Kenya, 22 May 2026 - Sometimes, crises do not arrive suddenly.
They accumulate quietly, layer by layer, warning by warning, contradiction by contradiction, until one day the country wakes up and realizes the system was under pressure long before anyone admitted it.
Kenya’s current fuel crisis feels exactly like that. This Friday morning, President William Ruto, addressing the nation from Mombasa State House, has directed that in the next fuel price review cycle, Diesel prices are to reduce by a further KSh 10 to ease pain at the pump. He lauded the government-to-government deal, clarifying that it came in handy to ensure no disruption in fuel supply amid Middle East crisis.
For months, perhaps even years, the signs were visible. Global energy markets were already becoming unstable.
The Iran–US–Israel tensions had begun disrupting supply chains and injecting uncertainty into oil markets. Shipping corridors were under pressure.
Brent crude prices were rising. Governments across the world were recalibrating policy, building buffers, cushioning consumers, diversifying supply routes, and preparing citizens psychologically for difficult months ahead.
Kenya, however, appeared calm.
Too calm.
Official communication largely revolved around reassurance. There was enough fuel. Supply chains were stable. There was no reason for panic. The government-to-government fuel import arrangement was repeatedly presented as a protective shield against global shocks.
Yet beneath those reassurances, pressure was already building.
Oil marketers were warning about rising landed costs. Regulators were cautioning against hoarding. The Central Bank was flagging inflationary risks linked to rising global oil prices and a weakening shilling. Fuel dealers were quietly signaling that the pricing structure was becoming unsustainable.
The warning signs were everywhere.
The problem is that Kenya has developed a dangerous habit of treating early warnings as public relations problems instead of policy signals.
And today, the consequences are visible across the country.
Matatus off the roads.
Businesses operating remotely.
Parents stranded with children prepared for school but unable to travel.
Factories reporting losses.
Transport systems paralysed.
Fuel queues forming again.
The economy slowing down, almost in real time.
This is no longer simply a fuel story.
It is a governance story.
Because what Kenya is currently experiencing is not merely the effect of global oil volatility. Every country in the region faced the same geopolitical pressures. Uganda faced them. Tanzania faced them. Rwanda faced them. Ethiopia faced them.
Yet Kenya is the country that descended into nationwide demonstrations and transport paralysis.
Why?
That question matters.
And perhaps the answer lies less in the crisis itself and more in how it was managed.
Or mismanaged.
One of the most striking features of this crisis has been the sheer inconsistency in government communication.
At one point, Members of Parliament toured Kenya Pipeline Company depots and publicly assured Kenyans that there was enough fuel in the country.
Hours later, EPRA announced one of the sharpest fuel price increases in recent history.
Then came further confusion.
Cabinet secretaries publicly issued directions on fuel pricing adjustments. EPRA gazetted them. Later, the same officials appeared to revise those positions again, asking EPRA to reduce certain prices while increasing others.
Petrol up.
Diesel up.
Then VAT cuts.
Then partial reversals.
Then fresh explanations.
Then new justifications.
At some stage, it became difficult to tell whether the country was watching economic management or institutional improvisation.
And perhaps nowhere was this contradiction more visible than in the political transformation of the very leaders now defending these policies.
Treasury Cabinet Secretary John Mbadi, while in opposition, once strongly criticized increases in fuel prices, warning that higher petroleum costs would inevitably increase electricity prices and deepen the cost of living crisis.
“I disagree with the increase in the price of petroleum because it will in turn increase the price of electricity,” he once argued publicly.
Energy Cabinet Secretary Opiyo Wandayi, also while in opposition, once questioned the competence of government advisers during earlier fuel crises.
“Who advises this government? In terms of economics, in terms of finance management, leave alone politics,” he said at the time.
Today, both men find themselves defending the very same realities they once criticized.
And that contradiction is politically devastating because it exposes something deeper than policy inconsistency.
It exposes how quickly governance in Kenya often shifts from principle to survival once leaders enter office.
Even President William Ruto himself built much of his political messaging around criticism of fuel prices and economic hardship during the previous administration.
While serving as Deputy President and having fallen out with his boss, Uhuru Kenyatta, he questioned why fuel in Kenya was more expensive than in Uganda, a landlocked country that relies on Mombasa Port for its oil imports.
“There are cartels in the Ministry of Energy and Petroleum involved in corruption and plunder while the common mwananchi bears the burden,” Ruto said.
He insisted that those cartels must be dismantled. Now, as Head of State, he says Kenyans must know that their social, economic, and political status is far above that of their neighbours, and that is why fuel prices should not be compared with those in Tanzania and Uganda.
Now, faced with global geopolitical pressures, the same administration is asking citizens to “understand the government.”
Mbadi himself recently stated that Kenyans should not blame the government because the government “cannot reopen the Strait of Hormuz.”
Technically, he is correct.
Kenya indeed cannot control Middle Eastern geopolitics.
But leadership is not judged by whether it controls global crises.
Leadership is judged by preparedness, coordination, anticipation, communication, and mitigation.
That is the real debate now unfolding in Kenya.
Perhaps the most uncomfortable debate emerging from this crisis is not about fuel.
It is about competence.
Because once the noise fades, a troubling pattern becomes visible in Kenya’s governance structure where highly technical ministries are often led primarily through political calculations rather than technical expertise.
Energy.
Finance.
Infrastructure.
Trade.
And Security both Internal and External not forgetting Foreign affairs matters.
These are not ordinary dockets. They are highly specialized sectors deeply connected to global systems, complex markets, and technical policy frameworks.
Yet political loyalty frequently appears to outweigh technical capacity when appointments are made.
When governments are formed, ministries become tools of coalition-building, political reward, regional balancing, and alliance management.
Opposition figures are absorbed into government to neutralize resistance. Political allies are accommodated. Parliamentary committees are chaired through political arithmetic.
Expertise becomes secondary.
And that creates a dangerous governance gap.
Because energy policy cannot be managed purely politically.
Fuel pricing involves international crude benchmarks, landed costs, exchange rates, freight premiums, refinery margins, tax structures, strategic reserves, and geopolitical supply risks.
This is not a sector where improvisation works.
And Kenya’s current crisis increasingly feels like the result of a country where politics took control of technical systems.
To be clear, this does not mean politicians are inherently incompetent. Many are highly educated and experienced. Some are exceptionally capable administrators.
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The problem is structural.
Appointments often prioritize political convenience over sector-specific expertise.
And when crises emerge, the weaknesses become painfully visible.
Another major question now emerging publicly concerns the role of EPRA itself.
Who exactly directs fuel pricing decisions in Kenya?
Legally, EPRA is supposed to operate as an independent regulator guided by established pricing formulas, market variables, and statutory frameworks.
But recent events have raised difficult questions about whether the regulator is genuinely independent or increasingly operating under political instruction.
Cabinet secretaries publicly announce desired price directions.
EPRA gazettes them.
Political pressure intensifies.
Then fresh revisions emerge.
This creates the perception that pricing is no longer purely regulatory.
It appears political.
And once regulators begin appearing politically directed, confidence in institutions begins to weaken.
That matters because markets depend heavily on predictability and credibility.
Investors can handle bad news.
Businesses can survive difficult markets.
Citizens can even tolerate hardship.
But uncertainty is far more dangerous.
And Kenya today feels uncertain.
What has perhaps frustrated many Kenyans most is the growing tendency to politicize, tribalize, or deflect from the economic reality itself.
Interior Cabinet Secretary Kipchumba Murkomen’s attempts to frame aspects of the demonstrations politically or ethnically have particularly drawn criticism online.
Yet fuel prices do not discriminate.
Inflation does not choose tribes.
Transport paralysis affects everyone.
Food prices affect everyone.
The boda boda rider in Kisumu, the matatu operator in Nairobi, the farmer in Eldoret, the trader in Mombasa, the parent stranded in Kiambu, all are experiencing the same economic pressure.
And that is why attempts to politicize economic pain often backfire.
Because citizens are not reacting to politics alone.
They are reacting to survival.
The deeper truth is this:
Kenya’s greatest vulnerability may not be oil dependence.
It may be governance dependence on reaction instead of preparation.
Again and again, the country appears to respond only once pressure becomes politically unavoidable.
Not before.
After.
After prices rise.
After demonstrations begin.
After businesses slow down.
After citizens panic.
After queues form.
After trust erodes.
And yet the warnings were visible long before the crisis escalated.
That is why the current moment feels less like an unavoidable shock and more like an exposed weakness.
A crisis management failure.
Not because Kenya could stop global oil prices from rising.
But because Kenya appeared unprepared for consequences that were increasingly predictable.
The fuel crisis is not ending soon.
That is the uncomfortable reality.
The geopolitical risks remain active. Middle Eastern tensions remain volatile. Global supply chains remain fragile. The shilling remains vulnerable. Inflationary pressure is still building.
And the longer-term implications could be far more serious than temporary demonstrations.
Higher transport costs will continue feeding into food prices.
Manufacturing costs will rise further.
Logistics costs will rise further.
Businesses may slow hiring.
Household consumption may shrink.
Economic growth itself may weaken.
And underneath all this lies something even more dangerous:
An erosion of public confidence in institutions.
Because once citizens stop believing official communication, governance itself becomes harder.
And that is the true cost of contradiction.
Kenya did not simply wake up to a fuel crisis.
It woke up to the realization that crisis management itself may be in crisis.
The warning signs were there.
The geopolitical risks were visible.
The economic pressures were predictable.
The institutions existed.
But coordination was weak. Communication was fragmented. Responses were reactive. Leadership appeared uncertain.
And perhaps that is the hardest truth emerging from this moment:
Kenya’s problem may not be the absence of structures.
It may be the politicization of systems that require expertise, coordination, honesty, and foresight.
Because in the end, fuel prices will eventually stabilize.
Global markets always adjust.
But public trust, once exhausted, takes far longer to refill.
The writer is a Kenyan based Journalist, Business Development Consultant and Digital Media Entrepreneurship Trainer.
The opinions expressed in this article are those of the writer and do not necessarily reflect the views of Dawan Africa.

