Picture this: you arrive at a Kenyan public office at 8 am, hoping to clear a routine matter—a land title, a tax certificate or perhaps a permit. At the gate, police officers in combat gear loom large, barking directions with the warmth of a drill sergeant. Their presence, supposedly for security, feels more like a power flex to keep citizens in line.
Welcome to a day in Kenya’s public sector, where satire
writes itself, but the punchline is a grim reality of inefficiency, corruption and malfeasance.
The waiting bay is a sea of resigned faces—citizens clutching tattered documents, humbled by the bureaucracy. Meanwhile, public servants saunter in at 8.30 am, though the official workday begins at 8.
By 9 am, they are finally at their desks, but do not expect miracles. One officer grabs a stack of files, takes the lift from the first floor to the eighth—not for work, mind you, but to catch up with a pal.
Over tea and mandazi, they swap gossip about the latest departmental scandal, chuckling about bosses planning a heist on public coffers. It’s no secret: Kenya loses an estimated one-third of its budget to corruption, often through procurement scams and inflated contracts.
Just look at Nandi county, where officials were embroiled in a Sh6 billion scandal in 2024, or in 2023 when Homa Bay county unearthed 1,786 staff who were irregularly employed and earned up to Sh300 million every year. Homa Bay was once again in the news in 2025 when a Senate committee queried 1,327 ghost workers
By 10.30 am, the officers pledge to get some work done. For two hours, they shuffle papers with the urgency of a sloth on sedatives. But lunchtime looms and priorities shift.
Orders are placed with the office’s exclusive vendor—because, naturally, only one caterer is allowed in these corridors of power. Lunch stretches into a two-hour affair, with offices locked or staff vanishing to nearby eateries.
Service resumes sluggishly at 2.30 pm, gaining momentum by 3 pm—just in time for afternoon tea. Another round of chit-chat ensues, fuelled by more mandazi, until 4 pm.
Whatever is pending is hurriedly pushed through, because by 4.30 pm desks are cleared, and at 5 pm sharp, the office empties faster than a sinking ship. Citizens left in the waiting bay? Better luck tomorrow.
This satirical sketch is not mere hyperbole; it is grounded in uncomfortable truths. The Ethics and Anti-Corruption Commission’s 2024 survey found that one in three Kenyans pays bribes at Huduma Centres, with the Ministry of Lands and county hospitals not far behind. Citizens report demands for “facilitation fees” to move files an inch.
The Auditor General’s reports expose the rot: Between June 2022 and June 2025, Nairobi county’s wage bill ballooned from Sh6 billion to Sh17.3 billion and staff numbers from 5,777 to 16,321 in the same period, while productivity remains abysmal.
A 2024 Public Service Commission survey deemed 71 per cent of 21 evaluated institutions corrupt, with inefficiency tied to extended breaks and a don’t care attitude. The numbers tell a damning story. Transparency International ranks Kenya 121 out of 180 on its Corruption Perceptions Index, branding public sector graft as rampant.
Procurement scams are a favourite, with budgeted corruption loopholes allowing officials to siphon funds. Yet, despite anti-corruption laws like the 2003 Anti-Corruption and Economic Crimes Act, high-profile convictions are rare.
The EACC disclosed to the Senate that the Office of the Director of Public Prosecutions has dropped 18 high-profile graft cases since 2017—15 of them within the last three years.
Billions disappear, but accountability is as elusive as a 5 pm public servant. This is not to say every office or worker is complicit. Digital platforms like eCitizen have streamlined some services, cutting wait times and bribe opportunities. But these are exceptions in a system where elite capture and neo-patrimonial logic, blurring public and private interests, reign supreme.
The result? Public trust erodes, as shown in a study linking corruption perceptions to declining confidence in governance. Gen Z’s 2024 protests, demanding audits and reform, underscore this frustration.
So, what is the fix? Stronger oversight, for starters. The EACC and Auditor General need teeth to prosecute and sanction, not just report. Digital reforms must expand, sealing procurement loopholes and reducing human interference. Above all, citizens must keep demanding accountability through protests, social media or the ballot. The satire of a Kenyan public office may amuse, but the reality of billions lost, services delayed and trust shattered is no laughing matter. It’s time to rewrite the script.
Social consciousness theorist, corporate trainer and speaker, agronomist consultant for golf courses and sportsfields and author of 'The Gigantomachy of Samaismela' and 'The Trouble with Kenya: McKenzian Blueprint'
