You wake up early. You hear your neighbor coughing again. You pass a street kid with dust in his hair and sores on his lips. You keep walking. You hear the radio: Only 3 billion shillings set aside for school meals in all 47 counties.

Not per county. Not per term. That’s the total.

Meanwhile, 12 billion shillings go to State House.

Twelve billion. For luxury. For power. For comfort.
Three billion. For feeding hungry school children.

This is the real story of the Kenya budget crisis.

Food Insecurity in Kenya: When Children Starve, the State House Feasts

You know the price of unga. You’ve seen children skipping meals. You’ve seen the hollow faces, the frail bodies, the hunger in their eyes. Yet, you are expected to believe this is normal. You’re told President William Ruto and his team are doing their best.

But the numbers don’t lie.

• Three billion shillings to feed Kenya’s children.
• Twelve billion shillings for State House luxuries.

This is not a budgeting mistake. It’s a loud message:
Your life does not matter to them.

The Kenya Budget Prioritizes Power Over People

While school children sit in class on empty stomachs, government officials dine at weekly luncheons. When peaceful protesters gathered, President Ruto didn’t walk to meet them. He stayed behind armored walls. But when it comes to budgeting, he walks straight to the signing table.

Parliament approved it. MPs didn’t ask about the children’s meals.
They didn’t care. You should.

Kenya’s Working Class Funds State House Comfort

Kenya was built by boda boda riders in Kisumu, market traders in Kitui, welders in Umoja, farmers in Meru, and cleaners in Mombasa. They are the backbone of this country. They pay taxes. They sacrifice.

But those taxes? They buy helicopters, carpets, foreign trips, and buffets for State House.

You’re the one working.
They’re the ones spending.
Still think they serve you?

If You Can’t Feed Children, You Shouldn’t Govern

It’s not about political sides. It’s about basic humanity. If a leader cannot guarantee food for school children, that leader has no right to sit in power.

How does a government watch children collapse from hunger, then triple the State House budget?
This is not poor planning.
It’s humiliation.
It’s a deliberate insult.

Gen Z Protests in Kenya: Unstoppable and Unscripted

On June 25, you saw it. The government cut live TV feeds. They shut down broadcasts because they feared the truth. They feared you. The protests, the banners, the chants—they couldn’t script the response. So they did what scared regimes do: cut the cameras, deploy tear gas, and send riot police.

But you saw it. You lived it.

And they forgot something. Even without cameras, you don’t forget.

Kenya’s System Is Working—Just Not For You

You pay taxes. They build fences.
You ask for food. They throw influencers at you.
You organize. They send the GSU.
You march. They shoot.

Who’s the criminal here?

Children need porridge. State House needs chandeliers.
Pregnant girls wait in broken clinics. The First Lady hosts prayer breakfasts.
You struggle to pay NHIF. They hire PR firms.

This is not a broken system.
This is the system.

You Don’t Exist in Their Budgets

Your hunger is not urgent to them.
Your child’s education is not urgent to them.
Your unpaid internship is not urgent to them.
But a single stone thrown near a minister’s car? Immediate arrests.

Who owns Kenya?

Kenya’s Rigged Choices: Picking Between Thieves

You vote every five years, but the choices are rigged.
You pick between two well-dressed thieves.
Real power isn’t in the ballot. It’s in the budget.

When they give more money to chandeliers than to children’s meals, they’re telling you:
Your child’s hunger is acceptable.
Your suffering is not their problem.
Your loyalty is guaranteed—even without service.

Why Gen Z in Kenya Has Changed Everything

You didn’t wait for Raila.
You didn’t wait for Kalonzo.
You didn’t wait for Gachagua.
You moved. You organized. You led.

And now? They fear you.
More than they fear elections.
More than they fear international pressure.

Because you saw the system for what it is.
You asked: Where is the money?

Not where are the promises.
Not where are the slogans.
Not where are the influencers.

You asked the one question they cannot answer.

And that question spread faster than their propaganda.

Kenya’s Youth Are No Longer Begging

You’re not asking for favors.
You’re demanding what’s already yours:

• Food for children.
• Medicine in hospitals.
• Fair job opportunities.
• Affordable electricity.

They called you rebels.
They called you unpatriotic.
They called you sponsored.

Why? Because you dared to ask where your money went.

They thought you wouldn’t think for yourself without their media, their hashtags, their speeches.

They were wrong.

You’re done waiting.

This isn’t temporary. It’s not a protest for the weekend.
It’s permanent.

The Game Is Over

Once you stop begging, the game is over.

Once you stop clapping, they lose their grip.

Once you stop listening, their words mean nothing.

You don’t need new leaders.
You need to stop believing the old ones.

Let them eat their 12 billion.
You will feed the truth.

Let them drive convoys through your villages.
You will walk through your streets with dignity.

Let them build their gates.
You will build your voice.

And when they come asking for votes, let them know:
This wasn’t a protest. This was a declaration. You’re done being a slave.

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