By Nicanor Ndiege

Kenya’s economic narrative is undergoing a quiet revolution—one not led by the traditional political epicentres but by bold, visionary counties embracing productivity over politics.

Murang’a County, long in the shadow of its more politically prominent neighbours—Kiambu and Nyeri—has redefined itself as a rising economic powerhouse and a major breadbasket in the country.

Equity Group Holdings Chief Executive Officer, Dr. James Mwangi, in a recent investment conference in Murang’a, told President William Ruto that Murang’a was well served with tarmacked roads and that the only thing the region needs is investment in value addition for the various food crops the county produces.

“Last time I stayed in the Four Seasons Hotel in New York, I paid $12 for a sachet of 10 grams of the tea bag I produced. As an accountant, I computed $12 by sh130, the exchange rate. It came to sh150,000, and for me as a farmer, I only got sh75.
Your Excellency, if there is no other case, it is the power of value addition for Murang’a farmers; this is the only way we can motivate them,” he said.

Similarly, Nyanza enjoys rich natural resources, talent, and heritage. Yet, for a long time, the region has remained hamstrung by politics, raw resource exports, and infrastructure gaps.

Comparatively, Murang’a’s most potent strategy has been its conscious shift from politics to policy. Speaking at the investment conference, Murang’a Governor Irungu Kang’ata revealed that the county had several investment opportunities.

“Your Excellency, we are here for this conference for four reasons. We want to attract industries that can come and invest, and through that, we will be able to create jobs, raise revenue and create backwards linkages for our farmers.
In the Murang’a industrial park, we have 1,300 acres of land at a place near Makenji. The County Assembly has approved the master plan. In that master plan, 500 acres have been donated to EPZ, and we are happy they are currently building infrastructure.
The balance of 800 acres of land has been zoned for manufacturing and other uses. We have also given national government agencies pieces of land inside this park,” said the Governor.

If Nyanza is to mirror Murang’a, it must ring-fence development from politics. Murang’a has made an important leap by focusing on processing what it produces.

In his address, Dr. James Mwangi noted that because Murang’a is the leading avocado producer in Kenya, it would be economically viable for the county to construct factories for avocado processing.

“But Your Excellency, I would fail if I didn’t remind you that also Murang’a is the number one avocado producer in Kenya. We can also construct factories for avocado processing so that we may stop selling fruits and instead sell oil. And if you can help us, we can sell cosmetics. So we go up to sh150,000 instead of sh75.
Your Excellency, we are also number two in macadamia production in Kenya, and we are number two in coffee. Your Excellency, there is no other country that can give you that kind of scope. It is only Murang’a,” he said, adding that through the government’s support of such initiatives, the county can drive economic activities of the larger Central region.

This is in stark contrast to Nyanza, which continues to export fish and even gold in raw form—losing billions in value.

Lake Victoria’s fish is packaged in Europe and sold back to Kenyan supermarkets, while Migori’s gold leaves unprocessed. As Industrialisation CS Rebecca Miano rightly asked, “Why sell raw cane when we could power an ethanol revolution from Kisumu?”

To change this, Nyanza counties should pass “Local Processing Mandates” that require a percentage of produce—whether fish, cotton, or sugarcane—to be processed within the county before export.

Murang’a’s 1,300-acre industrial park is not just an idea—it’s operational, with paved roads and power supply already in place. This has attracted over $50 million in private investment.

Compare this with Nyanza, where only 18% of Kisumu’s rural roads are paved, according to the 2023 KNBS report.

The sugar belt from Muhoroni to Londiani remains critically underserved. While the Kisumu Special Economic Zone is a step forward, it must be fast-tracked and integrated with regional transport corridors like the port of Kisumu and the Uganda border.

But where will the money come from? Murang’a’s alliance with Equity Bank is a case study in harnessing homegrown capital for grassroots development. Through agro-financing and SME credit lines, local industries are flourishing.

Nyanza’s diaspora remitted KSh1.1 billion in 2023, reports CBK, yet little of that supports structured economic development. County governments must tap this vast resource pool through diaspora bonds, local investment forums, and guaranteed return schemes tied to industrial parks and EPZs.

Nyanza has every ingredient to become Kenya’s next economic frontier: fertile land, a vast lake economy, mineral wealth, and an educated youth base. What it needs is prudent governance and discipline to follow Murang’a’s model—depoliticise, industrialise, and localise.

Let Nyanza build county-level economic councils. Let it zone and activate industrial parks. Let it pass value-addition laws. Let it tap the diaspora not just for remittances but for reinvestment.

As Governor Kang’ata aptly put it: “Economics beats politics when citizens demand results.”

The question now for Nyanza is not if it can change, but when it will choose to.

The moment to pivot is now—not in the heat of rallies, but in the hum of factories; not in rhetoric, but in revenue.

Edited by Sandra Blessing

By Anderson Ojwang

Murang’a County could arguably be said to be Kenya’s economic heartbeat and the home of the country’s billionaires.

Centrally located 90 kilometres away from Nairobi City, Murang’a bypassed Kiambu and Nyeri, the Mt Kenya political power points, to emerge as the economic tiger in the region and nationally.

In Nairobi City, Murang’a holds the key to its economic and real estate development and growth. Murang’a is least associated with high-voltage political activities common in most regions of the country, and more specifically, Nyanza.

Murang’a is known for its fertile soil and good climate, which are good for farming both food crops and cash crops.

The main food crops grown in the area include maize, beans, sweet potatoes, arrowroots, pumpkins and bananas, while the cash crops are tea and coffee.

Murang’a has a rich history dating back to the missionaries and the colonial era, which have shaped its destiny towards economics rather than hard politics.

Murang’a was the first place the missionaries ventured into and settled in. When the British set up the East African Protectorate in 1895, their first administrative post, Fort Smith, was located in Murang’a.

The missionaries were initially welcomed by Karuri Wagakure, who was the Chief of Tuthu, and this allowed the Mission Church in Kenya to be set up in Murang’a.

Murang’a is the source of rivers Maragua, which originates from the heart of the Aberdare Range, Mathioya, Kayahwe, Irati and Muriurio among others.

The Chief Executive Officer of Equity Group Holdings, Dr James Mwangi, in a recent investment conference in Murang’a with President William Ruto, told the President that Murang’a was well served with tarmacked roads.

“Last time I stayed in the Four Seasons Hotel in New York, I paid $12 for a sachet of 10 grams of the tea bag I produced. As an accountant, I computed $12 by sh130, the exchange rate, it came to sh150,000, and for me as a farmer, I only got sh75.

Your Excellency, if there is no other case, it is the power of value addition for Murang’a farmers; this is the only way we can motivate them.

I am okay to pay the Kenya Government a tax of sh30,000, and I keep sh120,000. Your Excellency, if we look at it that way, I invite you to assign me as a person for this project, but from your office, so that I can make it happen.

The second aspect, Your Excellency, is that tea is grown in the upper zone; there is no ridge in Murang’a without a tarmacked road to the upper ridge. So we are not asking for road infrastructure. You did the Mau Mau Road, I have seen that work is ongoing. Let’s complete it. We are not asking for a heavy investment in roads to enable the produce to come to the manufacturing hub.

Your Excellency, it is clean industrialisation. Murang’a is next to the Seven Falls Hydro Dam. We shall use hydro energy, so Kenya will teach the world that manufacturing is green. Our tea would be green. But Your Excellency, I would fail if I didn’t remind you that alsoMurang’a is the number one avocado producer in Kenya.

We can also construct factories for avocado processing so that we may stop selling fruits and instead sell oil.
And if you can help us, we can sell cosmetics. So we go up to sh150,000 instead of sh75.
Your Excellency, we are also number two in macadamia production in Kenya, and we are number two in coffee. Your Excellency, there is no other country that can give you that kind of scope. It is only Murang’a.

So I am persuading the government to support this initiative because it has the requisite. Then Murang’a can also carry the rest of the Central Region because it’s the bottleneck to the city and the export airports and ports.

So essentially, the produce of Murang’a can be complemented by the produce of Nyeri, Kirinyaga and Meru because the infrastructure is complete.

In my business school of simple economics, Your Excellency, Murang’a ticks all.
Murang’a has a university, a teachers’ college and has educated its children. The young people in Murang’a are yearning for jobs. This industrial park would be able to significantly help us alleviate the challenge of joblessness.

There would be a good return to the Ministry of Education and the government. You are investing a third of the budget of country in education.

But we are not having jobs to enable our people to pay tax like I do. So why don’t we solve the equation by giving them jobs through the industrial park?

Your Excellency, I stand to say that I will support this initiative. Equity Bank will fully support this initiative, and Your Excellency, you can leave out the financing for the industrialisation to Equity Bank.

That I can deal with. I just need to be enabled. Two weeks ago, I was with you. We assembled all the financial service providers in Nairobi. I would like to direct them there and tell them that I have managed to arrange a project we can all syndicate,” he said.

Murang’a Governor Irungu Kang’ata revealed that the county had several investment opportunities.

“Your Excellency, we are here for this conference for four reasons. We want to attract industries that can come and invest, and through that we will be able to create jobs, raise revenue and create backwards linkages for our farmers.

In the Murang’a industrial park, we have 1,300 acres of land at a place near Makenji. The County Assembly has approved the master plan. In that master plan, 500 acres have been donated to EPZ, and we are happy they are currently building infrastructure.

The balance of 800 acres of land has been zoned for manufacturing and other uses. We have also given national government agencies pieces of land inside this park.

The Ministry of Housing has embarked on phase two of the housing programme of 2,200 housing units in the park and the construction is ongoing. This land is open to anyone who wants to do manufacturing,” he said.

Edited by Trina Chebaibai

By Billy Mijungu

Albert Omondi Ojwang is gone. A 31-year-old teacher, a young father, a passionate Kenyan, and a relentless voice for accountability, silenced in the most brutal fashion. His story, now at the centre of national outcry, is not just about a death in police custody. It is about how we, as a society, handle dissent, criticism, and openness in a democracy we claim to cherish. It is about how public power reacts to public opinion. It is about the refusal of those in high places to accept the bare truths of our time. And most of all, it is about the deep urgency to draw lines between strength and tyranny.

Albert’s crime was his speech. Not a weapon. Not violence. Just typed words on a phone screen shared on social media platforms, questioning the competence and conduct of powerful men in uniform. For that, he was arrested in Homa Bay and transported across the country to the heart of the capital. A teacher placed in police custody for allegedly defaming a Deputy Inspector General of Police. No court order issued. No public threat cited. No emergency declared. Just a man, his phone, his opinion, and the wrath of power that could not take it.

When word came that Albert had died in his cell at Central Police Station Nairobi, the first official explanation was absurd. They said he had hit himself repeatedly against the wall. That he had inflicted fatal injuries on himself. That he had died by his own hand. But even that weak lie could not hold. The postmortem told the truth his killers wished to bury. He had been beaten. His body bore signs of blunt trauma. His neck had compression marks. There was evidence of asphyxiation. He had been silenced in a manner that could only be described as deliberate and cruel.

The public reacted with justified fury. Kenyans from every walk of life took to the streets in Nairobi and elsewhere to demand justice. They sang. They wept. They shouted his name. They reminded the state that it was not above the people. And in rare unity, political leaders joined the chorus. President William Ruto condemned the act. He called it heartbreaking and unacceptable. So did members of the opposition. The state’s watchdog, IPOA, swung into action. Officers were suspended. Arrests were made. Even the CCTV technician was apprehended for tampering with evidence. It was a moment when justice, though late, seemed possible.

Still, one cannot help but mourn more than just the man. We mourn a nation where police brutality is not a mistake but a repeated pattern. We mourn a government that struggles to cope with open dissent. We mourn a culture of fear that still pervades our institutions, decades after we claimed to have opened the democratic space.

Albert was not just a casualty of state power. He was a symbol of something deeper. That our democracy is being tested. That public officers remain trapped in an old-school mentality that resists critique. That men and women in positions of authority want the trappings of power without the responsibilities it demands. They want titles, prestige, perks, and the fanfare of office. But the moment they are questioned, the moment the public raises a voice, their reflex is suppression. That reflex must now be buried.

It is time for a social media rule book. Not to control what citizens say, but to shape how public officers respond. Social media is chaotic. Yes. It is raw. Yes. It is unfiltered. Absolutely. But it is also where democracy is loudest. Public officers must grow thick skins. In our openness, some issues will be overplayed. Others will be underplayed. But the long and short of it is this: they must learn to live with it. This is democracy. And democracy is noisy.

What is needed now is not less speech, but more structured engagement. We need a public accountability manual that guides powerful officials on how to respond when challenged. When criticized. When mocked. When questioned. Because criticism, no matter how crude or unpleasant, is not a call to violence. It is a call to reflection. A sign that people are watching. And that is how it should be.

Kenya must reduce the power distance between state officers and citizens. That means managing the perks and privileges that create gods out of civil servants. The motorcades, the bodyguards, the aloofness, the impunity, all must be scaled down. Power must be brought closer to the people. And the people must never be punished for simply speaking.

Albert Ojwang’s death should be the last straw. A teacher should not die for tweeting. A father should not be buried because he had opinions. And a nation should not have to mourn simply because someone in power was too fragile to accept dissent. There is something deeply broken when criticism leads to a body in a morgue.

To those who order or execute killings to silence critics, understand this: the pain is not with the dead. The pain lives with the living. The pain is with the child left fatherless. With the mother left speechless. With the wife left grieving. With the students left teacherless. With the society left wounded. The logic of killing your critics only proves your weakness. You may bury a man, but you awaken a movement. You silence one voice, but you stir a million more.

This moment demands serious condemnation of careless and deadly acts by police officers. Our security forces are meant to protect, not persecute. Meant to serve, not suppress. Any officer who brutalizes civilians betrays the oath of service. And any leadership that allows it is complicit in the crime.

Albert’s story is a warning. A turning point. A tragedy. But it can also be a beginning. A beginning of renewed commitment to accountability. To justice. To democratic maturity. He may be gone too soon, but the echo of his voice must never fade.

Let those in power hear us clearly. You cannot kill the truth. You cannot arrest every opinion. And you certainly cannot silence the soul of a nation that refuses to be cowed. We will speak. We will mourn. We will demand justice. And we will remember.

Albert Ojwang is gone. But what he stood for must remain.

Edited by Sandra Blessing