Don’t light fires in my house to warm your cold politics’
Governor Lusaka Slams Wamalwa, Natembeya for Fanning Protests Over Nzoia Sugar’s Leasing to Rai
By Swaleh
Bungoma Governor Kenneth Lusaka stood tall, his presence commanding attention as the crowd simmered with anticipation. The tension was palpable—protests had been sparked, and fingers were pointed at him from every direction. But Lusaka wasn’t the one to shrink under pressure. No, today he would make his voice known.
“Let me tell you something,” Lusaka began, eyes locking with the restless crowd. His words were measured but hit like a hammer. “You don’t light fires in my house to warm your cold politics.”
The target was clear: Eugene Wamalwa and George Natembeya, who had been rallying the people against the recent lease of Nzoia Sugar to Rai Group, a move they condemned as a betrayal of local farmers. But Lusaka was having none of it.
“Where were you when Nzoia was bleeding, when the sugar factory was on the verge of collapse? Silent. Watching. Not lifting a finger to help the people who’ve built this community,” he shot back, his voice rising with each word. The crowd murmured in agreement, feeling the weight of his words.
Rai, the Indian conglomerate now taking over Nzoia Sugar, had been branded a villain by many local leaders, with accusations of exploiting the very workers they claimed to defend. But Lusaka wasn’t playing the political game of casting blame on an external investor without recognizing the years of internal rot that had led to this moment.
“Rai didn’t cause Nzoia’s troubles,” Lusaka snapped, his gaze cutting through the crowd. “No, that was years of neglect, poor leadership, and bureaucratic failure. If they want to blame someone, look at the ones who watched this factory rot. Don’t look to Rai for salvation; look to yourselves for the solution.”
The crowd fell silent, the accusation landing like a punch to the gut. Lusaka was no saint in this saga—he had his own battles with corruption and mismanagement. But he was positioning himself as the one willing to take action where others had failed. His message was clear: the deal with Rai was not just an economic lifeline; it was a necessary evil to prevent further suffering.
“I’ve heard the talk,” Lusaka continued, his voice unwavering. “The protestors say this is a sellout, a deal that only benefits Rai. But what they won’t tell you is that for years, Nzoia has been dying a slow death. The machinery is broken. The debt is piling up. The workers are starving for wages. You can’t revive a factory that’s been abandoned by its own people without help. Rai is that help.”
His words dripped with the weight of truth, yet they were laced with a dangerous political gamble. Would the people trust him, or would they continue to listen to the fiery rhetoric of Wamalwa and Natembeya? The room seemed to hold its breath as Lusaka moved closer to the core of the issue.
“You don’t sit in powerful positions for years and do nothing, only to turn around and point fingers when someone else steps in to clean up the mess. That’s not leadership. That’s cowardice. And if you want to stand up for the people of Bungoma, show them your courage, not your cheap politics.”
Lusaka’s speech was more than just a defense of the Rai deal; it was a challenge to the politicians who were using the Nzoia crisis to stoke division and make themselves relevant in an election year. The crowd began to murmur again, but this time it was a mix of agreement and skepticism.
Could Rai be the answer to Nzoia’s woes? Or was Lusaka’s gamble too big to pay off?
“This is not about politics,” Lusaka concluded, his voice quieter now but no less firm. “This is about the future of our people, our workers, and our children. If Rai can bring the change we need, then let’s give them a chance. If not, we’ll hold them accountable. But we must act. Because doing nothing… that’s the real betrayal.”
The crowd erupted in a mix of applause and boos. But Lusaka had said his piece—direct, unflinching, and full of the political edge that only a man who had seen it all could deliver.
