Rigathi Gachagua, Accountability Claims, and the Wajir Sewerage Project That Never Was
The recent political discourse around Northern Kenya has increasingly been shaped by former Deputy President Rigathi Gachagua, who has positioned himself as a champion of accountability while directing sustained criticism at the region’s leadership. In public rallies and media remarks made in 2024 and early 2025, Gachagua has repeatedly argued that Northern Kenya receives substantial public allocations that allegedly fail to produce meaningful development because, in his view, the funds are misappropriated by local political elites. While accountability in the use of public resources is a legitimate and necessary concern, the manner and context in which Gachagua has advanced this narrative raise serious questions about consistency, honesty, and motive.
Central to this debate is the long-running and unresolved case of the Wajir sewerage and sanitation project, commonly referenced in public discussions as a Sh10 billion initiative. The project was initiated before devolution as part of national water sector reforms and later fell under the World Bank–financed Water and Sanitation Development Project implemented by the Ministry of Water and Sanitation in collaboration with local water service providers. Official World Bank project documents confirm that Wajir was identified as a priority town for sanitation infrastructure, including faecal sludge treatment facilities, due to its chronic public health challenges. These same documents also acknowledge prolonged delays, procurement challenges, and incomplete works, leaving Wajir residents without a fully functional sewerage system years after funds were committed.
It is within this context that persistent allegations have emerged that one of the contracts linked to the Wajir sewerage project was awarded to a company allegedly associated with the late Nderitu Gachagua, a brother to Rigathi Gachagua. While no publicly available World Bank reports, Auditor-General publications, or court judgments conclusively confirm this linkage, the allegations have never been decisively addressed through transparent disclosure or an independent forensic audit. The absence of clear public answers has allowed the controversy to linger, making it a legitimate subject of public interest rather than mere political gossip.
This unresolved history becomes particularly relevant when Gachagua now presents himself as an accountability advocate targeting Northern Kenya leaders. In his recent speeches, he has suggested that allocations to the region—whether through national ministries, county governments, or constituency-based funds—end up in private pockets instead of transforming lives. Such claims, delivered without equal scrutiny of national-level actors and historical projects, risk portraying Northern Kenya as uniquely undeserving of public investment. This framing subtly advances the idea that reducing funding to the region is justified, an argument that resonates uncomfortably with past narratives used to marginalize Northern Kenya.
The apparent shift in Gachagua’s tone also warrants scrutiny. Not long ago, he publicly described Northern Kenya as insecure, risky for investment, and heavily burdened by terrorism concerns. That portrayal contributed to stigma and reinforced long-standing structural neglect. His current rebranding as a defender of accountability in the same region, without acknowledging or apologizing for those earlier characterizations, appears less like principled leadership and more like a strategic repositioning. Accountability, if genuine, demands humility, consistency, and a willingness to confront one’s own political and familial proximity to power.
For the people of Northern Kenya, the danger lies in accepting selective accountability narratives that externalize blame while ignoring systemic failures and national-level responsibility. Development outcomes in the region have been shaped not only by local leadership but also by historical marginalization, delayed national projects, and weak oversight at the center. The Wajir sewerage project illustrates this reality vividly: despite international financing and ministerial supervision, the project remains largely unrealized. Any serious accountability conversation should begin by asking why such a project stalled, who benefited from the contracts issued, what payments were made, and why service delivery never reached the public.
If Rigathi Gachagua’s concern for Northern Kenya were sincere, many argue, he would support full transparency on legacy projects like Wajir’s sanitation system rather than using the region as a political battleground. That would include encouraging the release of procurement award details, contractor ownership records from the Registrar of Companies, and audit findings from the Auditor-General and relevant ministries. Without this, calls for accountability risk becoming a tool for political messaging rather than a pathway to justice and development.
Ultimately, accountability must be applied evenly, without ethnic targeting or selective outrage. Northern Kenya deserves honest scrutiny, fair investment, and respectful engagement—not shifting narratives that alternately depict it as a security problem or a corruption caricature. Until unresolved questions surrounding national projects like the Wajir sewerage system are addressed openly, residents of the region are justified in treating sudden changes in political tone with caution rather than trust.
