By Jerameel Kevins Owuor Odhiambo
In the arid expanses of Kenya’s North Eastern region, where nomadic herders traverse sun-scorched plains in search of water, over 60% of the population lives below the poverty line, according to the Kenya National Bureau of Statistics; a stark contrast to the lush, fertile highlands of Central Kenya, where poverty hovers around 25%. This disparity is no accident of geography; it’s a legacy etched into the nation’s fabric since independence in 1963, when colonial-era inequalities were inherited and perpetuated by successive governments.
Stubborn facts reveal that between 1963 and 2002, under presidents from dominant ethnic groups, infrastructure investments favored regions like Central and Rift Valley, leaving vast swathes of the country home to minority communities without paved roads, reliable electricity, or quality healthcare. Even today, despite devolution, counties in marginalized areas receive disproportionately less from the national revenue share, underscoring how proximity to power has long dictated who thrives and who merely survives.
From a Kenyan lens, those ensconced in the corridors of State House or with kin in Cabinet positions view the nation’s challenges through tinted windows of privilege. They sip tea in manicured gardens of Nairobi’s affluent suburbs, debating policy in air-conditioned boardrooms, oblivious to the dust-choked realities of places like Turkana or Garissa.
Marginalization isn’t an abstract term for us; it’s the daily grind of fetching water from contaminated wells or watching children drop out of school because the nearest one is a day’s walk away. These power-adjacent elites, often from historically favored ethnic groups, dismiss cries for equity as mere tribal politics, failing to grasp that their very ease stems from systemic favoritism that has starved other regions of development for decades.
The 2010 Constitution, born from the ashes of the 2007-2008 post-election violence, promised a radical shift: devolution of power and resources to ensure substantive equality for all. It enshrined equity as a national value, mandating affirmative action for marginalized groups and equitable sharing of the national cake. Yet, for those who’ve always held the knife to carve that cake, this promise rings hollow. They nod approvingly at the rhetoric while quietly undermining it through skewed appointments and budget allocations that perpetuate the status quo.
In their world, equality means maintaining the hierarchy where their communities sit at the apex, blind to how this erodes the very unity the Constitution seeks to foster. Consider the irony: while Nairobi’s skyline gleams with skyscrapers funded by taxes from across the land, coastal communities in Lamu or Kwale grapple with land grabs and tourism revenues that rarely trickle down. Those close to power be it through ethnic ties or political alliances celebrate national progress as their own, ignoring how marginalization manifests in higher unemployment rates among youth from underrepresented regions. They attend international forums touting Kenya’s economic growth, yet fail to connect the dots to the simmering resentments in places where basic services remain a luxury, not a right.
Substantive equality, as envisioned in our Constitution, demands more than lip service; it requires dismantling the invisible barriers that keep certain groups perpetually on the fringes. But how can those who’ve never tasted exclusion truly champion this? Their lived experience is one of access to scholarships, jobs, and contracts often greased by networks forged in the fires of historical dominance. For them, marginalization is a footnote in history books, not the lived narrative of families displaced by mega-projects or communities overlooked in drought relief efforts.
This empathy gap widens the chasm, making genuine national cohesion an elusive dream. In the bustling markets of Kisumu or the quiet villages of Wajir, stories abound of dreams deferred because power has always been concentrated in the hands of a few. Those with “their people” in central government bask in the glow of patronage, securing tenders and positions that reinforce their advantage. They lecture on meritocracy from podiums built on nepotism, unable to fathom why others decry the system as rigged. The Constitution’s equity clause was meant to level this field, yet implementation falters when gatekeepers prioritize loyalty over justice, leaving marginalized voices drowned out in the din of elite discourse.
The persistence of this divide fuels a quiet rage, one that occasionally erupts into protests or electoral upheavals. From a Kenyan perspective, it’s clear: privilege breeds amnesia. Those who’ve always been near the throne forget or choose to ignore the colonial blueprint that divided us into “developed” and “undeveloped” zones, a blueprint our leaders have faithfully replicated. Substantive equality isn’t about handouts; it’s about rectifying imbalances so that a child in Marsabit has the same shot at success as one in Kiambu. But without understanding marginalization’s sting, the powerful remain architects of inequality, not its eradicators. Ultimately, bridging this gap requires uncomfortable truths.
We must confront how ethnic hegemony in governance has skewed resource distribution, as evidenced by reports from the Commission on Revenue Allocation showing persistent underfunding of arid and semi-arid lands. Those insulated by power see calls for equity as threats to their status, not opportunities for collective uplift. Yet, the Constitution beckons us toward a Kenya where no region is left behind, demanding that we all especially the privileged embrace humility and shared sacrifice. In closing this reflection, let us remember that true nation-building hinges on empathy forged in shared understanding. Until those who’ve always held sway step into the shoes of the marginalized, the Constitution’s promise will remain a mirage on the horizon. From the highlands to the lowlands, Kenya’s strength lies in unity, but that unity crumbles without equity. It’s time to listen, learn, and level the playing field for all our sakes.
The writer is a social commentator
Mt Kenya Times