In a broken system, Ojwang's father proved what true leadership means

Activists protest outside City Mortuary, Mbagathi Way, demanding justice for Albert Ojwang, who died in police custody. June 9, 2025. [Jonah Onyango, Standard]

Social media influencer and teacher Albert Ojwang' was unknown. But in his death, he has revealed much. He has exposed a system that kills, steals, and destroys—one that abducts, murders, and then covers it up. Corruption in Kenya is no longer a hidden thief. It is a wild animal. It no longer simply lies—it kills. Corruption is not just in power—it has declared war on integrity.

It does not merely want to govern—it wants to be the only reality. In its wildness, corruption has sharpened its claws. And it is especially ruthless to anyone who dares pull down its mask and name it. Its mantra is clear: “Kill first, lie later.” In the case of Ojwang’, the lies were too thin. They failed to cover the killing. The killing was coordinated, but the lying was disjointed. The lies contradict each other—a tragic comedy of lies lying to the liars. But what else can lies do? Lies can only lie.

Lies are being aggressively promoted as Kenya’s new national language. Truth is being decommissioned, discredited, and discarded. The father of lies—the one whose native tongue is falsehood—is on a full-blown campaign. He is pouring in millions, building language hubs across the land. Everywhere, there are incentives to speak his dialect—bribes to abandon the truth.

But not all fathers are signing up for the classes. Ojwang’s father speaks another language—the language of love. In a time of widespread silence and apathy, he has shown a rare love for his grown son—a love so deep, it teaches the nation a new vocabulary of fatherhood. He has reminded us: not even scaring Subarus should come between a father and his son.

A man hardened by life—a father who raised his son breaking stones—broke down.
He caved in and wept for his son. In a world that teaches fathers to withdraw, to leave grown sons to carry their crosses, Ojwang's father reversed that lesson. He taught us that there are moments—sacred moments—when sons still need their fathers. And when that moment came, Ojwang’s father showed up. He stood beside his son’s memory with a love that did not flinch, a grief that did not hide, and a presence that spoke louder than a thousand speeches.

What young people long to see in the high places of power has been embodied—not by the polished and powerful—but by a man who worked in a quarry. Those in power want us to look up to them for the philosophy of life. But as lies would have it, they are blinded to the truth: that those they demean are, in fact, the moral capital of this nation. When Gen Z thinks of Kenya, they think of a spirit like Ojwang’s father—a man crushed by grief but strong enough to stand for his son. If our leaders allowed themselves to have a heart, we would have a country. But we are peaceless because our leaders are heartless.

Young people do not take to the streets because they want to. It is too risky. They risk their lives because they can no longer stomach watching leaders stuff their distended, bottomless bellies with greed. And greed is not an orphan. Greed has selfishness for a father, and lies as a firstborn brother.
Where lies abound, oppression is always close by. And when oppression matures, it graduates into violence—a violence that knows no innocence, where even children and youth become collateral, sacrificed to keep lies in power.

Ojwang’ is now dead—a victim of the killing machine that sustains falsehood. With him, the machine has killed his father’s hope. The bloodthirsty machine feels nothing.
The cries of the weak mean nothing—they are music to the devil’s ears. And just when you think the powerful will attend to the cries of the poor, they multiply them. Pharaoism is real—they let the people go, only to chase them down again, to return them to captivity.

Public relations may say otherwise, but the writing on Kenya’s national noticeboard is clear: the government is at war with its young people. But Ojwang’s father embodies a different kind of relationship—a bond that not even Subarus could put asunder. He followed the Subarus—even by bus! Love travels faster than suppression. Love runs red lights. Love breaks protocols. Love shows up.

When Ojwang’s father showed up for his son, the nation showed up with him. He stole the heart of Kenyans—they have refused to see him weep alone. A quarry worker dismissed by the powers as too poor to cause any ripple is now being fathered by young people who say Ojwang’s life must count.

Even the devil has blind spots. He did not see Ojwang’, hewn from the quarry, as a stone in David’s sling. They called him poor—until his friends arrived, and it turned out his friends were the entire nation. They dismissed him as a mere quarry worker—until it was clear he was also a quarry owner: a man from whose life many have been shaped.

More than stones are hewn from a quarry. Sacrifice is shaped there. So is love.
Ojwang’s father has reminded all that from the dust of minimised places can rise a moral compass for the whole nation.

In a world of deadbeat leadership, Ojwang’s father stood tall. In a country where the government exploits, he became the embodiment of the leadership that young people long for: A leadership that shows up. That weep. That walks alongside. That protects rather than persecutes. That builds rather than breaks. That sacrifices instead of suppresses. A government with a heart.

If the current government were distilled into a father figure, what kind of father would it be?
A father who thrives on threats. That suppresses imagination. That turns ambition into a crime. That listens only to be obeyed, not to understand. This is a system allergic to critique. It brags about youth talent on international platforms, but brutalizes them back home. Exhibits are displayed abroad, but discarded locally.

Kenya is a needy country—we cannot afford the luxury of exclusion. We need every thinking mind, every brave heart, every dreaming spirit. Yet the state prefers stones of silence to building blocks of thought. The lies spun by the state around his case could fill his grave and even pile a mound. What a shame when intelligence arms become deception hubs!