Smoked promises: Kenyans gave up waiting for white smoke to rise

Heartbreaking news just in—white smoke has been delayed due to hostile weather inside the 1963 Chapel. Reports now indicate that the debate is no longer even about the smoke, it’s about the chimney construction. The sacred fire ritual has been hijacked — the leaders were dealers!

Now they fight over who supplies the bricks. Cement brokers are the loudest voices in the conclave.

The bad news? They have no sense of the sacred. White smoke is a long way from coming, even five years is too ambitious.  The cardinals have inhaled something so toxic it has erased all memory of the people — they do not even recognise Mama Mboga still waiting for white smoke in the Hope Square.

When promises pile up, they ferment into lies. Just as geological time compresses stones into strata, so too does political time harden every unkept promise into deception. The system has mastered the art of pledges but these promises have become its sin. In the liturgy of power, it is the duty of the lead cardinal to deliver white smoke, for smoke belongs to the square.

It is not enough that smoke rises within the conclave; it must reach the waiting eyes of the people. White smoke signals good news — it heralds a father, a shepherd.

Power hunters never deliver white smoke, a cardinal does. Yet Kenya’s presidency has been hijacked by dealers, not fathers. A dealer does not care for the square — only the score. True leadership is fatherhood — not brokerage.

White smoke is not wished, it is earned, shaped, calibrated. Delivering it takes a sacred formula that Kenya’s surface religiosity cannot crack.

Kenyans crane their necks toward the chimney. They await the papal window, but all they get are sunroof performances.

Smoked church

When the Church stepped into the arena of power, it announced the white smoke had arrived, imagine a land ruled by tongue-speaking saints! They were given a pass to walk about the State House to bind and loose dynasty spirits. What greater good news sign do you seek!

But months later, white smoke is yet to be seen. Hustlers needed exorcism too! The smoke that has risen has only blurred vision and induced tears. The church, once poised to be a moral compass, is now coughing in disrepute.

Dazed, it gropes for its role in the power conversation. It is a see-saw—today it is triumphant, tomorrow it is conflicted.

But what, really, does it mean for the church to win? To some, winning means seducing the politicians.

To others, it means resisting them. For one camp, the rallying cry is: “It is our time to eat.” For another, the haunting question is: “How do we vomit what we’ve already swallowed?”

The divide is deep: between independent churches that return to their pulpits in retreat and dependent churches that rent them out in pursuit of political favor. Yet each camp insists—it is white smoke.

Broad crack

Then came the broad base. The fresh excited cardinals were to light a new fire and, within months, white smoke would rise, transforming Kenya forever. Now we see the broad-basers growing heavier, well-fed within the conclave.

What’s shocking is how these fresh injections now viciously protect what they so passionately protested just months ago. Some will smoke has clouded their vision.

Their voices, once bold against government excess, have since mellowed. Now, they dip into the coffers, indulging in the spoils of the conclave treasury.

Wamunyoro fire

Wamunyoro splits fire, fiery proclamations saturated with sacred rhetoric and political ambition. He thunders with the urgency of a prophet and the swagger of a kingmaker. “White smoke is coming!” he declares.

Yet, he is not without mockers who scorn his fire-making abilities. They do not recognise him as the mountain priest. “Who elected you to lead us?” they ask.

A self-appointed driver is already bad smoke.

Some wonder: Is this fire purifying, or is it destructive? Is Wamunyoro invoking heaven’s incense, or masking a deeper deception?

Wamunyoro is not silent. He is on fire. And as he burns with every word, the nation watches—wondering if his promised white smoke will truly rise.

The people’s smoke

The Gen Z took the matter of white smoke into their own hands. Gunpowder clung to their clothing; tear gas baptized their resolve. The state tried to fumigate their resistance—with deodorant press briefings and public relations balm—but the blood still cried out. The BBC captured the cry and echoed it back: “Not yet.”

Meanwhile, within the conclave, leaked footage revealed cardinals intoxicated with power, singing songs of conquest as citizens outside were sprayed with stinging water. White smoke is far away.

White distraction

Kenyans have shifted from asking, “When will white smoke rise?” to asking, “What are our leaders smoking?” What billows now is not hope—it is harm. It chokes aspirations, disorients the faithful, and leaves some dead. Yes, there is smoke—but it is not white.

There can be no white smoke when the sacred is reduced to a stage. No white smoke when ambition eclipses obedience to God.

Those who once knelt in prayer now walk as gods—clever, ruthless, enthroned.

Power loves pride. Humility is a spoiler. Why seek one God, when many gods offer faster results?

White smoke is promised from altars to sunroofs. People look up, while selfish leaders loot below. Citizens inhale the dust as the coffers are turned upside down. The people curse the day they elected these leaders—but to the leaders, the curse is nothing. Loot is everything.

Nothing distracts the people quite like the promise of white smoke.