Voice Of Taita Taveta

There are politicians who are born into privilege, and there are those whose lives are shaped by struggle. Sitting across from Hon. Peter Shambi, popularly known as Chakwanye, over a cup of tea during a relaxed afternoon conversation, one quickly realizes that his story belongs firmly in the second category. Currently serving as the Deputy Minority Leader in the Taita Taveta County Assembly, Hon. Shambi has officially thrown his hat into the ring for the Taita Taveta Senate seat. Confident, reflective and deeply rooted in the history of the county, he speaks with the conviction of a man who believes his moment has arrived. But away from politics, who exactly is Peter Shambi? “I am a human rights defender with a special interest in gender issues, governance, land and land-based resources,” he says. “I am passionate about community sensitization and human rights education. I am also a farmer and an entrepreneur with interests in real estate, transport and tourism.” Yet the journey to whe...

 The pain we highlight here has never been about politicians. It has always been about the ordinary mwananchi. The men and women who wake up before sunrise, sweat through the day, pay taxes, and keep this economy moving, hoping tomorrow will somehow be better than today. The past few weeks have been painful for every Kenyan. We have watched schools burn. We have seen children turn against institutions that are meant to shape them. Then came the heartbreaking tragedy at Utumishi Girls in Gilgil. Young lives cut short. Dreams buried before they even had a chance to grow. No parent deserves that kind of pain. Not the parents who lost their daughters. And even for the parents of those responsible, no mother or father ever wishes to discover that the child they raised is capable of such destruction. So who do we blame? The parents? The teachers? Society? Or have we all become spectators, waiting for someone else to fix what belongs to all of us? Raising children has become one of the ha...

  I have been branded many things for simply being me. Disrespectful. Rebellious. Ungrateful. The problem is I live in my own skin, not yours. You see life differently. You hear things. We see things. We grew up in a world where proof matters more than promises. You tell us to trust leaders. We ask for results. You tell us to respect them. We say respect is earned. Work for it. Our older generation has spent years trying to turn us into them. Maybe a few things about us need adjustment. Maybe we spend too much time online. Maybe we type "Mrw" instead of "tomorrow" and confuse you completely. But one thing is certain. Our future in your hands? No way. Not again. Let me explain. The promises of our politicians stink because they all smell the same. Every election cycle they arrive with new slogans wrapped around old failures. We no longer listen to what they say. We look at what they have done. Integrity is no longer a speech. It is evidence. It is visible. It is meas...

  I have never been an angry woman. Not because life has been kind, no. Life has tested me enough. But I have always chosen optimism. Even on the gloomiest days, my husband has never given me a reason to doubt him. Poor maybe. Struggling definitely. But a good man? That one I know. Yesterday was market day. The little cash I had saved for stock disappeared into household needs. Call me a bad businesswoman if you want, but when children are hungry, profit margins become stories for another day. I stood outside my kibanda staring at the few cabbages and bundles of managu I had brought from the market. The three hundred shillings Baba Gabu sent the other day was barely enough to buy maize flour for porridge. I am not blaming the economy. I am not blaming fuel prices. I am just telling you what life looks like from where I stand. By the way, Gabu tried calling his father yesterday. The call never went through. A small worry crossed my heart, but I brushed it aside. Optimism is a stubbo...