The Waithira Kibinda Initiative

With all due respect!!!

There is a pattern that many Kenyans are beginning to observe and interrogate more critically.

*A national crisis erupts.
*Public outrage follows.
*Media stations switch to rolling live coverage.
*Media stations become obsessed by the man-bites-dog narrative
*Social media becomes emotionally charged.
*A few lives are lost. 😡 🥹 😤
*The country polarises into camps.

And suddenly, every conversation in the matatu, office, church corridor, WhatsApp group and television panel revolves around one thing.

Meanwhile, behind the tent, significant policy, legislative and fiscal decisions quietly move forward with minimal public scrutiny.

This is not to dismiss genuine crises. Some are real, painful and deserve urgent national attention. But as a governance professional, I also understand that moments of public distraction often create the perfect environment for unpopular decisions to pass unnoticed.

The clarion call to citizens is that we must learn to ask two questions simultaneously:

1. What is happening in front of us?
2. What is happening while we are distracted?

For example, the proposed 2026 Finance Bill is currently undergoing critical discussions with less than a week remaining before key amendment windows close. Among the proposals being debated are expanded taxation measures touching digital transactions, rental income, mobile devices, betting winnings, crypto assets, and compliance mechanisms.

At the same time, Kenya’s public debt has crossed KSh 12.3 trillion, standing at approximately 65.7% of GDP according to the Public Debt Management Office.

Debt servicing alone continues to consume a substantial portion of national revenue, making taxation debates increasingly sensitive and consequential for ordinary citizens.

These are not small matters.

These are long-term structural issues that will shape the cost of living, business sustainability, digital freedoms, and economic participation for years to come.

As a democracy, we must resist becoming a permanently distracted republic. Good governance requires an informed citizenry that can hold two realities at once:

* empathising with national crises,
* while still paying close attention to legislation, budgets, public participation processes and institutional accountability.

The question is no longer just, “What are they telling us to watch?”

*The deeper question is:
*“What are we no longer paying attention to?”

In every season of national uproar, citizens must ask themselves:

* Am I merely on the menu?
* Or am I informed enough to understand what is being prepared in the kitchen?

Part 1:Truly, life starts at 40.
But whoever said that forgot to add the disclaimer.

Nobody tells you that sometimes life starts at 40 by grabbing you by the throat, shaking your edges, and humbling you thoroughly.

So here is my heartfelt conversation. Maybe it will encourage someone. Maybe it will make someone feel less alone. Maybe it will simply remind someone to laugh a little harder today.

When I turned 40, in one beautiful January, my life took a terrible 180-degree turn. By April and May, my health had taken a deep dip. Part of that journey (amongst other conditions that just wanted to take me out of the global whatsapp group) included having a full hysterectomy. I remember sitting with that reality and feeling like my body had somehow betrayed my spirit and soul. There is a grief that comes with realizing the possibility of carrying more children is no longer yours to hold. It is quiet grief. The kind people rarely see because you still have to show up looking strong and moisturized

Women will understand this deeply. Sometimes your womb is not just an organ. It carries dreams, memories, identity, prayers, and “what ifs.” Losing that possibility changed me in ways people will never understand because I mourn the children I will never even get the chance to meet.

Then in August, a medical misdiagnosis took away my King Mufasa, aka darling father, my Fafa. Even writing that sentence still feels strange. Five years later, there are days grief still walks into the room before I do. Even now, years later, there is still a huge hole in my heart. Grief is strange like that. Some days it sits quietly beside you. Other days it drags a plastic chair into the middle of your joy and says, “We need to talk.” There is still a huge hole in my heart. And honestly, there are days I still feel like a part of me sat down beside his grave and refused to fully come back.

And strangely, I also felt like my social justice spirit had failed me. Me, the woman who advocates for others, who speaks up, who pushes systems, who asks difficult questions... could not save her own father.

That kind of pain humbles you. People talk about grief like it is a straight line. It is not. Grief is like Nairobi traffic with random roadblocks, diversions, motorcycles appearing from nowhere, and Google Maps calmly saying, “You have arrived,” when you are emotionally still somewhere in 2021.

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