Elections are supposed to flip power relations. During an electoral process, a country’s political elites remember their fundamental jobs and are – more than ever – the servants of the people. While campaigns are ongoing, the elites need voters’ support, their attention…and most importantly, their votes. During this time, it is voters who can sit back and evaluate their leaders, deciding whether or not their actions are deserving of another term in office. Over the years and around the world, however, this power structure has often been reversed. In the quest to win and/or retain power, political elites have managed to shape the electoral process to their advantage, creating loopholes and amending laws that dilute public power.
PUBLIC CONFIDENCE IN THE KENYAN ELECTORAL PROCESS
Kenya is no exception to this rule, and voters have taken note. Over the past fifteen years, the Kenyan public’s confidence in elections has dropped precipitously. In fact, between 2005 and 2015, the proportion of Kenyans who strongly agreed that elections were the best way to choose leaders decreased by more than ten percentage points. Unsurprisingly, faith in the credibility of elections has also suffered. In fact, there has never been a time over the last three election cycles (including the current one) when a majority of Kenyans has felt that the last election was completely free and fair.
With the next general election in Kenya scheduled to take place in less than three months, it is critical to think about how to urgently address this marked dearth in voter confidence. An important first step is the assessment of potential vulnerabilities. Reflection about what went wrong last time and what is at risk of going wrong again is useful, not only for policymakers but also for voters, who can and should take time to critically assess whether or not their electoral processes prioritize their roles and voices.
There are, of course, many issues to consider. These include poorly enforced electoral laws, delayed timelines, the lack of intra-party democracy, incidents of pre-election violence, and shrinking space for vigorous public debate on the most contentious and timely election-related issues. At this stage in the electoral cycle, however, it is most urgent to focus attention on the factors that most significantly impacted the credibility of the last election and which continue to haunt this election cycle. Together, unresolved questions regarding leadership and integrity, the Independent Electoral and Boundaries Commission (IEBC), voter registration and the process of counting and tallying threaten the credibility of the upcoming elections.
LEADERSHIP AND INTEGRITY
To begin, the 2013 election was the first to take place under the guiding principles of the country’s new, internationally lauded constitution, itself the result of a decades-long struggle. The constitution included many new provisions that would have a bearing on elections, but one of the most fundamental, overarching issues concerned the qualifications for and conduct expected of state officers. Indeed, Chapter Six of the constitution, devoted to leadership and integrity, is groundbreaking in the context of Kenyan political history, confronting, as it does, some of the most longstanding and deeply embedded obstacles to good governance.
Over the past fifteen years, the Kenyan public’s confidence in elections has dropped precipitously. In fact, between 2005 and 2015, the proportion of Kenyans who strongly agreed that elections were the best way to choose leaders decreased by more than ten percentage points.
Chapter Six fundamentally shifted the relationship between state officers and the people, requiring the former to selflessly serve the latter. Despite the dramatic weakness of the Leadership and Integrity Act that was passed to operationalize Chapter Six provisions, the lead-up to election day in 2013 did include bold efforts to test the letter and spirit of the law. The most notable of these was a lawsuit filed by the International Center for Policy and Conflict and five others, which asked a deeply controversial question: were Uhuru Kenyatta and William Ruto in violation of Chapter Six standards, and therefore ineligible to run for office, based on the International Criminal Court’s indictments against them for their alleged commission of crimes against humanity in the aftermath of the 2007 election?
The High Court’s judgment was disappointing, leaving the public doubting that state institutions were in fact committed to the standards of the constitution. Although the Court claimed that it lacked jurisdiction on matters related to the presidential election, its judgment did define the standard of integrity required by a person seeking public office. According to the Court, such an office-seeker should be beyond reproach and should not have unresolved questions about his/her character and commitment to the national values in the constitution. On the other hand, however, it also ruled that there is a distinction between appointive and elective positions. For the latter, the Court was of the opinion that it is up to the voters to decide who to choose, based on candidates’ “honesty, rectitude, uprightness and scrupulousness.” After the judgment was handed down, a lawyer for the petitioners remarked, “Today marks the official death of one of the chapters in the constitution. That is Chapter Six.”
Uhuru and Ruto were thus free to run for office, and Kenyans were told that questions about their character related to the indictments against them were “a personal issue.”
More importantly, since the substantive issues of the case were never appealed to the Supreme Court, Kenyans were left with an electoral context that was marked by the severe limitations of the candidate pool. After all, the Court had not considered that by attempting to leave it up to voters to decide how strictly candidates should be judged with regard to factors of integrity, it could well be that voters ended up with little substantive choice. With no enforcement of Chapter Six provisions for elective office-seekers, voters could well be faced with a slate of candidates, all of whose characters were tainted by integrity-related problems. The ruling also made it clear that there was little political will to apply the leadership and integrity laws across the board, thus cementing the status quo of elite impunity.
Unsurprisingly, unresolved leadership and integrity issues continue to plague this electoral cycle. In 2016, PricewaterhouseCoopers conducted a survey on the prevalence of economic crimes in the world and found that Kenya topped the list of 78 countries in the study. A shocking one percent of the country’s national budget had been properly accounted for in the previous year. Theft and misappropriation was the most common type of crime. As of 2016, there were 17 MPs who had been charged in court for committing serious criminal offenses, including fraud, forgery, hate speech, rape, corruption and incitement to violence. At least 90 others were under suspicion for graft.
The public has noticed. When asked how much they trusted the ruling party, the opposition and MPs, Kenyans reported significantly low levels of confidence.
Table 1: Trust in Parliament, the Ruling Party and Opposition Parties
|Not at All||Just a Little||Somewhat||A Lot||Don’t Know|
Source: Afrobarometer R6 2014/2015
Such findings are telling, and they are especially relevant in the context of upcoming elections. Given the lack of political will to seriously implement and enforce constitutional standards of integrity, the public has little reason to put its trust in the state, or in the electoral process. Without proper enforcement of Chapter Six provisions, voters’ choices are always restricted. Over time, such an environment can lead to increasingly low levels of public confidence. In the long run, this endangers democratic resilience.
In an attempt to address the gaps in Chapter Six enforcement, the IEBC recently convened what is known as the Chapter Six Working Group on Election Preparedness. The group, which includes several state institutions, plans to vet parties’ lists of nominated candidates to ensure that they adhere to the Attorney General’s recently published guidelines. It is unclear, however, what authority this group has to carry out its stated purpose, especially given that the Court’s ruling in the case against Uhuru and Ruto made it clear that the presumption of innocence holds until cases are concluded.
THE INDEPENDENT ELECTORAL AND BOUNDARIES COMMISSION
Closely linked to public confidence in elected leaders is trust in the body charged with administering elections, the Independent Electoral and Boundaries Commission (IEBC). In fact, one study found that public confidence in a country’s electoral management body (EMB) is tied to public faith in the credibility of the election. Specifically, in a paper on Nigerian elections, Nicholas Kerr found,
The strongest correlate of citizen’s perceptions of election quality is the performance of [Nigeria’s Independent National Electoral Commission (INEC)]…when citizens are highly satisfied with the performance of INEC, they are thirty-eight percent more likely to consider the 2007 elections free and fair… But even more importantly, it highlights that ordinary Nigerians associate their evaluations of EMB performance more with their assessments of election quality, despite how strong their partisan attachments may be.
In Kenya, public confidence in the IEBC has fluctuated dramatically over the last five years. At the end of 2012, surveys showed that 70 percent of Kenyans had faith that the IEBC was carrying out its work impartially and 72 percent believed in the Commission’s independence. One month before election day in 2013, 91 percent of respondents said that they had faith in the IEBC’s competence to manage the election and 89 percent believed in the Commission’s impartiality. 91 percent of respondents also said they believed the IEBC was independent enough to conduct the election in a free and fair manner.
These pre-2013 election levels of confidence were a high point for the Commission, which suffered from plummeting levels of public faith after the 2013 election. The drop in confidence was due to a combination of factors, the most notable of which included procurement delays and irregularities in the lead-up to election day, problems with technology during voter registration and on election day, the failure of the electronic results verification system and the subsequent delay in announcing the result. The Supreme Court case challenging the integrity of the entire process, filed by the Africa Centre for Open Governance (AfriCOG) and the Kenyan Asian Forum, also publicly highlighted the multiple technical and administrative problems throughout the process. Indeed, post-election polls revealed a precipitous drop in public confidence in the Commission. In the immediate aftermath of the election, 44 percent of Kenyans reported that they were confident in the IEBC. In Nyanza, only 8 percent of respondents felt this way. By 2015, the figures had not changed dramatically, with 43 percent of Kenyans reporting confidence in the IEBC. Among opposition supporters, 71 percent reported that they did not have confidence in the Commission.
After the judgment was handed down, a lawyer for the petitioners remarked, “Today marks the official death of one of the chapters in the constitution. That is Chapter Six.”
The IEBC has experienced significant changes since the 2013 election. Senior members of the Commission were implicated in a corruption scandal, and a series of opposition protests against the IEBC eventually resulted in the dismissal of all the commissioners. New commissioners assumed office in late December 2016.
The changes seem to have made some difference. A recent poll shows that 72 percent of respondents feel that the IEBC is prepared to conduct a free and fair election. On the other hand, Kenyans are also extremely cautious in their outlooks. In fact, in four of Kenya’s former provinces, more than 20 percent of the population is not sure that the Commission will be able to administer a credible election.
While the high level of public confidence is encouraging, the new IEBC stands at an important crossroads. In order to maintain public faith, the Commission will have to work to show Kenyans that it is serious about avoiding the mistakes that marred the last process and that it is willing to fight to maintain its independence. The signs so far are mixed. The Commission’s decision to cancel the tender process for election technology and engage in a direct award of the contract to the same firm that was partially responsible for the previous set of botched technology raises questions about how well the IEBC has learned from past mistakes. This is compounded by a more recent announcement that the IEBC may proceed with a direct award to a ballot-printing firm. Moreover, recent analysis of the last mass voter registration exercise has revealed serious administrative and technical irregularities. On the other hand, the Commission’s stated commitment to enforcing gender parity in party lists and to enforcing leadership and integrity standards in the vetting of candidates is admirable.
The IEBC is making certain attempts to keep the public updated. It does hold press conferences, and it regularly updates its website with relevant press releases. This information is useful, but the Commission must go further with regard to transparency if it wishes to maintain public confidence. There are several outstanding questions at this stage of the electoral process, the most urgent of which are related to procurement, voter registration, the ongoing audit of the voters’ register, the use of technology, and counting of results. If the IEBC begins to address some of these concerns, it could go a long way in preserving public faith, especially as it is likely that problems will continue to arise as election day gets closer. No election is perfect, but the IEBC’s honest evaluations of its strengths and weaknesses related to current concerns are critical.
In 2013, much of the public’s dissatisfaction with the IEBC was rooted in problems with the voters’ register. The register was shrouded in a certain amount of mystery, with the total number of registered voters in Kenya shifting throughout the electoral cycle. The first sign of the problems to come appeared in February 2013, when it became clear that the final, gazetted register differed significantly from the provisional register released in December 2012. Overall, the register had grown by 12,500 voters.
Without proper enforcement of Chapter Six provisions, voters’ choices are always restricted. Over time, such an environment can lead to increasingly low levels of public confidence. In the long run, this endangers democratic resilience.
While a decrease in the number of registered voters was expected (because the verification and cleaning process would expunge dead voters, multiple registrations, etc), it was unclear how the register grew in size between December 2012 and February 2013. Moreover, there were significant regional changes in the numbers between December and February. These are detailed in the table below.
Table 2: Internal Changes to the Register of Voters
|Region||Changes between December 2012 and February 2013|
Source: AfriCOG/KPTJ. 2013. “Voter Registration for the 2013 General Elections in Kenya.”
These changes became more worrying when the IEBC could not commit to one total number of registered voters. In fact, there were at least six different totals announced during various parts of the electoral cycle.
Table 3: Shifting Totals of Registered Voters in Kenya
|Provisional Register (December 2012)||14,340,036|
|Principle Register (February 2013)||14,352,545|
|Special Register (March 2, 2013)||36,236|
|Election Results Total (March 9, 2013)||14,352,533|
|Green Book Total||14,388,793|
|Post-Election Register (July 2013)||14,388,781|
Source: AfriCOG/KPTJ. 2013. “Voter Registration for the 2013 General Elections in Kenya.”
This shifting total, in addition to the IEBC’s assertion that what was known as the “green book” (A green book is an unregulated, manually-recorded list of registered voters. It had been severely criticized by experts.) was being used for purposes of registration, severely compromised public confidence in the integrity of the register. Indeed, the lack of a single, verifiable register breeds suspicion about political influence at worst and basic incompetence of the electoral management body at best.
Doubts around the register have not faded. In fact, the IEBC’s two mass voter registration exercises in the current cycle were rife with problems. These included widespread problems obtaining IDs, problems with dysfunctional and nonfunctional biometric voter registration (BVR) kits, unexplained use of the green book, disorganized registration centres and poorly trained IEBC staff, registration bribery, coercive registration practices and massive amounts of transfers. At the end of these processes, the IEBC announced that the total number of registered voters had grown to 19,749,310, representing a 37 percent increase since 2013.
In the immediate aftermath of the election, 44 percent of Kenyans reported that they were confident in the IEBC. In Nyanza, only 8 percent of respondents felt this way. By 2015, the figures had not changed dramatically, with 43 percent of Kenyans reporting confidence in the IEBC. Among opposition supporters, 71 percent reported that they did not have confidence in the Commission.
The elections law also allows the IEBC to engage a professional firm to conduct an audit of the voters’ register. The stated purposes of such an audit are to verify the accuracy of the register, recommend mechanisms to enhance its accuracy and to update it. While an audit may go a long way in promoting public confidence in the register, the process has thus far been controversial. In addition to allegations that there were irregularities related to the decision to hire KPMG, there is mistrust because of the firm’s lack of expertise in conducting such audits. Indeed, KPMG’s proposed methodology does not reflect internationally accepted best practice for the audits of voters’ registers, and there has thus far been a lack of transparency with regard to KPMG’s progress and therefore its eventual findings.
In addition to these technical problems with registration, the legitimacy of the entire process was cast in doubt when it emerged that the IEBC had cancelled a public tender process for the acquisition of an integrated elections management system in order to give a direct award to a company known as Morpho, the same company that provided the problematic BVR kits in 2013.
The doubts that have arisen as a result of the above issues have been compounded by the IEBC’s refusal to make the register publicly accessible. In fact, the IEBC did not even provide the updated register to political parties during their primaries. The lack of the register made it impossible for parties to confirm that voters were in fact registered, and this contributed to the chaos that characterized the primary processes. The IEBC has also refused to give the data to civil society on the grounds that it cannot release it until after the audit is complete. Without access to the pre- and post-audit data, however, it is impossible for the public to conduct its own analyses and understand the changes.
A related issue is that of the integrated election management system (IEMS) itself. According to the IEBC, the system is meant to be wholly integrated, such that voter registration, voter identification and results transmission are linked. Since the IEMS technology did not arrive until well after the conclusion of registration, however, it is unclear how all the components will be linked, if at all.
ELECTION DAY, COUNTING AND TALLYING
Confidence is also, of course, based on the credibility of results announcements. In 2013, the IEBC used an electronic results transmission system, which was designed to allow polling station officers to transmit results to regional tallying centres and to IEBC headquarters in Nairobi via a secure, digital connection. This system was meant to protect the credibility of the count and prevent the kind of manipulation that had been seen in past elections, which often occurred during the time when tally sheets were being physically transported from polling stations around the country to Nairobi. Unfortunately, however, the system was a spectacular failure. Midway through the counting process, Kenyans watched the stream of live results freeze on television screens. Journalists based at the Bomas of Kenya, which was the national elections centre, referred to it as the Bomas screen saver.
When the electronic system failed, the IEBC again relied on the paper forms, which had to be ferried from all over the country to Nairobi. As expected, the paper forms were highly problematic. Issues with the polling station-level tallying forms (Forms 34) included:
- Many Form 34s showed that there were more votes cast than registered voters. In Turbo constituency, Polling Station 69, Stream 2, there were 784 votes cast but only 755 registered voters. In Polling Station 71, Stream 2, there were 741 votes cast but only 716 registered voters. In Kacheliba, Polling Station 112, there were 215 votes cast but only 214 registered voters.
- In some Form 34s, only some presidential candidates were listed. For example, in Baringo South, Polling Station 91, Stream 1, it was only the names of Uhuru Kenyatta, Raila Odinga and Paul Muite that appeared. Some candidates were also missing from Form 34 in Baringo South, Polling Station 68, Stream 1.
- Many of the figures on the form did not add up. For instance, one of the most glaring discrepancies occurred in Kacheliba constituency, Polling Station 102. Here, the votes cast are recorded as 0, while there are 170 rejected votes and 170 valid votes. In Baringo South, Polling Station 117, Stream 1, there were 133 valid votes and 0 rejected votes, which should total 133 votes cast. The figure for votes cast, however, was 134. In Cherangany, Polling Station 2, Stream 5, the number of valid votes is 332 and the number of rejected votes is 4, which adds up to 336 total votes cast. The number of votes cast, however, was 340. In Turkana North, Polling Station 12, the number of votes cast (340) did not equal the number of valid votes (340) plus the number of rejected votes (5).
- There were several instances of changes having been made to various figures on the form, with no authorizing signature next to the change. Such alterations affected individual candidates’ results, the total number of votes cast, the number of rejected votes, the number of valid votes and the number of registered voters. This change had the potential to affect other numbers on the form. For instance, a change to the number of rejected votes would necessarily change the number of total votes cast.
- In some forms, there was no figure indicating the number of registered voters. There was no official Form 34 for Polling Station 19 in Turkana Central. Instead, the results were reported on an ordinary piece of paper, which did not include the number of registered voters.
- Many Form 34s were missing. There was no Form 34 for Polling Station 84 or for Polling Station 99 in Turkana North. Polling Station 99 did not appear on the list of polling stations published on the IEBC website on February 24, 2013, but it did appear in the paper gazette. Forms 34 for Polling Stations 92 and 113 in Turkana Central were missing.
- Some forms did not include results for certain candidates. In Turkana Central, Polling Station 55, there were no results listed for Muite and Kenneth. In Turkana Central, Polling Station 65, there were no results listed for Kiyiapi, Karua, Dida, Muite and Mudavadi.
- There were non-identical duplicates of certain forms. In Turkana Central, Polling Station 89, there are 4 nearly identical copies of Form 34. It is unclear whether the numbers on these forms were counted multiple times. In Kacheliba, Polling Station 2, there were two forms with different entries. There were also multiple copies of perfectly identical forms, and it was unclear whether or not these figures were counted more than once.
- There were many forms in which it was extremely difficult to determine the exact value of the written figure, either because of the handwriting or because the original figure had been written over with another number. There were an overwhelming number of such cases, and the choice of which number to report was subjective.
The most worrying issues called the very accuracy of the count into question.
The failure of the electronic system was not a complete surprise. In the month before the 2013 election, tests of the electronic systems revealed significant problems. In fact, Sarah Elderkin detailed how a test of the system “had gone horribly wrong.” After one hour, only one of five mock polling stations could successfully transmit results. In this election cycle, the IEBC again plans to use an electronic system. The IEMS, mentioned above, includes results transmission. It is unclear, however, if and when the IEBC will publicly test the kits and publicly explain its plans for the kits’ dysfunction or failure. In fact, one of the most pressing unanswered questions in this cycle is related to proposed back up systems. New amendments to the electoral law allow for the use of complementary registration, identification and results transmission mechanisms, to be used in the event that the technology fails. To date, however, the election regulations only provide vague provisions about using the printed out register for voter identification in cases where voters cannot be found in the biometric list. The regulations do not clarify what, if any, complementary systems will be used in case the electronic results transmission system fails.
The lack of a clear definition of these complementary mechanisms is highly problematic, especially given Kenya’s political history and context. During mass voter registration, the IEBC used the green book in conjunction with the BVR kits. Does this mean that the green book was the complementary mechanism with regard to voter registration? Will the green book be used in addition to the printed out register to identify voters on election day?
Midway through the counting process, Kenyans watched the stream of live results freeze on television screens. Journalists based at the Bomas of Kenya, which was the national elections centre, referred to it as the Bomas screen saver.
There is one significant difference with regard to the law in the current election cycle. The High Court recently ruled that constituency level results for all elections are final and can only be appealed through a court process. The decision nullified Section 83(4) of the General Elections Regulations, which empowers the IEBC to “confirm” results before announcing them as final. The IEBC filed an appeal to the decision, with IEBC Chair Wafula Chebukati stating that constituency level officers could “make mistakes.” The IEBC’s decision to appeal has sparked some controversy, with the opposition threatening that there will be no election if the IEBC does not abandon its appeal and alleging that it means the Commission wants the power to unfairly change results. Civil society has also expressed its reservations about the appeal, suggesting that it erodes public confidence in the IEBC’s commitment to upholding the law.
Given the extreme controversy and suspicion surrounding the announcement of results in 2013 and in other past elections, the IEBC should acknowledge that there is significant public concern around the potential use of manual systems. To promote public faith, the IEBC should explain its rationale regarding the appeal. If constituency level results are erroneous, as Chebukati fears, a court process to address such problems would allow the public to see and understand the issues at hand. It would promote transparency. Surely, this option is better than a closed process in which the IEBC changes constituency results at the national tallying centre.
As it currently stands, it is unclear whether the IEBC and other stakeholders have learned from past elections. If public confidence is a priority, these stakeholders must immediately respond – at minimum – to the above public concerns in an honest and open way, remembering that it is voters who hold the power at this stage of the game, and it is voters who will ultimately decide the credibility of the election. The legitimacy of the upcoming election now hangs in the balance, but there is still time to save it…if only we are willing to learn from the past.
A Dictator’s Guide: How Museveni Wins Elections and Reproduces Power in Uganda
Caricatures aside, how do President Yoweri Museveni and the National Revolutionary Movement state reproduce power? It’s been 31 years.
Recent weeks have seen increased global media attention to Uganda following the incidents surrounding the arrest of popular musician and legislator, Bobi Wine; emblematic events that have marked the shrinking democratic space in Uganda and the growing popular struggles for political change in the country.
The spotlight is also informed by wider trends across the continent over the past few years—particularly the unanticipated fall of veteran autocrats Muammar Gaddafi in Libya, Hosni Mubarak in Egypt, Yaya Jammeh in Gambia, and most recently Robert Mugabe in Zimbabwe—which led to speculation about whether Yoweri Museveni, in power in Uganda since 1986, might be the next to exit this shrinking club of Africa’s strongmen.
Yet the Museveni state, and the immense presidential power that is its defining characteristic, has received far less attention, thus obscuring some of the issues at hand. Comprehending its dynamics requires paying attention to at-least three turning points in the National Resistance Movement’s history, which resulted in a gradual weeding-out of Museveni’s contemporaries and potential opponents from the NRM, then the mobilisation of military conflict to shore up regime legitimacy, and the policing of urban spaces to contain the increasingly frequent signals of potential revolution. Together, these dynamics crystallised presidential power in Uganda, run down key state institutions, and set the stage for the recent tensions and likely many more to come.
From the late 1990s, there has been a gradual weeding out the old guard in the NRM, which through an informal “succession queue,” had posed an internal challenge to the continuity of Museveni’s rule. It all started amidst the heated debates in the late 1990s over the reform of the then decaying Movement system; debates that pitted a younger club of reformists against an older group. The resultant split led to the exit of many critical voices from the NRM’s ranks, and began to bolster Museveni’s grip on power in a manner that was unprecedented. It also opened the lid on official corruption and the abuse of public offices.
Over the years, the purge also got rid of many political and military elites—the so-called “historicals”—many of whom shared Museveni’s sense of entitlement to political office rooted in their contribution to the 1980-1985 liberation war, and some of whom probably had an eye on his seat.
By 2005 the purge was at its peak; that year the constitutional amendment that removed presidential term limits—passed after a bribe to every legislator—saw almost all insiders that were opposed to it, summarily dismissed. As many of them joined the ranks of the opposition, Museveni’s inner circle was left with mainly sycophants whose loyalty was more hinged on patronage than anything else. Questioning the president or harboring presidential ambitions within the NRM had become tantamount to a crime.
By 2011 the process was almost complete, with the dismissal of Vice President Gilbert Bukenya, whose growing popularity among rural farmers was interpreted as a nascent presidential bid, resulting in his firing.
One man remained standing, Museveni’s long-time friend Amama Mbabazi. His friendship with Museveni had long fueled rumors that he would succeed “the big man” at some point. In 2015, however, his attempt to run against Museveni in the ruling party primaries also earned him an expulsion from both the secretary general position of the ruling party as well as the prime ministerial office.
The departure of Mbabazi marked the end of any pretensions to a succession plan within the NRM. He was unpopular, with a record tainted by corruption scandals and complicity in Museveni’s authoritarianism, but his status as a “president-in-waiting” had given the NRM at least the semblance of an institution that could survive beyond Museveni’s tenure, which his firing effectively ended.
What is left now is perhaps only the “Muhoozi project,” a supposed plan by Museveni to have his son Muhoozi Kainerugaba succeed him. Lately it has been given credence by the son’s rapid rise to commanding positions in elite sections of the Ugandan military. But with an increasingly insecure Museveni heavily reliant on familial relationships and patronage networks, even the Muhoozi project appears very unlikely. What is clear, though, is that the over time, the presidency has essentially become Museveni’s property.
Fundamental to Museveni’s personalisation of power also has been the role of military conflict, both local and regional. First was the rebellion by Joseph Kony’s Lord’s Resistance Army in northern Uganda, which over its two-decade span enabled a continuation of the military ethos of the NRM. The war’s dynamics were indeed complex, and rooted in a longer history that predated even the NRM government, but undoubtedly it provided a ready excuse for the various shades of authoritarianism that came to define Museveni’s rule.
With war ongoing in the north, any challenge to Museveni’s rule was easily constructed as a threat to the peace already secured in the rest of the country, providing an absurd logic for clamping down on political opposition. More importantly, the emergency state born of it, frequently provided a justification for the president to side-step democratic institutions and processes, while at the same time rationalising the government’s disproportionate expenditure on the military. It also fed into Museveni’s self-perception as a “freedom fighter,” buttressed the personality cult around him, and empowered him to further undermine any checks on his power.
By the late 2000s the LRA war was coming to an end—but another war had taken over its function just in time. From the early 2000s, Uganda’s participation in a regional security project in the context of the War on Terror, particularly in the Somalian conflict, rehabilitated the regime’s international image and provided cover for the narrowing political space at home, as well as facilitating a further entrenchment of Museveni’s rule.
As post-9/11 Western foreign policy began to prioritise stability over political reform, Museveni increasingly postured as the regional peacemaker, endearing himself to donors while further sweeping the calls for democratic change at home under the carpet—and earning big from it.
It is easy to overlook the impact of these military engagements, but the point is that together they accentuated the role of the military in Ugandan politics and further entrenched Museveni’s power to degrees that perhaps even the NRM’s own roots in a guerrilla movement could never have reached.
The expulsion of powerful elites from the ruling circles and the politicisation of military conflict had just started to cement Musevenism, when a new threat emerged on the horizon. It involved not the usual antagonists—gun-toting rebels or ruling party elites—but ordinary protesters. And they were challenging the NRM on an unfamiliar battleground—not in the jungles, but on the streets: the 2011 “Walk-to-Work” protests, rejecting the rising fuel and food prices, were unprecedented.
But there is another reason the protests constituted a new threat. For long the NRM had mastered the art of winning elections. The majority constituencies were rural, and allegedly strongholds of the regime. The electoral commission itself was largely answerable to Museveni. With rural constituencies in one hand and the electoral body in the other, the NRM could safely ignore the minority opposition-dominated urban constituencies. Electoral defeat thus never constituted a threat to the NRM, at least at parliamentary and presidential levels.
But now the protesters had turned the tables, and were challenging the regime immediately after one of its landslide victories. The streets could not be rigged. In a moment, they had shifted the locus of Ugandan politics from the rural to the urban, and from institutional to informal spaces. And they were picking lessons from a strange source: North Africa. There, where Museveni’s old friend Gaddafi, among others, was facing a sudden exit under pressure from similar struggles. Things could quickly get out of hand. A strategic response was urgent.
The regime went into overdrive. The 2011 protests were snuffed out, and from then, the policing of urban spaces became central to the logic and working of the Museveni state. Draconian laws on public assembly and free speech came into effect, enacted by a rubber-stamp parliament that was already firmly in Museveni’s hands. Police partnered with criminal gangs, notably the Boda Boda 2010, to curb what was called “public disorder”—really the official name for peaceful protest. As police’s mandate expanded to include the pursuit of regime critics, its budget ballooned, and its chief, General Kale Kayihura, became the most powerful person after Museveni—before his recent dismissal.
For a while, the regime seemed triumphant. Organising and protest became virtually impossible, as urban areas came under 24/7 surveillance. Moreover, key state institutions—the parliament, electoral commission, judiciary, military and now the police—were all in the service of the NRM, and all voices of dissent had been effectively silenced. In time, the constitution would be amended again, by the NRM-dominated house, this time to remove the presidential age limit—the last obstacle to Museveni’s life presidency—followed by a new tax on social media, to curb “gossip.” Museveni was now truly invincible. Or so it seemed.
But the dreams of “walk-to-work”—the nightmare for the Museveni state—had never really disappeared, and behind the tightly-patrolled streets always lay the simmering quest for change. That is how we arrived at the present moment, with a popstar representing the widespread aspiration for better government, and a seemingly all-powerful president suddenly struggling for legitimacy. Whatever direction the current popular struggles ultimately take, what is certain is that they are learning well from history, and are a harbinger of many more to come.
The Enduring Blind Spots of America’s Africa Policy
America should move way from making the military the face of its engagement with Africa and instead invest in deepening democracy as a principled approach rather than a convenient choice.
While Donald Trump’s administration completely neglected America-Africa relations, the blind spots bedeviling America’s Africa policy preceded his 2016 election. Correcting the systemic flaws of the past 30 years will require a complete rethink after the controversial President’s departure.
To remedy America’s Africa policy, President Joseph Biden’s administration should pivot away from counterterrorism to supporting democratic governance as a principal rather than as mere convenience, and cooperate with China on climate change, peace, and security on the continent.
America’s Africa policy
America’s post-Cold War Africa policy has had three distinct and discernible phases. The first phase was an expansionist outlook undergirded by humanitarian intervention. The second was nonintervention, a stance triggered by the experience of the first phase. The third is the use of “smart” military interventions using military allies.
The turning point for the first phase was in 1989 when a victorious America pursued an expansive foreign policy approach predicated on humanitarian intervention. Somalia became the first African test case of this policy when, in 1992, America sent almost 30,000 troops to support Operation Restore Hope’s humanitarian mission which took place against the background of the collapse of the Somalia government in 1991.
On 3-4 October 1993, during the Battle of Mogadishu, 18 US servicemen were killed in a fight with warlords who controlled Mogadishu then, and the bodies of the marines dragged through the streets of Mogadishu. The media coverage increased pressure on the politicians and six months later America withdrew from Somalia — a case of the New World Order meeting the harsh reality of civil conflict.
The chastening experience resulted in America scaling back its involvement in internal conflicts in far-flung places. The result was the emergence of the second phase — non-engagement when Rwanda’s Genocide erupted in 1994 and almost a million people died in 100 days revealed the limitations of over-correcting the Somalia experience. This “non-interference” phase lasted until the twin Nairobi and Dar es Salaam US embassy bombings by Al Qaeda in 1998.
This gave way to the third phase with the realisation that the new threat to America was no longer primarily from state actors, but from transnational non-state actors using failing states as safe havens. The 2002 National Security Strategy states: “the events of September 11, 2001, taught us that weak states . . . can pose as a great danger to our national interests as strong states.”
Counterterrorism training and equipping of African militaries is the central plank of this new security policy. As a result, counterterrorism funding has skyrocketed as has America’s military footprint in Africa. As a result, Africa has become the theatre in which the Global forever War on Terror is fought.
The counterterrorism traps
The reflexive reaction to the events of September 11 2001 spawned an interlocking web of covert and overt military and non-military operations. These efforts, initially deemed necessary and temporary, have since morphed into a self-sustaining system complete with agencies, institutions and a specialised lingo that pervades every realm of America’s engagement with Africa.
The United States Africa Command (Africom) is the vehicle of America’s engagement with the continent. Counterterrorism blurred the line between security, development, and humanitarian assistance with a host of implications including unrelenting militarisation which America’s policy establishment embraced uncritically as the sine qua non of America’s diplomacy, their obvious flaws notwithstanding. The securitisation of problems became self-fulfilling and self-sustaining.
The embrace of counterterrorism could not have come at a worse time for Africa’s efforts at democratization. In many African countries, political and military elites have now developed a predictable rule-based compact governing accession to power via elections rather than the coups of the past.
“Smart” African leaders exploited the securitised approach in two main ways: closing the political space and criminalising dissent as “terrorism” and as a source of free money. In Ethiopia, Yonatan Tesfaye, a former spokesman of the Semayawi (Blue) Party, was detained in December 2015 on charges under Article 4 of Ethiopia’s Anti-Terrorism Proclamation ((EATP), arguably one of the the country’s most severe pieces of legislation. But Ethiopia has received millions of dollars from the United States.
The Department of Defense hardly says anything in public but gives out plenty of money without asking questions about human rights and good governance. Being a counterterrorism hub has become insurance policy against any form of criticism regardless of state malfeasance.
Egypt is one such hub. According to the Congressional Research Service, for the 2021 financial year, the Trump Administration has requested a total of US$1.4 billion in bilateral assistance for Egypt, which Congress approved in 2018 and 2019. Nearly all US funding for Egypt comes from the Foreign Military Finance (FMF) account and is in turn used to purchase military equipment of US origin, spare parts, training, and maintenance from US firms.
Another country that is a counterterrorism hub in the Horn of Africa is Ethiopia. For the few months they were in charge, the Union of Islamic Courts (ICU) brought order and stability to the country. Although they were linked to only a few of Mogadishu’s local courts, on 24 December 2006, Ethiopia’s military intervened in Somalia to contain the rise of Al Shabaab’s political and military influence.
The ouster of the ICU by Ethiopia aggravated the deep historical enmity between Somalia and Ethiopia, something Al Shabaab — initially the youth wing of the ICU — subsequently exploited through a mix of Somali nationalism, Islamist ideology, and Western anti-imperialism. Al Shabaab presented themselves as the vanguard against Ethiopia and other external aggressors, providing the group with an opportunity to translate their rhetoric into action.
Ethiopia’s intervention in Somalia could not have taken place without America’s blessing. The intervention took place three weeks after General John Abizaid, the commander of US forces from the Middle East to Afghanistan, met with the then Ethiopian Prime Minister Meles Zenawi. The intervention generated a vicious self-sustaining loop. Ethiopians are in Somalia because of Al Shabaab, and Al Shabaab says they will continue fighting as long as foreign troops are inside Somalia.
America has rewarded Ethiopia handsomely for its role as the Horn of Africa’s policeman. In both Ethiopia’s and Egypt’s case, on the score of human rights and good governance, the net losers are the citizens.
In keeping with the War on Terror being for forever, and despite departing Somalia in 1993, America outsourced a massive chunk of the fight against Al Shabaab to Ethiopia primarily, and later, to AMISOM. America is still engaged in Somalia where it has approximately 800 troops, including special forces that help train Somalia’s army to fight against Al Shabaab.
America carried out its first drone strike in Somalia in 2011 during President Barack Obama’s tenure. Under the Trump administration, however, the US has dramatically increased the frequency of drone attacks and loosened the oversight required to approve strike targets in Somalia. In March 2017, President Trump secretly designated parts of Somalia “areas of active hostilities”, meaning that the high-level inter-agency vetting of proposed strikes and the need to demonstrate with near certainty that civilians would not be injured or killed no longer applied. Last year, the US acknowledged conducting 63 airstrikes in the country, and in late August last year, the US admitted that it had carried out 46 strikes in 2020.
A lack of transparency regarding civilian casualties and the absence of empirical evidence that the strikes lead to a reduction in terrorism in Somalia suggest that expanding to Kenya would be ill-advised. The US has only acknowledged having caused civilian casualties in Somalia three times. Between 2016 and 2019, AFRICOM failed to conduct a single interview with civilian witnesses of its airstrikes in Somalia.
Despite this level of engagement, defeating Al Shabaab remains a remote possibility.
Containing the Chinese takeover
The Trump Administration did not have an Africa policy. The closest approximation of a policy during Trump’s tenure was stated in a speech delivered by John Bolton at a Conservative think tank decrying China’s nefarious activities in Africa. Even with a policy, where the counterterrorism framework views Africa as a problem to be solved by military means, the containing China policy views African countries as lacking the agency to act in their own interests. The problem with this argument is that it is patronising; Africans cannot decide what is right for them.
Over the last decades, while America was busy creating the interlocking counterterrorism infrastructure in Africa, China was building large-scale infrastructure across the continent. Where America sees Africa as a problem to be solved, China sees Africa as an opportunity to be seized.
Almost two years into the Trump administration, there were no US ambassadors deployed in 20 of Africa’s 54 countries even while America was maintaining a network of 29 military bases. By comparison China, has 50 embassies spread across Africa.
For three consecutive years America’s administration has proposed deep and disproportionate cuts to diplomacy and development while China has doubled its foreign affairs budget since 2011. In 2018, China increased its funding for diplomacy by nearly 16 per cent and its funding for foreign aid by almost 7 per cent.
As a show of how engagement with Africa is low on the list of US priorities, Trump appointed a luxury handbag designer as America’s ambassador to South Africa on 14 November 2018. Kenya’s ambassador is a political appointee who, when he is not sparring with Kenyans on Twitter, is supporting a discredited coal mining project.
The US anti-China arguments emphasize that China does not believe in human rights and good governance, and that China’s funding of large infrastructure projects is essentially debt-trap diplomacy. The anti-China rhetoric coming from American officials is not driven by altruism but by the realisation that they have fallen behind China in Africa.
By the middle of this century Africa’s population is expected to double to roughly two billion. Nigeria will become the second most populous country globally by 2100, behind only India. The 24-country African Continental Free Trade Agreement (AfCFTA) entered into force on 30 May 2019. AfCFTA will ultimately bring together all 55 member states of the African Union covering a market of more than 1.2 billion people — including a growing middle class — and a combined gross domestic product (GDP) of more than US$3.4 trillion.
While Chinese infrastructure projects grab the headlines, China has moved into diversifying its engagement with Africa. The country has increased its investments in Africa by more than 520 per cent over the last 15 years, surpassing the US as the largest trading partner for Africa in 2009 and becoming the top exporter to 19 out of 48 countries in sub-Saharan Africa.
Some of the legacy Chinese investments have come at a steep environmental price and with an unsustainable debt. Kenya’s Standard Gauge Railway is bleeding money and is economically unviable.
A fresh start
Supporting democratic governance and learning to cooperate with China are two areas that will make America part of Africa’s future rather than its past.
America should pivot way from making the military the most visible face of its engagement with Africa and instead invest in deepening democracy as a principled approach rather than a convenient choice.
Despite the elegy about its retreat in Africa, democracy enjoys tremendous support. According to an Afro barometer poll, almost 70 per cent of Africans say democracy is their preferred form of government. Large majorities also reject alternative authoritarian regimes such as presidential dictatorships, military rule, and one-party governments. Democracy, while still fledgling, remains a positive trend; since 2015, there have been 34 peaceful transfers of power.
However, such positive metrics go hand in hand with a worrying inclination by presidents to change constitutions to extend their terms in office. Since 2015, leaders of 13 countries have evaded or overseen the weakening of term limit restrictions that had been in place. Democracy might be less sexy, but ignoring it is perilous. There are no apps or switches to flip to arrest this slide. It requires hard work that America is well equipped to support but has chosen not to in a range of countries in recent years There is a difference between interfering in the internal affairs of a country and complete abdication or (in some cases) supporting leaders who engage in activities that are inimical to deepening democracy.
The damage wrought by the Trump presidency and neo-liberal counterterrorism policies will take time to undo, but symbolic efforts can go a long way to bridging the gap.
America must also contend with China being an indispensable player in Africa and learn to cooperate rather than compete in order to achieve optimal outcomes.
China has 2,458 military and police personnel serving in eight missions around the globe, far more than the combined contribution of personnel by the other four permanent members of the UN Security Council, Russia, the US, France and Britain. China had more than 2,400 Chinese troops take part in seven UN peacekeeping missions across the continent — most notably in Mali and South Sudan. Of the 14 current UN peacekeeping missions, seven are in Africa, consuming two-thirds of the budget.
Climate change and conflict resolution provide opportunities for cooperation. Disproportionate reliance on rain-fed agriculture and low adaptation to the adverse impact of climate change make Africa vulnerable to the damaging effects of climate change, the consequences of which will transcend Africa. Through a combination of research, development, technological transfer and multilateral investment, America and China could stave off the impact of climate change in Africa.
Hijacking Kenya’s Health Spending: Companies Linked to Powerful MP Received Suspicious Procurement Contracts
Two obscure companies linked to Kitui South MP Rachael Kaki Nyamai were paid at least KSh24.2 million to deliver medical supplies under single-source agreements at the time the MP was chair of the National Assembly’s Health Committee.
Two obscure companies linked to Kitui South MP Rachael Kaki Nyamai were paid at least KSh24.2 million to deliver medical supplies under single-source agreements at the time the MP was chair of the National Assembly’s Health Committee, an investigation by Africa Uncensored and The Elephant has uncovered.
One of the companies was also awarded a mysterious Ksh 4.3 billion agreement to supply 8 million bottles of hand sanitizer, according to the government’s procurement system.
The contracts were awarded in 2015 as authorities moved to contain the threat from the Ebola outbreak that was ravaging West Africa and threatening to spread across the continent as well as from flooding related to the El-Nino weather phenomenon.
The investigation found that between 2014 and 2016, the Ministry of Health handed out hundreds of questionable non-compete tenders related to impending disasters, with a total value of KSh176 billion including three no-bid contracts to two firms, Tira Southshore Holdings Limited and Ameken Minewest Company Limited, linked to Mrs Nyamai, whose committee oversaw the ministry’s funding – a clear conflict of interest.
Although authorities have since scrutinized some of the suspicious contracts and misappropriated health funds, the investigation revealed a handful of contracts that were not made public, nor questioned by the health committee.
Mrs Nyamai declined to comment for the story.
Nyamai has been accused by fellow members of parliament of thwarting an investigation of a separate alleged fraud. In 2016, a leaked internal audit report accused the Ministry of Health — colloquially referred to for its location at Afya House — of misappropriating funds in excess of nearly $60 million during the 2015/2016 financial year. Media stories described unauthorized suppliers, fraudulent transactions, and duplicate payments, citing the leaked document.
Members of the National Assembly’s Health Committee threatened to investigate by bringing the suppliers in for questioning, and then accused Nyamai, the committee chairperson, of blocking their probe. Members of the committee signed a petition calling for the removal of Nyamai and her deputy, but the petition reportedly went missing. Nyamai now heads the National Assembly’s Committee on Lands.
Transactions for companies owned by Mrs Nyamai’s relatives were among 25,727 leaked procurement records reviewed by reporters from Africa Uncensored, Finance Uncovered, The Elephant, and OCCRP. The data includes transactions by eight government agencies between August 2014 and January 2018, and reveals both questionable contracts as well as problems that continue to plague the government’s accounting tool, IFMIS.
The Integrated Financial Management Information System was adopted to improve efficiency and accountability. Instead, it has been used to fast-track corruption.
Hand sanitizer was an important tool in fighting transmission of Ebola, according to a WHO health expert. In one transaction, the Ministry of Health paid Sh5.4 million for “the supply of Ebola reagents for hand sanitizer” to a company owned by a niece of the MP who chaired the parliamentary health committee. However, it’s unclear what Ebola reagents, which are meant for Ebola testing, have to do with hand sanitizer. Kenya’s Ministry of Health made 84 other transactions to various vendors during this period, earmarked specifically for Ebola-related spending. These included:
- Public awareness campaigns and adverts paid to print, radio and tv media platforms, totalling at least KSh122 million.
- Printed materials totalling at least KSh214 million for Ebola prevention and information posters, contact tracing forms, technical guideline and point-of-entry forms, brochures and decision charts, etc. Most of the payments were made to six obscure companies.
- Ebola-related pharmaceutical and non-pharmaceutical supplies, including hand sanitizer
- Ebola-related conferences, catering, and travel expenses
- At least KSh15 millions paid to a single vendor for isolation beds
Hacking the System
Tira Southshore Holdings Limited and Ameken Minewest Company Limited, appear to have no history of dealing in hygiene or medical supplies. Yet they were awarded three blanket purchase agreements, which are usually reserved for trusted vendors who provide recurring supplies such as newspapers and tea, or services such as office cleaning.
“A blanket agreement is something which should be exceptional, in my view,” says former Auditor-General, Edward Ouko.
But the leaked data show more than 2,000 such agreements, marked as approved by the heads of procurement in various ministries. About KSh176 billion (about $1.7 billion) was committed under such contracts over 42 months.
“Any other method of procurement, there must be competition. And in this one there is no competition,” explained a procurement officer, who spoke generally about blanket purchase agreements on background. “You have avoided sourcing.”
The Ministry of Health did not respond to detailed questions, while Mrs Nyamai declined to comment on the contracts in question.
Procurement experts say blanket purchase agreements are used in Kenya to short-circuit the competitive process. A ministry’s head of procurement can request authority from the National Treasury to create blanket agreements for certain vendors. Those companies can then be asked by procurement employees to deliver supplies and services without competing for a tender.
Once in the system, these single-source contracts are prone to corruption, as orders and payments can simply be made without the detailed documentation required under standard procurements. With limited time and resources, government auditors say they struggle especially with reconciling purchases made under blanket agreements.
The agreements were almost always followed by standard purchase orders that indicated the same vendor and the same amount which is unusual and raises fears of duplication. Some of these transactions were generated days or weeks after the blanket agreements, many with missing or mismatched explanations. It’s unclear whether any of these actually constituted duplicate payments.
For example, the leaked data show two transactions for Ameken Minewest for Sh6.9 million each — a blanket purchase order for El Nino mitigation supplies and a standard order for the supply of chlorine tablets eight days later. Tira Southshore also had two transactions of Sh12 million each — a blanket purchase for the “supply of lab reagents for cholera,” and six days later a standard order for the supply of chlorine powder.
Auditors say both the amounts and the timing of such payments are suspicious because blanket agreements should be paid in installments.
“It could well be a duplicate, using the same information, to get through the process. Because you make a blanket [agreement], then the intention is to do duplicates, so that it can pass through the cash payee phase several times without delivering more,” said Ouko upon reviewing some of the transactions for Tira Southshore. This weakness makes the IFMIS system prone to abuse, he added.
In addition, a KSh4 billion contract for hand sanitizer between the Health Ministry’s Preventive and Promotive Health Department and Tira Southshore was approved as a blanket purchase agreement in April 2015. The following month, a standard purchase order was generated for the same amount but without a description of services — this transaction is marked in the system as incomplete. A third transaction — this one for 0 shillings — was generated 10 days later by the same procurement employee, using the original order description: “please supply hand sanitizers 5oomls as per contract Moh/dpphs/dsru/008/14-15-MTC/17/14-15(min.no.6).
Reporters were unable to confirm whether KSh4 billion was paid by the ministry. The leaked data doesn’t include payment disbursement details, and the MOH has not responded to requests for information.
“I can assure you there’s no 4 billion, not even 1 billion. Not even 10 million that I have ever done, that has ever gone through Tira’s account, through that bank account,” said the co-owner of the company, Abigael Mukeli. She insisted that Tira Southshore never had a contract to deliver hand sanitizer, but declined to answer specific questions. It is unclear how a company without a contract would appear as a vendor in IFMIS, alongside contract details.
It is possible that payments could end up in bank accounts other than the ones associated with the supplier. That is because IFMIS also allowed for the creation of duplicate suppliers, according to a 2016 audit of the procurement system. That audit found almost 50 cases of duplication of the same vendor.
“Presence of active duplicate supplier master records increases the possibility of potential duplicate payments, misuse of bank account information, [and] reconciliation issues,” the auditors warned.
They also found such blatant security vulnerabilities as ghost and duplicate login IDs, deactivated requirements for password resets, and remote access for some procurement employees.
IFMIS was promoted as a solution for a faster procurement process and more transparent management of public funds. But the way the system was installed and used in Kenya compromised its extolled safeguards, according to auditors.
“There is a human element in the system,” said Ouko. “So if the human element is also not working as expected then the system cannot be perfect.”
The former head of the internal audit unit at the health ministry, Bernard Muchere, confirmed in an interview that IFMIS can be manipulated.
Masking the Setup
Ms Mukeli, the co-owner of Tira Southshore and Ameken Minewest, is the niece of Mrs Nyamai, according to local sources and social media investigation, although she denied the relationship to reporters. According to her LinkedIn profile, Ms Mukeli works at Kenya Medical Supplies Agency, a medical logistics agency under the Ministry of Health, now embroiled in a COVID procurement scandal.
Ms Mukeli’s mother, who is the MP’s elder sister, co-owns Icpher Consultants Company Ltd., which shares a post office box with Tira Southshore and Mematira Holdings Limited, which was opened in 2018, is co-owned by Mrs Nyamai’s husband and daughter, and is currently the majority shareholder of Ameken Minewest. Documents also show that a company called Icpher Consultants was originally registered to the MP, who was listed as the beneficial owner.
Co-owner of Tira Southshore Holdings Limited, Abigael Mukeli, described the company to reporters as a health consulting firm. However Tira Southshore also holds an active exploration license for the industrial mining in a 27-square-kilometer area in Kitui County, including in the restricted South Kitui National Reserve. According to government records, the application for mining limestone in Mutomo sub-county — Nyamai’s hometown — was initiated in 2015 and granted in 2018.
Mukeli is also a minority owner of Ameken Minewest Company Limited, which also holds an active mining license in Mutomo sub-county of Kitui, in an area covering 135.5 square kilometers. Government records show that the application for the mining of limestone, magnesite, and manganese was initiated in 2015 and granted in 2018. Two weeks after the license was granted, Mematira Holdings Limited was incorporated, with Nyamai’s husband and daughter as directors. Today, Mematira Holdings is the majority shareholder of Ameken Minewest, which is now in the process of obtaining another mining license in Kitui County.
According to public documents, Ameken also dabbles in road works and the transport of liquefied petroleum gas. And it’s been named by the Directorate of Criminal Investigations in a fuel fraud scheme.
Yet another company, Wet Blue Proprietors Logistics Ltd., shares a phone number with Tira Southshore and another post office box with Icpher Consultants Company Ltd., according to a Kenya National Highway Authority list of pre-qualified vendors.
Mrs Nyamai and her husband co-own Wet Blue. The consulting company was opened in 2010, the same year that the lawmaker completed her PhD work in HIV/AIDS education in Denmark.
Wet Blue was licenced in 2014 as a dam contractor and supplier of water, sewerage, irrigation and electromechanical works. It’s also listed by KENHA as a vetted consultant for HIV/AIDS mitigation services, together with Icpher Consultants.
It is unclear why these companies are qualified to deliver all these services simultaneously.
“Shell companies receiving contracts in the public sector in Kenya have enabled corruption, fraud and tax evasion in the country. They are literally special purpose vehicles to conduct ‘heists’ and with no track record to deliver the public goods, works or services procured,” said Sheila Masinde, executive director of Transparency International-Kenya.
Both MOH and Ms Mukeli refused to confirm whether the ordered supplies were delivered.
Mrs Nyamai also co-owns Ameken Petroleum Limited together with Alfred Agoi Masadia and Allan Sila Kithome.
Mr Agoi is an ANC Party MP for Sabatia Constituency in Vihiga County, and was on the same Health Committee as Mrs Nyamai, a Jubilee Party legislator. Mr Sila is a philanthropist who is campaigning for the Kitui County senate seat in the 2022 election.
Juliet Atellah at The Elephant and Finance Uncovered in the UK contributed reporting.
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