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I’ve been in Kisumu for the past four days, and let me tell you, this is not the Kisumu you read about in newspapers. This is live politics, sizzling hot and loud enough to wake the fish in Lake Victoria. Everywhere you go, people are saying the same thing: there is no vacuum. The President is their darling. They have embraced him fully, trusting him to steer them through. Where Baba left them, that is exactly where they want to stay. No blind leaders trying to pull them out, they are here to stay, thurwa. Friday hit me like the whole of Kondele had woken up at once shouting, clapping, and dancing before the President even arrived. The crowd…oh, the crowd! Streets jam-packed tighter than a sack of maize in a boda boda trailer, people waving, cheering, energy so thick you could scoop it and sell it for electricity. They had been waiting since 7 a.m., sun blazing like it was trying to compete with their excitement, but not a single grumble just patient eyes, steady smiles, and that quiet determination that made the air itself hum. All morning, the Tutam slogan bounced from street to street, louder than a megaphone on full blast, like a heartbeat you could feel in your chest, keeping everyone awake, hyped, and ready for the President the moment he appeared. And then there was the lorry. Ah, this was no ordinary lorry. It carried a full-blown music system, massive speakers, and the people had one rule: this lorry should not move; it should lead the President’s convoy. From Kondele all the way to the airport, it became the unofficial drum of the parade, blasting beats, slogans, and energy that even the sun seemed to follow. The crowd cheered it like it was another VIP, part of the President’s entourage, dancing along, waving, and making sure nobody forgot its lead role. And just when you thought it couldn’t get any wilder, I swear I saw Raila’s ghost sitting on a street lamp, shaking his head and muttering, “Hii crowd… I never saw it coming!” He looked like he had just realized the baton had passed and maybe a little impressed that the new runner isn’t dropping it. For decades, only Raila could move Nyanza like this. But now, with him gone, the people were curious, who’s the new magnet? Turns out…it’s the President, and he’s pulling everyone like iron to a magnet. As he moved through the streets, the crowd didn’t just watch, they flowed behind him like Lake Victoria after a heavy rain, slow but unstoppable. And the best part? Peaceful, organized, like a river that knows exactly where it’s going. Politics in Nyanza just learned a new dance: follow the one who shows up with real presence. Even the boda bodas stopped to salute him, and the matatus forgot to honk, they were too busy being part of the parade. Now, if anyone thought they could play old tricks on the President…well, they can pack their bags. Nyanza doesn’t move for slogans or empty promises anymore. The people are awake, alert, and laughing at anyone trying to pull stunts. The energy on the streets could light up Kisumu for a week, and still have enough left to shake the next politician who thinks they understand this game. By the time the President left, the streets were quiet but only on the surface. The excitement hung in the air like smoke from a nyama choma fire, a reminder that politics here is alive, unpredictable, and full of surprises. And in Kisumu, the message is crystal clear: show up, be real, and the people will follow

Sam Terriz

17,422 görüntüleme • 6 ay önce