Deputy President Kithure Kindiki hosted Isiolo County Governor Abdi Ibrahim Guyo and Woman Representative Mumina Bonaya at the Official Residence in Karen in November 2024, where he attempted to convince the two to bridge their differences, seemingly without much success. [Photo: Courtesy]
By Adan Mohamed
Politics, at its core, is a game of strategy, influence, and, at times, deceit. Nowhere was this more evident than in last week’s failed impeachment proceedings against Governor Abdi Ibrahim Guyo of Isiolo County. When the storm first brewed, many believed the Senate would merely rubber-stamp the process, a formality before the final blow.
Yet, in an ironic twist of fate, those who sharpened the axe found themselves ensnared by their own trap. During her impassioned contribution to the preliminary proceedings in the Senate, Senator Fatuma Dulo revealed more than she perhaps intended.
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Her insinuation that the Senate was thirsting for the Governor’s political blood before the matter formally reached the floor was a telling confession. Beneath her words lay the outline of a plan, one that sought to exploit the Senate’s supposed fury for personal and factional gain.
Rather than the sokohuru influence she alluded to, it was the facts and figures, laid bare through rigorous scrutiny, that turned the tables and exposed the rotten underbelly of this political scheme. Fuelled by the mistaken belief that the Senate’s anger would do the heavy lifting, local power brokers, Members of the County Assembly (MCAs), and the Speaker rushed to play their assigned roles as directed by the Senator.
They fabricated evidence, conjured forgeries, and drove the process forward at breakneck speed, hoping to catch everyone off guard. After all, they believed the Senate was primed to deliver the decisive blow. But politics, much like a poorly rigged game, is prone to backfire when its players become too arrogant. Senator Dulo’s bitterness on the Senate floor was more than just political theatre; it was a lament for a plan gone awry.
Her tears and her haunting warning that “the sky will fall on Isiolo” were not prophecies of the county’s doom but an admission that the sky had indeed fallen on her ambitions and clandestine machinations. The Senate, contrary to her expectations, did not bend to emotional blackmail or political puppetry. It paused, scrutinised, and saw through the mirage. Now, the spell is broken.
The MCAs, once swayed by false promises and external financiers, will not be so easily convinced again. The financiers from neighbouring regions, who once poured millions into toppling the Governor, now see that their investment has yielded nothing but political ruin and public embarrassment.
The axis that once thrived on deceit, forgeries, and backroom deals now stands exposed. This saga is not just about the survival of Governor Abdi Ibrahim Guyo; it is a cautionary tale for all who believe that power can be secured through manipulation and shortcuts. In the end, the people of Isiolo deserve governance anchored in truth, not in vendettas masked as oversight.
As the curtain falls on this chapter, it carries a clear message: witch-hunts and political conspiracies are no match for accountability and vigilance. The end of this road marks the beginning of a new dawn, one where public trust is not held hostage by the ambitions of a few, but safeguarded by the courage to say: enough.
