name the latest scandal, meme, or insult traded between politicians. But ask what shaped our presidents — their upbringing, education, ideologies, patterns of power — and we draw blanks. We know of them, but we don’t know them.

That’s not a small oversight. It’s a national vulnerability.

Why This Series Matters Now

We are in a crucial moment in Kenya’s story. The economy is fragile. Public trust is eroding. Youth unemployment is high. Tribal divisions linger. Corruption festers. And yet — the same types of leaders keep emerging.

Why?

Because we don’t truly scrutinize the roots of power. We focus on the surface: accents, slogans, tribe, party. But we rarely pause to ask: Where did this person come from? What systems shaped them? What have they consistently shown us across time?

This series is a response to that silence.

It’s a deep, human, political, and historical look into the five men who have held the most powerful office in Kenya — and the one man who came close again and again, shaping the political landscape from without.

What Our Cluelessness Costs Us

Our unwillingness to know our leaders deeply has consequences:

We mistake charisma for capacity.
We reward image over integrity.
We fail to connect past actions with present agendas.
We allow power to recycle itself through familiar faces and tactics.

And worst of all: we stop believing that better is possible. Cynicism creeps in. We lower our standards. We vote “the lesser evil” or not at all.

But information is power. And history is not just the past — it’s a tool for shaping the future.

A Glimpse Into the Series

Over the coming weeks, we will publish a six-part series covering each Kenyan president — and one man who may never sit in State House, but whose influence has been presidential in impact:

Jomo Kenyatta: The Symbol and the System
Daniel Arap Moi: The Quiet Strategist Who Outlasted Them All
Mwai Kibaki: The Reluctant Reformer
Uhuru Kenyatta: Inheritance and Image
William Ruto: The Hustler and the House of Power
Raila Odinga: The President Who Never Becomes

Each piece will be detailed, accessible, and grounded in facts — not gossip. We’ll trace the human story, the political machine, and the national consequences.

Because the truth is this: no president — or contender — arrives alone. They are shaped by families, tribes, institutions, ideologies, and histories. And unless we understand those forces, we will never understand what drives the choices made in State House — or in its long shadow.

A Call to Curiosity

This series is for every Kenyan who wants to stop feeling helpless. For every youth wondering why the system seems so broken. For every voter who wants to vote with clarity, not just hope. For every citizen who believes that Kenya deserves leadership it can trust — and that trust must be earned, not inherited.

We invite you to read, reflect, question, share. Let this be more than history — let it be civic awakening.

The age of information is here. Let’s use it.

Daniel Arap Moi — The Shadow and the Shepherd: A Deep Dive into Kenya’s Second President

If Jomo Kenyatta was the founding father, Daniel Toroitich Arap Moi was the long-reigning stepfather — sometimes protective, often punitive, and almost always enigmatic. He ruled Kenya for 24 years, the longest of any president to date. To some, he was the gentle teacher, Mwalimu , who kept the nation from tearing apart. To others, he was the architect of a surveillance state, a master of patronage and fear, the man who perfected repression through calm. This is a portrait of Daniel Arap Moi — not just as a ruler, but as a man shaped by modest beginnings, colonial violence, and the hunger for order in a chaotic time. Early Life: The Boy from Sacho Daniel Arap Moi was born on September 2, 1924, in Kurieng’wo, Baringo, in Kenya’s Rift Valley. He came from the Tugen sub-group of the Kalenjin community. His father died when he was just four. Raised by his uncle, Moi’s early life was marked by hardship, discipline, and deep Christian missionary influence. He trained as a teacher at Tambach ...

Not All Disabilities Are Visible

Some pain does not leave a mark. Some exhaustion does not show in the face. Some people are carrying weights that have no name, no diagnosis, and no outward sign. We are used to recognizing suffering only when it can be pointed to — a bandage, a crutch, a cast, a wound. Something we can see. But the human interior is its own world, and often, the heaviest struggles live there. The Quiet Work of Holding Yourself Together There are those who walk into a room smiling, contributing, present — and yet they are holding themselves together one breath at a time. Not because they are pretending, but because they have learned to live with what would overwhelm another person. Some battles are fought inside the mind: The slow grey of depression The relentless hum of anxiety The sudden, unbidden memory that takes the body back to a place it never wants to return The deep fatigue that sleep does not cure And yet, life continues. The world moves. The dishes still need to be wa...

Know Thyself: The Quiet Power of Naming Your Nature

“Until you make the unconscious conscious, it will direct your life and you will call it fate.” — Carl Jung We live in a culture that equates good intentions with goodness, and ambition with ability. But very few people in Kenya—or anywhere—truly know what they are made of. We can name our qualifications and our dreams. But ask someone their vices or virtues, and they hesitate. Worse, they lie. The Danger of Self-Unawareness In Kenya today, many of us are wandering through life making choices—big, small, and irreversible—without truly understanding who we are. We end up in jobs we despise, relationships we shouldn’t be in, or positions of influence we aren’t emotionally or ethically equipped for. And at the root of this dysfunction is a simple truth: we don’t know ourselves. This is not a spiritual or abstract dilemma. It’s a deeply practical one. To know oneself is to understand your vices, your virtues, your weaknesses, and your strengths—not in a vague sense, but in detail. Let’s ge...

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