Yong Kenyans protest on Kenyatta Avenue in Nairobi on June 25, 2024.
This week, the world turned red for Valentine’s Day. Across Kenyan towns and cities, people were adorned in scarlet outfits, carrying bouquets, and exchanging chocolates and cards with friends, family, and romantic partners.
But as we celebrated love for one another, I found myself also reflecting on a love that matters profoundly right now - love for country.
Since independence in 1963, we have professed our patriotism proudly. We sing the national anthem with conviction, wave our flags at sporting events, and celebrate our heritage through song, dance, and the ever-present Kenya bracelets. And so often we refer to our country as “the Motherland”.
But what does true love for country actually look like? In other words, what wouldn’t we do for our mother?
Our ancestors knew the answer. The heroines and heroes of our past loved Kenya deeply — so much so that they risked everything to fight for it. First against colonial rule, then against corrupt regimes that sought to strangle democracy.
They stood up to power, faced imprisonment, exile, and even death, because they believed that true patriotism means demanding better for the nation and its people.
Their sacrifices bore fruit, such that, for example, in 2002 following the election of President Mwai Kibaki the Gallup International ranked Kenya the most optimistic country in the world. For a moment, it felt like democracy had finally arrived.
There was a shared belief — among both leaders and citizens — that Kenya could become a place of progress, integrity, and opportunity. The economy flourished. And then, something changed. Where did the love go?
Today, our country faces staggering economic inequality, with a Gini coefficient of 0.44 — which is a warning sign of income inequality and a sizable gap between the rich and poor. Our youth, some of the most educated on the continent, struggle to find meaningful employment.
Our national debt has skyrocketed to 70 per cent of GDP, mortgaging the future of generations to come.
Faced with failing public institutions, many of us retreat into private solutions forgetting that a country cannot thrive if only a fraction of its people can afford a safety net.
It’s easy to place all the blame on the government — and it certainly has much to answer for. But as citizens, we, too, have played a role in the erosion of our public institutions and democracy.
Through the leaders we elect, the values we normalise, and the silence we keep when we should be speaking out. Yet, deep down, we know the cost of poor leadership. We feel its weight every day.
Inspired by the nurturing essence of “Mother” in Motherland, I envision a Kenya that uplifts all citizens, not just a privileged few.
Recognising that our collective prosperity hinges on addressing systemic issues such as inequality, unemployment, and debt, we must strive to create an environment where everyone can thrive.
By fostering inclusive growth and strengthening public institutions, we can transform our nation into a nurturing space, ensuring every individual has access to the opportunities and resources necessary for success.
Last year, something extraordinary happened. Kenyans — especially the youth — began reclaiming their voice. Across social media, in homes, in classrooms, in bars, in clubs — political discourse dominated. A new fire was lit, an awakening fuelled by frustration but grounded in a deep love for Kenya.
The 2010 Constitution is back in focus, as citizens recognise the urgent need to protect our democratic institutions.
Twenty-three years after the hope of 2002, we find ourselves at a crossroads. How do we we rekindle the love for country in the way our forebears did — not just through words, but through action?
I always remember how deeply my mother, Wangari Maathai, loved Kenya. She saw the devastation of soil erosion and literally felt the anguish of losing precious top soil. But she didn’t stop at grief — she fought. She planted trees. She took on powerful forces. She refused to be a spectator.
Love for country is active. It means thinking beyond ourselves and working to uplift others. It means moving away from personality politics and centering real issues. It means demanding accountability from our leaders and from ourselves.
Today, I feel more hope, more faith, and more determination than ever before. On this Valentine’s week, as love fills the air, Kenyans are declaring their love for Kenya — Kenya Ni Home!
In this rapidly shifting world around us, find every reason to fall in love with home.
We are the fortunate ones, born on the equator, kissed by the sun, and blessed with the beauty of diversity and the bounty of resources. We have the power to reshape our future and create a nation that works for all — ourselves, our children, and generations to come. Happy Valentine’s Day!
Wanjira Mathai is the MD for Africa & Global Partnerships at the World Resources Institute and Chair of the Wangari Maathai Foundation.
