SULTAN: Kuunda serikali and the art of political conmanship

In Kenya, where politics is a high-stakes game of thrones, words are the sharpest weapons in a politician’s arsenal. Forget policy papers or manifestos, those are for nerds and dreamers. The real magic happens at campaign rallies, where silver-tongued decepticons wield phrases like “Kuunda serikali (forming government)”, “Putting money in people’s pockets”, “Tutembee pamoja (walking together)”, “Tukae ndani ya serikali (stay in government)” and “Tuingie kwa serikali (get into government)” to weave hustler spells of deception.

These are not just words; they are dog whistles for a grand con, a linguistic circus where the audience claps for their own fleecing. Welcome to the satirical spectacle of Kenya’s political conmanship!

Let’s start with “Kuunda serikali (forming government)”—the granddaddy of political doublespeak. It sounds noble, doesn’t it? Forming government evokes images of selfless leaders building a nation from scratch. But scratch the surface, and it’s a code for cronyism so blatant it deserves its own reality show named: Tender Tycoon.

When politicians promise to form government, they are not talking about technocrats running a well-oiled state. No, they are assembling a coalition of loyalists ready to carve up the national cake—tenders for friends, cushy posts for cousins and favours for anyone who can spell patronage. Leadership? That’s for countries with less charisma. In Kenya, “Kuunda serikali” is the art of turning public office into a private buffet.

Then there is “Putting money in people’s pockets”—a phrase so seductive it could sell sand in the Sahara. Who doesn’t want cash-stuffed pockets? At rallies, politicians toss this gem around like confetti, promising instant wealth to voters. But here is the punchline: the only pockets getting stuffed are theirs.

This is vote-buying dressed up as philanthropy, a culture where a Sh200 handout buys a five-year term of zero accountability. Once elected, these generous pocket-fillers act like they have paid for the seat at a VIP auction. Why serve the public when you’ve already bought their votes? It’s a hustle so slick it makes Ponzi schemes look amateur.

Next up, “Tutembee pamoja (walk together)”—oh, how heartwarming! Let’s walk together sounds like a group hug for national unity. But don’t be fooled; this isn’t a stroll in Uhuru Park. It’s a covert plea for blind loyalty: “Join my gang, no questions asked!” This phrase is a masterclass in dodging accountability.

Question the MP’s shady land deals? You are not walking together. Demand transparency on that inflated road project? You are straying from the path! In Kenya’s political jungle, "tutembee pamoja" is less about unity and more about marching in lockstep behind a leader’s questionable ethics. Dissenters? Left behind to fend for themselves.

Now, let’s chuckle at “Tukae ndani ya serikali (stay in government)”—the rallying cry for those who want a permanent VIP pass to the government gravy train. Stay in government is not about serving the public; it’s about staying close to the honey pot. This phrase is a love letter to favouritism, where loyalists are rewarded with plum jobs and contracts while the rest of us watch from the sidelines.

At rallies, it’s a promise to keep the right people—read: friends, family and sycophants—inside the power circle. Forget merit; in this game, loyalty is the only currency. The result? A government stuffed with cronies who struggle to spell “kakistocracy” but excel at self-enrichment.

Finally, “Tuingie kwa serikali (get into government)” takes the cake—or rather, the entire bakery. Get into government is the ultimate con, a promise that only those with a seat at the state’s table will eat. It’s a rallying cry for ethnic and regional blocs, convincing voters that their community’s survival depends on “getting in”.

The goodies—jobs, tenders, projects—are dangled like carrots, but only the politically connected ever taste them. This phrase fuels a zero-sum mindset where politics becomes a mad dash for state-controlled loot, not a quest for public good. The irony? The same voters cheering at rallies are left clutching empty promises while the insiders feast.

In this satirical circus, Kenya’s political conmen are the ringmasters, using these phrases to dazzle and distract. The crowd roars, mistaking sleight-of-hand for leadership. But the joke is on us—voters who fall for these linguistic tricks end up with empty pockets, divided communities and a government that serves the few, not the many.

To break this cycle, we need to laugh louder at the con, call out the dog whistles and demand leaders who speak the language of accountability, not deception. Until then, the rally chants will keep ringing, and the hustlers will keep grinning—all the way to the bank.

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'