Today, August 22, marks 46 years since the passing of Mzee Jomo Kenyatta, Kenya’s first president and a towering figure in the nation’s history. Mzee was a man as tough as nails, a leader whose iron will shaped the early years of Kenya’s independence. But as tough as he was, not even Mzee could escape the clutches of death—an event as inevitable as it is indiscriminate. If Mzee were to wake up today, he would find a Kenya vastly different from the one he left behind, and his reaction would likely be a mixture of shock, disbelief, and perhaps even a little sadness.
One of Mzee’s first stops would likely be Eldoret, where he would want to see “how not to make a statue.” The irony of his statement would not be lost on those who remember the 12-foot statue he commissioned in 1969, crafted by British sculptor James Butler. That statue still stands proudly outside Parliament, a masterpiece of its time, unlike some of the modern attempts at public art that have sparked more ridicule than admiration.
From Eldoret, Mzee might travel to Central Kenya, where he would expect to see the expansive coffee plantations that once fueled Kenya’s economy. Instead, he would find fields overrun by weeds, the legacy of faceless cartels and mismanagement that have decimated one of Kenya’s most important industries. He would probably ask to meet these cartels, only to be met with silence, for no one would dare face the wrath of Mzee Kenyatta.
As he continues his journey through this new Kenya, Mzee would want to address the nation. But instead of a radio or television broadcast, he would be told to sign up for X (formerly Twitter), the platform where modern Kenyans debate national issues and even hurl insults at the president. The very idea that citizens could call their leader names like “Lucifer” and “Msaliti” would infuriate Mzee, who was accustomed to respect—whether genuine or enforced—during his rule. Yet, he would be reminded that today’s Generation Z, or GNZs as they are called, are a different breed. They are smart, educated, and unafraid to speak their minds, often using the very tools of modern technology that Mzee might regard as the Whiteman’s witchcraft.
Mzee would also be astonished to learn about some of the social changes that have taken place. He would be shocked to hear that in some instances, women now pay their own dowries and even circumcise their sons. The idea that a good Kenyan woman might choose to have only two children would baffle him, especially when he remembers that in the 1970s, Kenya had one of the highest fertility rates in the world, with an average of eight children per woman. This, of course, was during a time when Kenya’s economy was strong, food was affordable, and large landholdings were common.
Reflecting on Kenya’s past, Mzee would undoubtedly remember the airlifts of the 1960s that sent over 750 East African students, including Barack Obama’s father, to the United States. He would be proud to hear that one of those students’ sons became President of the United States. But his pride would be short-lived as he learns about the decline in industries he once supported. The death of pyrethrum farming, the collapse of cotton and fishing industries, and the demise of manufacturing sectors like wool and blankets would weigh heavily on his heart.
By the time Mzee had absorbed all these changes, he would be mad, perhaps even inconsolable. The Kenya he built, with all its potential, seems to have lost its way in many respects. If Mzee Jomo Kenyatta were to wake up today, his disappointment would be palpable, and he might just pick up a mwiko to whip some sense back into this generation. But then again, even Mzee would have to recognize that times have changed, and Kenya, like the rest of the world, has moved on—sometimes for better, sometimes for worse.
