When Rigathi Gachagua stood before a crowd in Ukambani in Kenya’s Eastern Region and declared that Kikuyus and Kambas are cousins, ostensibly because they’re both Bantu and neighbours, he wasn’t simply making a passing comment. He was reviving an old Kenyan political strategy that uses ethnicity as a shortcut to power.
But this time, something felt different. The public didn’t nod along. They laughed. And in that laughter lies a deeper story, not only about Kenya, but about postcolonial Africa as a whole.
We’ve seen this playbook before. A leader falls out of favour, loses political capital, and retreats into ethnic solidarity to regroup. Gachagua is no longer the Deputy President in practice, but now re-emerges as a Kikuyu elder crafting new alliances.
In reaching out to the Kamba community and invoking shared Bantu heritage, he was pushing a kind of ethnic nostalgia, which is a way of saying, “We are one people, let’s stand together.” In his eyes, “macuzo” (cousins) was a political calculus.
Across the continent, ethnicity has long been used as the scaffolding of political power. Colonial governments sowed ethnic divisions, and many post-independence leaders never stopped harvesting them. From Côte d’Ivoire to Uganda, the language of “brotherhood” and “shared blood” has often been used not to unite nations but to build selective alliances, win elections, and keep others out.
What Gachagua did is part of a broader pattern we call macuzo politics, which is the performance of ethnic closeness for political gain. It’s often wrapped in warmth, kinship, and “Africanness.” But at its core, it is transactional. Today, the Kikuyu and Kamba are cousins. Tomorrow, the Kikuyu and Kalenjin are siblings.
The metaphor shifts with the moment and exposes the reality of political realignments. Interestingly, Gachagua’s appeal to “cousins” echoes a deeper African tradition found in places like Mali, where “cousinage” (joking kinship) plays a meaningful role in social cohesion.
As scholars have noted, cousinage can serve as a powerful cross-cutting cleavage, a kind of soft power that diffuses tension and allows people from different ethnic or lineage backgrounds to engage each other without hostility. In Mali, for example, cousinage between groups like the Fulani and Dogon enables political cooperation and reduces interethnic bias, especially during electoral moments. This form of kinship humour creates space for critique, familiarity, and even alliance, without necessarily implying sameness.
However, the strength of cousinage lies in its authenticity and its organic place in cultural history. When political actors like Gachagua invoke cousinhood as a strategy of convenience, particularly after being sidelined from power, the gesture can appear hollow.
Rather than binding communities together, it risks reinforcing the idea that ethnic alliances in Kenya are not rooted in shared values or history, but in elite bargains made and broken at will. The very flexibility of macuzo politics becomes its weakness and as such, it collapses when people see through it.
Yet something has shifted in the public’s response. Kenyans didn’t embrace the message. They turned it into satire.
On TikTok, X, and WhatsApp, Kenyans responded with memes, mock interviews, and digital sketches. One joked, “If Kikuyus and Kambas are cousins, then Luos and Luhyas must be co-wives.” Another quipped, “These cousins only remember each other during elections, must be estranged.” It’s funny, but it’s also politically sharp.
The reaction witnessed by Kenyans especially on the online platforms should be a wake-up call to politicians who want to whip up ethnic tensions as a mobilizing tool to settle political scores. It is also raising a fundamental question of the character of the person in question (Gachagua) who has suddenly realized the people from Ukambani are cousins.
The Kenyan political landscape is replete with a lot of data on how he repeatedly poured cold water to the Kamba nation during the days of politics of shareholding while he was the Deputy President. Were the Kambas cousins then? The answer is no. The skepticism being witnessed online and the mockery around it is a positive signal that Kenyans are slowly yearning to move away from the ethnic politics. The effects of the Gen-Z movement are slowly starting to bear some fruits albeit in a small way.
As much as the current regime of President William Ruto continues to commit unforced errors and loses popularity, what many Kenyans are telling the pretenders to the throne is that ethnic mobilization will not work this time and that what will really matter is the policy issues affecting ordinary people.
In a society that has a history of political exclusion based on ethnic identity, ethnic clashes and negative ethnicity, the current macuzo narratives reek of exclusionary politics. Already, one of the sycophants of Gachagua called Ndegwa Njiru went on X and insinuated that ‘’Watu wale wengine wafuate their cousins huko South Sudan and Northern Uganda … Sisi tuko na our cousins huku Coast’’ which loosely translated implies that the “rest” (in this context Nilotes) should look for their cousins in South Sudan and Northern Uganda.
Should that imply they leave Kenya for the cousins? In a country that gets polarised around elections where one group is labeled as an outsider and not worthy to lead, this is such a dangerous statement that reinforces the fact that some Kenyan politicians believe ethnic balkanization is still a tool.
Across Africa, political humour has become a tool of resistance. In Nigeria, satirical skits question the promises of “One Nigeria” in the face of ethnic patronage. In South Africa, comedians mock rainbow nationalism while corruption thrives. From Accra to Addis, ordinary citizens use humour to poke holes in elite narratives. In a way, African citizens are doing their own political analysis, just with better punchlines.
What we’re seeing, then, is not entirely a rejection of macuzo politics, but a rejection of the idea that African people are too bound by tribe to think critically. The Pan-African dream was always bigger than that. It was never about which community your grandmother came from. It was about a shared future beyond colonial borders and ethnic tokens.
Macuzo politics, like many ethnic appeals across Africa, is a performance of togetherness that rarely holds up when it counts. It’s a distraction from deeper issues such as economic inequality, youth unemployment, failing public services, and democratic fatigue. And the public knows it.
When Gachagua invoked cousins, he reached for an old script. But the audience has changed. The new generation is multilingual, digital, and increasingly politically literate. They can see when “unity” is being used to repackage elite deals. And they respond in truly African way, through laughter, song, and sharp wit.
So yes, Gachagua was trying to rebuild his base. But in doing so, he also reminded us how tired the ethnic playbook is becoming. It’s not that ethnicity doesn’t matter. It does more so socially, culturally, even politically. But it no longer convinces in the same way it used to. The people are watching. And they’re laughing, not because it’s funny, but because they’ve seen this show before.
Mikhail Nyamweya is a researcher and political and foreign policy analyst.
Sylvanus Wekesa is a research associate at the African Leadership Centre.
I found this article on ‘Macuzo Politics’ to be a really engaging read. The exploration of ethnic relations and power games was particularly compelling. It made me think about the ways corruption can thrive in these environments. The author’s insights are valuable for understanding the challenges Kenya faces. Great job!