The Deputy’s Silent Celebration: Inside Nairobi’s Political Power Play

Whispers of ambition echo through City Hall as Deputy Governor Njoroge Muchiri reportedly eyes the top seat amid his boss’s mounting troubles

Behind the mahogany doors of Nairobi’s City Hall, a political drama worthy of Shakespeare is quietly unfolding.

While Governor Johnson Sakaja battles a storm of controversies that threaten to sink his administration, his deputy, Njoroge Muchiri, may be silently preparing for an opportunistic ascension to power.

The Goons Scandal That Started It All

The latest chapter in Sakaja’s troubled tenure began with explosive allegations that he financed goons to disrupt peaceful protests during the Justice for Ojwang demonstrations.

The protests, organized to demand accountability for the death of blogger Albert Ojwang in police custody, descended into chaos when alleged county-sponsored thugs clashed with demonstrators and police.

The optics couldn’t be worse for a governor already struggling with public perception.

But inside Muchiri’s office, sources whisper of a different mood entirely—one of barely concealed anticipation.

“There’s a silent celebration happening,” reveals an insider who spoke on condition of anonymity. “They see Sakaja’s missteps as stepping stones to the top office.”

A Pattern of PR Disasters

Johnson Sakaja.

Sakaja’s administration has become synonymous with what critics call “governance by press release”—grand announcements followed by spectacular failures or legal entanglements. The pattern has become so predictable that Nairobians have coined a phrase: “Inawork” (it’s working), sarcastically referencing the governor’s favorite catchphrase.

The litany of failed promises reads like a catalog of urban governance gone wrong:

The Flood Cycle: Every rainy season brings the same theatrical response—Sakaja’s team distributing blankets and food to flood victims while ignoring the crumbling drainage infrastructure that causes the disasters. Meanwhile, they continue approving construction projects that overwhelm an already strained sewerage system.

The Fire Brigade Theater: When blazes consume markets like Gikomba—East Africa’s largest second-hand clothing hub—the county’s response follows a script: emergency visits, promises of fire stations and perimeter walls, then silence until the next tragedy. The Auditor General’s reports gather dust as the promised infrastructure remains a mirage.

The Rate Enforcement Fiasco: Perhaps most damaging to Sakaja’s credibility has been the county’s aggressive—and often illegal—crackdown on alleged rate defaulters. The exercise, meant to demonstrate fiscal responsibility, has instead exposed administrative incompetence and legal recklessness.

Legal Quagmire Deepens

The rate collection blunder has spawned multiple court cases that paint a picture of an administration either willfully ignorant or deliberately destructive. Two recent cases illuminate the chaos:

The Masonic Trustees found their Nyerere Road property vandalized by county enforcement officers despite holding a valid exemption from rate payments dating back to 1990. “We were shocked and dismayed,” their court filing states, describing how officers demolished their gate and slapped a Sh19 million demand notice on property they knew was exempt.

Chester House faced similar treatment, with the county claiming arrears of Sh122.5 million despite the building having no connection to the listed land parcels. The case highlights what appears to be a systematic failure in the county’s record-keeping and enforcement procedures.

The Kenya Power Spectacle

The nadir of Sakaja’s PR disasters came with the Kenya Power confrontation, where county officers dumped waste outside KPLC offices and disrupted essential services at Stima Plaza. The stunt backfired spectacularly when it emerged that Kenya Power wasn’t even the building’s owner—a fact easily verifiable through public records.

The incident forced an embarrassing climbdown and a public apology, but not before exposing the administration’s preference for theatrics over due process.

Muchiri’s Calculated Silence

While Sakaja stumbles from crisis to crisis, Deputy Governor Muchiri has maintained a strategic low profile. Those close to his office describe a careful calculation: every Sakaja misstep potentially brings Muchiri closer to the governor’s seat.

“They’re not just watching—they’re positioning,” says a City Hall observer who has witnessed similar power plays in previous administrations. “The deputy knows that public pressure, legal troubles, and political isolation could create the perfect storm for succession.”

The constitutional framework supports this calculation. Should Sakaja face impeachment, resignation, or other forms of removal from office, Muchiri would automatically assume the governorship—a scenario that seems increasingly plausible as controversies mount.

The Public’s Verdict

On Nairobi’s streets, the verdict on Sakaja’s leadership is increasingly harsh. Residents who once bought into his “Make Nairobi Work” campaign slogan now speak of broken promises and failed systems.

“Nothing works in this city,” says Mary Wanjiku, a small business owner in Eastlands. “Every time there’s a problem, they come with cameras and promises, but nothing changes. We’re tired of the lies.”

This growing public disillusionment creates fertile ground for political change—a reality not lost on those watching from the wings.

The Questions That Linger

As Sakaja’s troubles multiply, several questions demand answers: Was the rate enforcement exercise a genuine attempt at revenue collection or a publicity stunt gone wrong? Why does the county repeatedly target entities they know are exempt from payments? And most intriguingly, what role does the deputy governor’s office play in these unfolding dramas?

The governor’s office declined to respond to requests for comment, leaving these questions hanging in Nairobi’s political atmosphere like smoke from another Gikomba market fire.

What Comes Next

With general elections still years away, the immediate pressure on Sakaja comes from civil society groups, legal challenges, and mounting public dissatisfaction. The Justice for Ojwang controversy has energized human rights organizations, while the legal cases threaten to tie up the county government in prolonged court battles.

For Muchiri, the strategy appears clear: maintain distance from the controversies while positioning himself as a competent alternative. Whether this calculated patience pays off may depend on how many more “Inawork” moments Sakaja’s administration can survive.

In the corridors of City Hall, the whispers grow louder with each passing scandal. The deputy governor’s office may indeed be celebrating—but in Nairobi’s political theater, the final act is yet to be written.

The governor’s office and County Secretary Godfrey Akumali did not respond to requests for comment on these allegations.