Ian's Blog

  You walk into the Teachers Service Commission (TSC) offices to follow up on a pension matter, entering what feels like an administrative underworld where years of service fade into paperwork limbo. The Commission operates under the TSC Act 2015 , and there are references to a 2024 amendment — but what is painfully clear to anyone who has walked these corridors is this: we lost Mzee before he ever received his pension. And he is not an exception. He is the pattern. Across Kenya, teachers who have spent decades shaping young minds die waiting for what was legally due to them. Some spend ten to fifteen years chasing their pension , enduring disappearing files, stalled processes, and endless administrative circles. Time passes. People age. Some simply do not make it. What should be a dignified transition into post‑service life becomes a waiting room for death . This is not mere inefficiency. It is cruelty clothed in bureaucracy. For the small minority who receive their pensions with...

  Look at Kenya today, and one cannot help but ask: what exactly is our tradition? What is our rich heritage as a people? For a country so culturally diverse, with over forty distinct ethnic communities, the answers often feel surprisingly thin, fragmented, or borrowed. This absence of clarity did not happen by accident. It is a direct consequence of how colonialism was imposed on Kenya—a deliberate restructuring of society that left deep scars on identity, governance, and cultural continuity. Unlike other African territories where the British practiced indirect rule—such as Uganda, Nigeria, and parts of Ghana—Kenya was subjected to direct rule. In indirect rule systems, colonial administrators relied on existing local governance structures: kings, chiefs, councils, and councils of elders. These structures, while subordinated to the colonial state, were allowed to persist and evolve, creating hybrid systems where indigenous practices could coexist with imposed colonial rules. In K...

  In my opinion, prayer was never meant to be complicated. It was never meant to sound rehearsed, perfect, or impressive. At its core, prayer is simply the language of the human heart speaking honestly to the divine. Somewhere along the way, we turned it into a performance, a formula, or a spiritual exam—yet the most powerful prayers are often the simplest ones. When someone says, “Lord, I don’t understand, but Thy will be done,” that is a prayer of faith. It is not born from certainty, but from surrender. Faith does not always mean knowing what will happen next; sometimes it means accepting that you don’t know, and choosing trust anyway. That quiet surrender, offered without explanations or demands, is itself an act of deep belief. When something good happens and the words “Thank you, Lord” rise naturally from the heart, that is a prayer of thanksgiving. It does not need to be long. Gratitude does not need decoration. Acknowledging goodness, recognizing grace, and saying thank you...

  One morning in 2009, Malaysian officials made a fateful decision: they would attempt to outmaneuver their own constitution. They established the 1Malaysia Development Berhad (1MDB), a fund publicly framed as a “strategic development vehicle” designed to accelerate infrastructure, attract foreign investment, and fast-track national growth. On paper, it was visionary. In practice, it was catastrophic. Rather than maintaining the fund within constitutionally mandated budgetary controls, the government embedded it within opaque corporate structures, special-purpose entities, and government-linked companies that appeared commercial yet carried sovereign backing. This single structural choice shattered the firewall that separates public resources from private discretion. Once the fund’s operations were removed from parliamentary oversight, routine audits, and transparent procurement protocols, systemic accountability collapsed almost immediately. Billions of dollars were borrowed osten...

  Three years have passed since the death of Jose Maria Sison, founder of the Communist Party of the Philippines, yet his ideas resonate with unrelenting relevance, not only in Southeast Asia but across the African continent, particularly in Kenya. Sison articulated a truth that history repeatedly confirms: when the oppressed masses begin to rise, to question entrenched exploitation, and to demand structural change, capital does not respond with reform, dialogue, or accommodation. It responds with coercion, suppression, and fascist tactics—violent attempts to obscure the real roots of crisis while maintaining the prevailing order. Kenya presents a case study in the systemic logic Sison described. For decades, the working majority—the informal sector workers, rural farmers, youth, and urban laborers—has borne the brunt of policies designed to enrich a narrow elite. Structural adjustment programs, debt-driven development projects, and public-private partnerships have concentrated wea...

How is it possible to be politically conscious and not sink into despair in Kenya today? The more one grows aware of the structures, choices, and consequences of power, the less hope there seems to be in the electorate. Political consciousness — the understanding that governance is a product of both leadership and citizen participation — is often a lonely pursuit in a society where bad leadership is fetishized and corruption normalized. When you take the time to study candidates, scrutinize manifestos, and analyze past performance, you inevitably notice patterns. Every election, it seems, the Kenyan voter gravitates toward leaders who flaunt corruption, display impunity, or operate with little regard for the Constitution. Some of these leaders are murderers, directly or indirectly responsible for political violence. Others thrive on patronage, amassing wealth at the expense of public service. Yet despite evidence of incompetence, mismanagement, or outright criminality, they are electe...