There is a story about Mwai Kibaki's upbringing retold in pubs and jaba bases. Its veracity remains uncertain, but the wisdom remains intact. Kibaki's father was polygamous with many children.
In pre-colonial days, most children never went to school. Those who did were considered lazy. Why could they not herd cattle? Some families sent to school children considered too weak for hard labour. The strong remained to herd and till.
The story goes that Kibaki was one of those children. He went to school, excelled, became one of Kenya's longest-serving legislators and, by judgment of many, one of the country's most consequential presidents. He elevated his family name. Whether literally true matters less than the principle. Sometimes a family concentrates resources on one child because that child may return and lift the household. Nations can do the same.
That logic lies at the heart of what economists call the national champions approach, and Japan and South Korea provide the clearest evidence. In 1960, South Korea was poorer than Kenya, with a per capita income of about 79 dollars.
By concentrating on private groups such as Samsung, which now accounts for over 20 percent of GDP, and Hyundai, the country raised per capita income to $36,239 last year, overtaking Japan's $33,785. Japan did the same earlier, transforming rubble into power by concentrating credit on Toyota and Sony until they could export. Both nations grew not by sharing poverty equally, but by feeding the hungry child who later fed the village.
The misunderstanding concerns selection. A wise mother does not point at the child singing loudest. She watches the child who wakes at five to read by lantern. Japan and South Korea did not simply protect companies. They supported firms that demonstrated capacity to invest and compete.
Three tests matter. First, technical hunger. Has the entrepreneur attempted to manufacture something previously imported? Second, reinvestment discipline. When profit arrives, does the entrepreneur purchase a Mercedes or another machine? Third, export ambition. Does the entrepreneur want to dominate the local market only, or compete in Kampala and Kigali? Government can offer one hand, but the entrepreneur must bring the other.
Once a champion is identified, government can provide what private capital cannot easily provide: financing, infrastructure and diplomatic assistance. But there must also be a stick. Protection without performance creates complacency. Cheap credit without accountability creates waste. Monopoly without competition creates entitlement.
Kenya attempted something different. For decades, preferred champions were state corporations. Some became institutions whose survival depended more on political protection than commercial performance. A parastatal can become like the spoilt child in a homestead.
The child receives the biggest cup of milk, new shoes while others walk barefoot, and exemption from fetching water because he is a government child. Then the mother stops bringing milk. The child cannot boil water. He cannot herd goats. He sits waiting for bailout.
Histories of Kenya Airways, Mumias Sugar and Pan Paper illustrate the danger of protection without discipline. The lesson is not that government should never intervene. The lesson is that intervention must create capability rather than dependency.
There is a misconception that America is an economy of small businesses. America has small businesses, but also enormous corporations that anchor ecosystems. Apple, Boeing and Walmart sit at the centre of networks of suppliers. A large river does not eliminate tributaries. It gives them somewhere to flow.
That brings discussion to Aliko Dangote. Dangote shows what happens when private capital operates at scale normally associated with the state. For decades, Nigeria exported crude while importing refined products. Dangote built refining capacity at extraordinary scale.
His Lekki refinery, costing about 20 billion dollars and processing 650,000 barrels per day, ranks among Africa's largest private investments. At this scale come logistics and manufacturing. Gate matters because once a large gate opens, other investors walk through it.
Attention has turned to Lamu. A proposal for a refinery and petrochemical complex, with a 1,000-megawatt plant and 60,000 jobs, represents ambition Kenya has discussed without executing at scale. Financing must withstand scrutiny, but the strategic question is larger: can Kenya build infrastructure that becomes a platform for hundreds of businesses? Lamu should be viewed as an ecosystem, not merely a refinery.
This is where Kibaki's vision deserves recognition. More than fifteen years ago, Lamu Port and LAPSSET were pursued when supporting infrastructure did not exist. A man who plants a mugumo tree does not sit beneath its shade the following afternoon. The same applies to ports and industrial cities. Foundation is laid today; harvest may belong to another generation. Murang'a Industrial City follows the same logic.
One strategy for Kenya is to identify large Kenyan companies that have demonstrated the ability to compete and help them scale regionally. East African Community gives Kenya an unusual advantage. Companies such as Safaricom, Equity, Bidco and Devki already operate beyond the domestic market.
The next step is to identify firms with hunger, discipline and export ambition. Support should follow evidence: financing, electricity and diplomatic support, coupled with obligations to increase exports and develop local suppliers. If performance fails, support should be reconsidered.
That is how a national champion should work. The state provides a ladder. Entrepreneur must climb it. Kenya has spent decades feeding a protected child. Perhaps the time has come to feed a hungry child, not a child who shouts loudest, but one who has demonstrated that when given a little, he can build something bigger. Champion is seed. The measure of policy is what grows around it.
