There are years Kenyans used to look at Harambee Stars in awe and wonderment – the current generation cannot relate, and we will not blame them.
I was in Standard 8, in April 1997, when Mike Okoth emerged out of the smoky tunnel in the second half with fire in his eyes, to overturn a 2-nil deficit against Burkina Faso inside a bouncing Kasarani Stadium, to end the game at 4-3 and send the entire nation into a frenzy.
That was one of the few times no student in uniform was punished for returning home late; if there were deaths reported that day, majority of them may have been out of pure joy.
The Football Kenya Federation (FKF) delegates are having their quadrennial elections at the same Kasarani Stadium today. There’s nothing to write home about our football since Sir Reinhardt Fabisch left us to be with the Lord; the Harambee Stars Class of 1997 have since scattered into the seven winds, and there’s still no statue in honour of John Baresi Odhiambo for pocketing the 1996 Olympic Champions Nigeria, for 90+ minutes like his life depended on it.
It would be understandable if those advising FKF delegates to vote with their heads are Arsenal fans, as they’re the only fan base who are experts at harnessing the potential of angular set pieces from tight spots. There are only two supreme body organs that have guided the Kenyan voting patterns since 1963, and the head is not one of them.
There are those who have been harassing the delegates urging them to interrogate the source of crisp banknotes their palms have been getting greased with, and imploring them to take the cue from the Kenyan church in not only refunding the money in full glare of the cameras but also trumpeting about it on social media for Kenyans to join them in shaming the shameless.
“All dreams are valid”, a famous Kenyan-American philosopher once said, “but it’s the hope that kills you,” according to a famous Arsenal fan who is worried he might die without watching his team win the UEFA Champions League.
Approaching the ballot booth with the conscience of a sacrificial lamb only works when you’re liberated from mental slavery that comes with adopting the Spartan lifestyle of a monk who is ready to give up their life to a Godly cause as a tradeoff for going to heaven straight.
When you look at those delegates going to the ballot today, do you see anyone who has attained that state of self-actualization where their decisions will only be guided by their passion for the sport and the growth of the game? Answer with your head, not with your heart.
You can only attain that state of nirvana when you have retreated to the wilderness for 40 days surviving on wild berries and spring water, meditating on the long-term future of Harambee Stars and banishing the material urge to look at Kenyan football from the prism of a golden plate, silver folk and serrated knife.
You cannot run your football club like a village tuck shop and then step forward to wax lyrical about your intention to give Harambee Stars a professional outlook - maybe if you trimmed your stomach, you would cut down on the delusion.
Talk is cheap, and Kenya is the de facto global headquarters of talk shops. We talk too much in this country you wonder why the Treasury is yet to allocate billions to conduct public participation on why the African grey parrot should not be our national bird.
A candidate is asked how he intends to turn around the fortunes of the national team when players from his club can’t even afford a decent meal, and instead of the guy apologising for sleeping on the job he begins by accusing the moderator for being sponsored by his enemies to tarnish his name.
Brutalize Kenyan football
Such characters are part of the reason Kenyans have grown sick and tired of the bureaucratic political landscape, are scornful of the political leadership, and will do anything to switch off any media outlet that brings that garbage to their living rooms. You can see it in their eyes, and you can feel it wherever they move.
I’m not a card-carrying skeptic but you don’t need to be one to understand that nothing out of the ordinary will come out of today’s FKF elections. The candidate field might have a few promising light bulbs but what is the use of a lightbulb when the delegates responsible for switching them on have never displayed any interest in walking up to the wall without undue influence?
Since the campaigns began, the few televised debates for the FKF Presidential candidates have been met by disinterest at worst and ambivalence at best, to the extent that two of the front runners skived the last show and you can be sure nothing will happen to them, because football fans have since withdrawn their participation from the political process to recharge their mental health batteries after a tough year driving evil down the trenches where angels fear to tread.
The FKF delegates streaming to the booth today will not arrive from outer space this morning – they’re your fathers, mothers, aunties, uncles, brothers and sisters; and will reflect the selfish wishes of your household as you discussed on the dinner table last night by the book.
If you’re a family member of any of the 90 delegates going to vote today and you haven’t contacted them to think about the country first, then you are part of the parasitic vermin that has been eating Kenyan football from within, and you will also shoulder the blame when the broom finally arrives to sweep every evil associated with those who have brought pain and misery to Kenyan football.
Your household is a replica of the Kenyan psyche, and today’s election will determine whether you’re really up for change in 2027 or there’s still work to be done to panel beat that mindset that has been accustomed to think that your family’s interest is greater than the collective aspirations of the Kenyan people. When all this exercise is done and the status quo is given another mandate to brutalize ravage and brutalize Kenyan football, we will remember your names. All of you.
