Devolution Con: Vihiga Edition

The advent of devolution in Kenya strangely coincided with my university education. As a student at Masinde Muliro University in Kakamega County, I watched with wide-eyed curiosity as the new county governments grappled with their newfound power. In Kakamega, even the smallest development—like turning ghetto paths into proper roads or building mama mboga stalls—felt like a hopeful step forward.

Meanwhile, back home in Vihiga County, my feelings were the exact opposite. The leadership seemed obsessed with short-term spectacles and quick photo opportunities, not a long-term vision. I sneered at the first county governor’s approach, dismissing it as directionless. Sadly, hindsight has proven me right—and then some.

Photo Credits: The Standard

Two terms and billions later, the story is depressingly familiar. Vihiga boasts of “stadiums” like Kidundu, Hamisi, and Mumboha—monuments not to sports, but to mediocrity. Millions were sunk into these facilities, only for them to resemble cattle markets rather than sporting arenas. While other counties with no history of competitive football—Homa Bay, Siaya, Kilifi—have built stadiums worth their names, Vihiga has watched its football jewels like Vihiga United, Vihiga Queens, and Luanda Villa wilt under neglect. Instead of investing in teams that lift the county flag high, our leaders are content with budgeting for KICOSCA games where county staff play against county staff. Yes, the height of sports development in Vihiga is watching civil servants chase balls in ill-fitting jerseys.

But let’s not pretend this is only about sports. The rot runs deeper. Vihiga’s own-source revenue is a joke—a shadow of its true potential. The county’s economic backbone has been snapped by unrealistic licensing, corruption, and nonexistent market infrastructure. How can you expect traders to thrive when the system actively suffocates them?

Even worse is the county’s contracting circus. Projects worth billions are outsourced, often sneakily, to cartels and elites from outside the county. Local suppliers and experts are shut out. The result? Money meant to circulate and multiply within the local economy flows straight out, leaving behind crumbs. How can a county that sits on a KSh 6 billion budget fail to raise at least 10–15% of that as own-source revenue from its own contracting ecosystem? Simple answer: because the game is rigged.

Devolution was sold to us as the answer—the magic wand that would bring governance closer to the people. But here in Vihiga, it feels more like a con. Instead of empowerment, we got stagnation. Instead of enterprise, we got elitist oligarchies. Instead of progress, we got the same tired excuses wrapped in new glossy budget speeches.

As the nation gathers for the Devolution Conference, perhaps Vihiga leaders should take a hard look in the mirror. Or better yet, let’s provide one for them—engraved with the words: “Devolution Con: Vihiga Edition.”

About Author: Kevin Makova