When Kenyans overwhelmingly voted for the 2010 Constitution, one of the brightest hopes embedded in its pages was the promise of devolution. It was hailed as the silver bullet to decades of centralised governance that had left vast swathes of the country marginalised, underdeveloped and politically voiceless. Devolution, we were told, would take resources and decision-making closer to the people. It would foster equity, accountability and grassroots participation in governance.
More than a decade later, the optimism has largely fizzled out. The dream of counties as engines of development has mutated into a nightmare of waste, corruption, nepotism and gross mismanagement. While a few counties have registered some progress, the general verdict from ordinary Kenyans is one of deep disappointment. What was meant to dismantle the concentration of power in Nairobi has instead created 47 new centres of corruption – mini kingdoms where political elites rule with impunity.
From the onset of devolution in 2013, billions of shillings have been allocated to counties each financial year. Yet, the Auditor General’s reports consistently reveal a worrying pattern of unaccounted-for funds, ghost projects, inflated procurement costs and outright theft. Governors who are entrusted to be the custodians of public resources have in many cases acted as if county coffers are personal bank accounts.
Since the inception of devolution, several governors have been impeached over corruption, abuse of office and gross misconduct. from Ferdinand Waititu of Kiambu, Mike Sonko of Nairobi, to more recent cases in other counties including Kawira Mwangaza of Meru. These impeachments, while showing some level of accountability, also underscore a chronic governance disease that county leadership is often more interested in self-enrichment than public service.
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Even when impeachments occur, the merry-go-round of impunity continues. Some of these disgraced leaders resurface in other public offices, get elected to Parliament, or simply maneeuvre their way back into politics. The political cost of corruption is negligible, while the public cost is staggering.
One of the most corrosive elements eating away at devolution is nepotism. Many governors have turned their counties into family businesses, appointing relatives and close allies to key positions regardless of competence. Contracts are awarded to friends, clan members or political financiers, locking out deserving citizens and inflating project costs.
This practice is not just about unfair hiring. It erodes trust, kills meritocracy and entrenches inequality. Instead of creating inclusive spaces for diverse talents, counties have become breeding grounds for patronage networks. Loyalty to the governor, not skill or dedication, has become the primary qualification for jobs and tenders.
In some counties, the ruling elite treat public offices as hereditary titles. We have seen spouses, children and siblings of governors and MCAs benefiting disproportionately from public contracts. This has birthed the very political dynasties and feudal tendencies that devolution was supposed to dismantle.
If counties were judged solely by the quality of services they deliver, many would receive failing grades. Roads remain impassable, health facilities lack basic medicine, garbage piles up in urban centres and water shortages are routine. The sad reality is that while allocations have increased over the years, visible improvements in service delivery remain minimal in many areas.
Take Kisumu County, for instance. Despite its strategic location and vast potential in trade, tourism and agriculture, the county continues to grapple with frequent flooding due to poor drainage, erratic garbage collection and dilapidated roads in many wards. Residents often complain of unfulfilled promises on clean water provision and the modernisation of markets.
Another glaring example is Turkana County. Despite receiving billions of shillings annually, large sections of the population still depend on relief food. Basic infrastructure like schools, hospitals and roads remain inadequate. In some areas, boreholes drilled at exorbitant costs break down within months due to poor workmanship or lack of maintenance. The paradox of plenty, billions in allocations but poverty on the ground, is stark and shameful.
Other counties that also display worrying patterns of poor service delivery include Nairobi County where chronic water shortages persist in many neighbourhoods despite repeated budgetary allocations for improved water supply. In Wajir County, public hospitals frequently face acute shortages of essential medicines and staff, leaving residents to seek treatment in far-off counties.
In Mombasa County, uncollected garbage and clogged drainage systems have led to perennial flooding in several estates.
Devolution was supposed to enhance transparency by bringing government closer to the people. It was supposed to make leaders more accountable, as citizens could now directly confront their local leaders about failures. Instead, a worrying trend has emerged. County governments have become adept at replicating the worst excesses of the national government – corruption, waste and disregard for the law. However, their excesses are worryingly without the same level of scrutiny.
In rural wards, citizens rarely see their MCAs except during campaign season. County assemblies, which should be robust oversight bodies, are often compromised through political patronage. Many MCAs are more interested in allowances and foreign trips than interrogating the misuse of public funds. The bitter truth is that the structure of devolution, as currently implemented, has made it easier for a small elite to loot resources while insulating themselves from meaningful accountability.
All said and done however, we cannot give up on devolution entirely. The principle remains sound. Decentralising power and resources is essential in a diverse country like Kenya. However, we must admit that the current 47 county model is financially unsustainable, governance-wise unwieldy and prone to abuse. Over a decade of experience has confirmed this.
One radical yet practical reform is to reduce the number of counties from 47 to just eight regional governments. These could be aligned with Kenya’s former provinces: Coast, North Eastern, Eastern, Central, Rift Valley, Nyanza, Western, and Nairobi. Such a structure would cut administrative costs, strengthen oversight with fewer devolved units, enhance service delivery and curb nepotism.
Devolution remains one of the most transformative ideas in Kenya’s modern history. However, we must be honest with ourselves and admit that it is failing in its current form. Corruption, nepotism and inefficiency are strangling its promise. Counties, meant to be vehicles of development, have in too many cases become engines of plunder.
The choice before us is stark. Either continue pouring billions into a system that benefits a few at the expense of many or have the courage to reform it. Reducing the number of counties to eight is not about reversing devolution; it is about saving it. It is about ensuring that every shilling counts, that services actually reach the people, and that leaders are held to account.
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By Hussein Khalid