Experienced people often see things long before the rest of us catch up. As I reflect on some of the decisions my father made, I often return to a quiet realisation: what he could see while seated, I could not see then even while perched atop a tree.
There was a time when a brother of mine came close to securing a job with our county government. He had gone through the recruitment process and seemed poised to make it, only to stumble at the final hurdle. The mood in the family was mixed—disappointment, confusion and that quiet ache that comes when opportunity slips away.
Yet my father, somewhat unexpectedly, seemed content. Almost relieved. Here was a man who appeared pleased that his son had not secured employment.
My father belonged to a generation of public servants shaped by a civil service culture that, for all its flaws, largely valued professional competence and structured progression. In the era of centralised government in Kenya, entry and advancement in public service were, more often than not, tied to qualifications, experience and the bureaucratic logic of a career civil service.
Devolution, however, introduced a new political dynamic. Elected governors suddenly wielded significant hiring authority within county administrations, and the incentives shifted. In many cases, meritocratic recruitment began to compete with—and often lose to—the politics of patronage.
Positions increasingly became instruments of political reward, where nepotism at its worst, and populist job distribution at its most benign, replaced the professional ethos that had once defined the civil service.
Today, when governors appear before Senate committees to explain audit queries and governance failures, one begins to appreciate what my father must have meant. Devolution came with promise—the promise that counties would bring services closer to the people and allow local expertise to shape development. But the politics surrounding county governments has produced another reality altogether.
Many Kenyans enter county service with the best of intentions—to serve their communities and apply their professional expertise to local challenges. Yet they quickly encounter the weight of political baggage that accompanies electoral victory. Governors assume office with campaign promises to honour, political allies to accommodate and supporters who view public employment as part of the spoils of electoral success.
The result is often a bureaucracy shaped less by competence than by patronage. Positions are sometimes filled not because candidates possess the necessary expertise, but because political backers must be rewarded. In some rural counties, villages and clans expect their share of government jobs as part of the political settlement that delivered victory at the ballot.
It is therefore not uncommon to encounter startling professional mismatches within critical departments. Recently, the public was confronted with the reality of the city’s disaster management docket being headed by a theologian, supported by others with similar backgrounds and some with training in tourism. Such appointments would be amusing if they were not so dangerous. Senate committee hearings occasionally expose these absurdities, but rarely do we see meaningful corrective action.
In the field of crisis communication and disaster management, there is a concept known as prodromes—early warning signs that signal an impending disaster. These indicators are not mystical prophecies. They are empirical signals: rainfall patterns, environmental degradation, weak infrastructure, blocked drainage systems and settlement patterns in vulnerable areas.
Recognising these prodromes requires technical knowledge, professional training and institutional competence. When key offices are occupied by individuals selected for political loyalty rather than expertise, the ability to read and respond to these warning signs disappears.
Professionally ill-equipped officials cannot effectively coordinate the right stakeholders or mobilise expertise. Lacking both technical understanding and institutional authority, they struggle to command respect or assemble competent response systems. The result is predictable: a governance vacuum that leaves communities exposed to preventable disasters.
The devastation caused by recent heavy rains and flash floods across Kenya—particularly in urban centres such as Nairobi—should therefore prompt a deeper national conversation. These tragedies are not merely acts of nature. They are symptoms of governance failures accumulated over time—failures rooted in poor planning, weak enforcement of environmental regulations and administrative systems populated through patronage rather than merit.
When drainage systems collapse, when buildings rise on riparian land and when emergency response mechanisms fail to anticipate or manage risk, the cost is measured not only in damaged infrastructure but in lost lives.
Job mismatch is therefore not a trivial bureaucratic problem. It is a governance failure with real consequences.
The deaths witnessed during recent floods should serve as a wake-up call that leadership and institutional capacity matter. Elected leadership cannot remain a crisis in perpetuity. County and national government leaders, despite the political theatre, polished speeches and the razzmatazz of public office, are often struggling to function in the interests of ordinary citizens when it matters most.
Good English and impressive press conferences cannot substitute for competent administration and accountable leadership.
My father may not have used the language of public administration theory to explain his relief all those years ago. But he understood something fundamental: sometimes the greatest protection for a young professional is not entering a system that is not designed to work.
The challenge before us now is far larger. It is to confront the governance failures that have turned many of our cities and counties into spaces where poor planning, corruption and political patronage undermine the very promise of devolution. Until we do, every rainy season will continue to expose the same institutional weaknesses—and citizens will continue to pay the price.
Even as we call out failures of government at both national and county levels, we must also challenge the troubling culture of blaming citizens. Public narratives often emphasise blocked drainage systems caused by littering or informal settlements. While waste management is indeed a problem, such explanations can become a form of institutional deflection when they obscure deeper governance failures.
We pay taxes so that the state can provide public goods and enforce responsible planning. Citizens take cues from institutions. When authorities permit construction on floodplains, neglect drainage infrastructure and fail to enforce urban planning regulations, these are institutional decisions—not the actions of ordinary residents.
Government cannot abdicate responsibility and then blame the public. Let authorities first address their failures. Citizens who disregard environmental or civic responsibilities should indeed be held accountable—but that accountability must begin with leadership.
The lesson for Kenya is therefore not simply about responding to floods, but about confronting a deeper leadership challenge. Sustainable cities and resilient communities depend on leaders who place public welfare above personal networks, enforce planning laws consistently and build institutions capable of managing the environmental realities of a changing climate.
Without such leadership reforms, extreme weather will continue to expose—and amplify—the governance deficits embedded in urban development and county administration.
