Residents of Ol Kalou Constituency in Nyandarua County receive mattresses, blankets, and gas cylinders as campaigns for the July 16 by-election gather momentum.
I’ve never held this much money before,” a middle-aged woman says, her face balancing excitement with disbelief.
Around her, neighbours nod in agreement. Someone jokes that they hope the political campaigns stretch until December because, for the first time in months, life has suddenly become affordable.
In Ol Kalou today, campaign rallies do not end with fiery rhetoric and national anthems. They end with cooking gas cylinders, new shoes, cash handouts and, for many, the fleeting illusion that they have finally been seen by the State.
Many observers dismiss these scenes as blatant voter bribery. That may be the easier conversation, but it misses the deeper problem. The real question is not why desperate citizens take the money.
It is why an election campaign has become one of the few moments when thousands of ordinary Kenyans experience economic relief.
Ol Kalou has become the latest battlefield in Kenya’s contest for political influence. Every major political formation is eager to prove it still commands the critical Mt Kenya vote.
Economic pressures
The ruling United Democratic Alliance wants to show that President William Ruto’s grassroots support remains intact despite rising economic pressures. Former Deputy President Rigathi Gachagua sees the by-election as a test of whether he still commands the region’s political loyalty.
Even speculation that Governor Irungu Kang’ata and the Linda Mwanchi movement might enter the race drew a swift response from Gachagua’s camp, determined to keep the contest a straight fight with the State. The by-election has become a proxy referendum on political muscle.
For Ol Kalou residents, however, this elite contest has produced an unexpected dividend. Money is circulating, and long-stalled projects are suddenly moving. Politicians who have ignored these villages for years are knocking on doors, shaking calloused hands and remembering local elders by name. Roads are being graded, government officials are making rare visits, and promises are flowing freely. Government springs into action whenever votes are at stake. That urgency, however, expires the moment the ballots are counted.
An online commentator described the phenomenon as “political love bombing”. In psychology, love bombing means overwhelming someone with attention and gifts to win compliance before abruptly withdrawing that affection. Kenyan elections have perfected the tactic.
During campaigns, politicians know every broken bridge, every widow’s plight and every youth unemployment grievance. Once the votes are counted, that urgency disappears and yesterday’s valued voter becomes tomorrow’s forgotten citizen.
The middle class often blames the electorate, warning that the Sh1,000 accepted today will cost five years of poor healthcare, inadequate water services and bad governance. Those arguments are not wrong.
They are incomplete.
There is cruelty in asking a hungry person to reject the only money entering the household while offering no alternative. Poverty fundamentally alters the mathematics of morality.
Condemning poverty
When rent is overdue, children risk being sent home from school, and the pantry is empty, democratic ideals struggle to compete with immediate survival. For many families, Sh1,000 is groceries, transport to a job interview or life-saving medicine.
Condemning poverty from a position of financial security is far easier than living through it.
Ordinary Kenyans, however, are developing their own counter-strategies. A young man on TikTok recently recorded himself smiling after a high-profile rally, admitting he accepted the cash but insisting it would not determine his secret ballot.
Citizens have realised that while money can buy crowds and applause, it cannot always buy conviction.
That pragmatism should not be mistaken for an endorsement of voter bribery. It remains a serious assault on democracy, turning elections into financial contests instead of competitions of ideas. It rewards wealth over vision and encourages leaders to recover campaign spending through corruption once in office.
In politics, there is no free money. Citizens eventually repay those handouts through inflated contracts, failing public services and higher taxes.
If Kenya is serious about ending this vice, the solution cannot rest on moral lectures alone. It must address the economic vulnerability that makes vote buying effective. A population with secure and dignified incomes is far harder to buy than one living on the edge of survival.
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This writer is a journalist and a human rights defender. [email protected]
