BWOMANGA: Why our misunderstanding of the MP’s role is fueling corruption

I have just finished reading the Report of the Auditor‑General on the National Government Constituencies Development Fund for the Year Ended 30 June 2025, and I am deeply embarrassed.

Among the constituencies affected is Bomachoge Chache, my own home. The very constituency I sought to represent in 2022 now appears prominently in the list of those flagged for serious bursary and fund‑management irregularities.

For a community that has long struggled to secure fair opportunities for its children, this revelation is not just disappointing; it is painful.

What makes this even more troubling is the casual way accountability is dismissed on the ground. I have heard my MP Hon Alfah Miruka openly ridicule concerned citizens, saying that the writings we share on social media "mean nothing" because "most voters don't read newspapers." 

That attitude captures the very heart of the problem: a political culture that underestimates the intelligence of the people, exploits their economic vulnerability, and assumes that information and therefore accountability, can be ignored.
Yet the Sh2.1 billion bursary scandal exposed by the Auditor‑General is not just another headline about missing money.

It is a mirror held up to a country that has normalized a dangerous contradiction: we expect MPs to be both politicians and service‑delivery officers, both allocators and auditors, both referees and players.

The result is predictable, a bursary system that was meant to lift poor children into classrooms has instead become a political marketplace where public funds are traded for loyalty, inflated for gain, and hidden behind opaque committees.

The Auditor‑General 's report reveals a pattern that is impossible to dismiss as clerical error. Schools deny knowledge of students listed as beneficiaries.

Some students appear twice, others receive more than the legal cap, and millions are disbursed without vouchers, receipts, or even a basic paper trail. In some constituencies, bursaries were sent to schools that never applied for them. These are not accidents. They are symptoms of a system that invites manipulation because it was built on political logic, not social protection.

The bursary scheme under the CDF model has always been a political tool. MPs use it to reward loyalists, punish opponents, and maintain visibility in their constituencies. In a country where poverty is widespread and education is a lifeline, a bursary is not just financial support, it is political currency. And because MPs control the committees, influence the selection, and face almost no consequences for misuse, the incentives are aligned toward patronage, not fairness.

This scandal matters because it strikes at the heart of Kenya's promise of equal opportunity. When bursaries are stolen or misallocated, it is not just money that disappears, it is the future of a child who drops out because fees are unpaid. It is the dignity of a parent who believed the system would help. It is the credibility of schools forced to navigate unpredictable, politicized funding. And it is the erosion of public trust in Parliament, which is already struggling under the weight of public skepticism.

But the deeper truth is this: no amount of outrage will fix a system that is structurally flawed. 

As long as MPs control bursaries, corruption will not be an aberration, it will be an inevitability. Kenya is one of the few democracies where legislators directly manage local service delivery funds at this scale. 

The conflict of interest is baked into the design. MPs cannot oversee themselves. They cannot be expected to police committees they influence. And they cannot be expected to resist the political benefits of controlling who gets school fees.

This is why we must confront a difficult truth: real development will never be achieved if citizens continue to misunderstand the constitutional role of an MP. 

An MP is not a bursary officer, not a clan representative, not a religious symbol, and not a patron of handouts. An MP is a legislator and a steward of public resources. Their duty is to protect funds, strengthen systems, and ensure that every shilling reaches the people it is meant to serve.

Reform must begin with removing MPs from direct control of bursary allocations.

A national digital portal, where students apply, schools verify enrollment, and allocations are publicly visible, would eliminate ghost beneficiaries and political interference. County education boards or an independent bursary authority like HELB, should manage disbursements, with mandatory public disclosure of every beneficiary and every shilling. And misuse of funds must carry real consequences: prosecution, recovery, and disqualification from office. Without accountability, the cycle will simply repeat.

The Sh2.1 billion scandal is not just about money lost. It is about the kind of country we are becoming.

A nation that cannot protect the education of its poorest children cannot claim to be serious about development.

A Parliament that cannot safeguard public funds cannot claim moral authority. And a society that shrugs at systemic theft cannot claim to value fairness.

But there is hope and it lies with the generation that has already shown us what civic courage looks like. Gen Z, the very group directly affected by bursary failures, rose in 2024 with clarity, unity, and moral force. They demonstrated that young people are not only awake, but organized and unafraid. 

They showed that information spreads faster than propaganda, that accountability can be demanded from the streets to the screens, and that leaders can no longer hide behind outdated assumptions about voter ignorance.
Today, the bursary scandal is a national wound. 

But it can also be a national turning point. If Gen Z rises again in 2027 with the same energy, the same conviction, and the same insistence that public office is a place of stewardship, not performance. 

They must remind every leader that the era of dismissing citizens as uninformed or powerless is over. They must insist that Kenya deserves systems that work, leaders who respect the Constitution, and a future where public funds serve the public good. 

The Youth Who Shook Kenya in 2024 Must Finish the Job. Enough is enough.

By Job Nyangenya Omanga – Eminent Peace Ambassador - UN