Someone once approached my friend and me and asked, “Why can’t you guys vie for the presidency?” I told my friend to thank the man for the flattery. The idea did not quite make sense because, politically speaking, we are political pundas — donkeys.
Raila Odinga, facing Uhuru Kenyatta and a field of enthusiastic minnows, once famously described that contest as a race between two farasis (horses) — himself and Uhuru — while the rest were punda.
Now that the drums of the next presidential season are being beaten, it helps to know how to tell pundas from serious contenders. Politics is a strange theatre. Egos are inflated like campaign balloons, and many donkeys genuinely believe they are horses.
At the same time, true horses sometimes disguise themselves as donkeys, only to bolt when the gate opens. As the Bible reminds us, David looked like a shepherd boy, but Goliath learned too late that appearances can deceive.
Running for president is storytelling. You are both the author and the main character. If you do not write your own story, your enemies will gladly ghostwrite it for you, with footnotes you will not like. A serious candidate understands this early.
The first truth is ethnic arithmetic. One must be a tribalist, but a clever one. As the Kikuyu say, you dance in your homestead before you dance in the village square. You begin with a solid ethnic base, but you must never look imprisoned by it. Publicly, you surround yourself with faces from outside your community. Politics thrives on subtle signals. When people see “one of theirs” next to you, they feel seen. Raila Odinga often kept Hassan Joho close, a quiet nod to the Coast and to Muslims. Mwai Kibaki’s proximity to Kiraitu Murungi spoke volumes to the Meru. Daniel Moi’s constant companionship with Joseph Kamotho was his way of telling a hostile Central Kenya, “I am still here.” Even in the Bible, Moses did not walk alone; Aaron spoke for him.
Second, surround yourself with elected politicians, especially MPs and senators. Governors like to look neutral, as if they are permanently auditioning for whichever government will win. MPs, on the other hand, are combative and constantly campaigning. Their presence beside you signals regional support, whether or not they are popular back home. Television audiences do not know constituency gossip; they only see representation.
That is why every serious contender courts MPs relentlessly. It is also why today’s political generals deploy squads of vocal MPs to do the shouting for them. In 2012, when Uhuru Kenyatta appeared to endorse Musalia Mudavadi, it was Central Kenya MPs, led by Kareke Mbiuki, who quietly but firmly steered the ship back to safer waters.
Third, manage the media like a chessboard. Endless press conferences flanked by colourful characters often do more harm than good. Let the media find you in action, addressing crowds. Crowds sell fear and inevitability. They whisper to voters, “This one has the people.” It is how Barack Obama’s rallies in the US felt like revivals. It is how George Natembeya, a first-term governor, has forced his name into national conversations.
If you must grant interviews, do so from your home. It signals authority: the mountain does not go to Muhammad; Muhammad comes to the mountain.
Fourth, remember that in politics, out of sight is truly out of mind. Every weekend, Kenyans must see you somewhere, preferably outside your home turf. Raila Odinga campaigned almost continuously for decades, keeping his name alive even between elections, until he became an enigma larger than the man. Jesus, too, was constantly moving until even his enemies knew his name.
Fifth, sharpen your tongue, but give it a soul. Attacking opponents alone is the fallacy of political ad hominem. People rally around ideas. It is the glue that binds people.
An agenda allows voters to imagine a future without you needing to be in it forever. Martin Luther King is immortal not because he attacked opponents, but because he sold a dream. Lincoln endures because emancipation was bigger than him. In Kenya, movements like Mau Mau and the fight for multiparty democracy were powered by ideas for which people were willing to bleed.
Sixth, money matters. Posters, agents, logistics and airtime do not pay for themselves. Yet money is not everything. Politics obeys an equation: the more popular you are, the less money you need; the less popular you are, the more money you must burn. Raila and Kibaki were among the few candidates who rarely handed out cash; instead, visitors brought gifts to them. That level of reverence is earned over years, not hired over weekends.
Seventh, cultivate an originality myth. You cannot pop into the race like a rabbit from a magician’s hat, or like a mushroom after rain. Kibaki was the economist, Raila the freedom fighter, Uhuru the prince. In the United States, Donald Trump was the outsider businessman; Obama the hope-filled reformer. Voters need a simple story they can tell about you at the market.
Eighth, fight on enemy territory, not at home. Raila’s greatest strategic error was avoiding Mt Kenya until the last minute, allowing it to harden against him. He tended to concentrate more on tying up his bases in Western, Coast, Nairobi and arid regions.
UDA, despite its troubles in the Mountain, understands the value of relentless presence. Even David went to face Goliath on Goliath’s ground.
Finally, beware of political mercenaries. A serious candidate’s army is small, loyal and bound by belief. Better five diehards than a hundred fair-weather friends. Mercenaries follow money like weather vanes follow the wind. Even Jesus had Judas; even David hired foreign fighters. Use mercenaries sparingly, keep them at arm’s length and never trust them with the final hour.
Ignore these rules, and you may still run — but expect to join the long line of colourful footnotes, modern Mukaru Ng’angas and Mwalimu Didas, remembered more for entertainment than for power. In Kenyan politics, not every animal at the starting line is a horse, and the finish line is unforgiving.
