Since independence, the people of Northeastern Kenya have consistently blamed the national government for the region’s underdevelopment and marginalization.
For decades, Northeastern was viewed by the rest of the country as a volatile, desolate, and destitute area — a region seen as contributing little to the national economy.
Yet Northeastern is, and has always been, an important part of Kenya. Its people, predominantly pastoralists, possess a keen instinct for business and wealth creation through trade.
The region also boasts abundant natural resources and untapped investment opportunities. Sadly, for reasons known only to itself, the Kenyan government chose for many years to ignore this potential, deliberately stifling the region’s growth.
For decades, the most the government offered were periodic food aid distributions, often supplied by international agencies like the UN. Even something as fundamental as acquiring a national identity card was an uphill battle for many residents.
Successive governments failed to build essential infrastructure — roads, schools, hospitals, and other basic amenities.
This historical neglect was compounded by Sessional Paper No. 10 of 1965, a policy document that openly sidelined regions like Northeastern, focusing instead on areas labelled as Kenya’s “productive zones,” whatever that was intended to mean.
Then came devolution in 2013, a historic opportunity meant to correct these longstanding injustices by transferring resources and decision-making power closer to the people.
But over a decade later, the question remains: How did the billions of shillings sent from the national government to Northeastern counties changed the lives of the people?
Have we built the roads, schools, and hospitals we once demanded from Nairobi? Have we improved access to water, healthcare, and job opportunities? Or have we, perhaps unknowingly, continued to marginalize ourselves through divisive clan politics and tribal supremacy?
Sadly, it seems the latter is true. Time and again, crucial national projects have been derailed by our own leaders, not because they were unfeasible or unnecessary, but because they were slated for areas dominated by rival clans.
This same pattern plays out within county governments today. Governors, more often than not, prioritize their own clansmen — allocating development projects, employment opportunities, and government programs to their strongholds while neglecting the rest.
Devolution, which was meant to be a blessing for marginalized communities like ours, has instead turned into a curse.
It has fueled clan rivalries as leaders scramble to control resources that should be equitably shared among all residents, regardless of tribal affiliation.
The county system, in its current form, risks enriching a few while leaving the majority trapped in poverty.
Unless urgent reforms are enacted, or perhaps until the national government reasserts its role in overseeing equitable development in Northeastern Kenya, the promise of devolution will remain unfulfilled. Worse still, unchecked clan-driven politics could plunge our region into deeper divisions, violence, and bloodshed.
Before it comes to that, we must have an honest conversation about whether devolution — as it stands — is truly serving the people of Northeastern Kenya.
Disclaimer
The opinions expressed in this publication are those of the authors. They do not purport to reflect the opinions or views of the Kulan Post or its subsidiaries.
