JAMILA’S MEMO: Where are the leaders of Dukana?

We met 70-year-old Bobo Sora, sitting quietly inside his manyatta, blind, frail, starving, and abandoned by systems meant to protect him.

This is a man who once walked proudly across the vast plains with more than 200 goats. Today, he cannot even see the five goats he has left and he says life has lost meaning. Imagine being so overwhelmed by hunger and despair that death feels easier than waking up to another day.

But as painful as Bobo’s story is, it is not unique. It is repeated across Laisamis, Korr, and Ballaah. Children born into hunger. Mothers skipping meals. Community health workers unpaid for 14 months. Dispensaries with empty shelves. And a county where lighting a fire to cook is a luxury, not a routine.

And so the question must be asked: Where are the leaders of Marsabit County? Where is the MCA of Dukana? Where is the Member of Parliament? Where is the Woman Representative?

Where is the Senator? Where is the Governor, elected with promises of transformation and devolution?

One woman in Dukana said it plainly: “They only come when they want our votes.”

It is a damning statement but an honest one. While families in Dukana boil maize and beans as their only meal in 24 hours, their leaders are nowhere to be seen. Perhaps in Nairobi. Perhaps in county offices far from the dust and desperation.

But certainly not where they are needed most. It is a stark, painful reminder of leadership failure, an indictment of elected officials who have abandoned the very people whose votes put them in office.

According to the Red Cross, more than 740,000 children under five in Kenya are acutely malnourished. Over 100,000 pregnant and lactating women need urgent treatment.

These are not just numbers; they are a reflection of a country that continues to respond to predictable crises with surprise and leaders who continue to act like drought is a breaking news event.

Northern Kenya has endured drought after drought for decades. Communities lose everything before they have a chance to recover. And yet, the leadership remains reactive, not proactive. Silent when it matters, loud only during elections.

As we tell Bobo’s story, as we show the hunger in Laisamis and the desperation in Ballaah, we must confront an uncomfortable truth: Devolution means nothing if the devolved units cannot even protect the lives of their citizens.

The old are dying quietly. The young are growing up hungry. And the leaders the very ones entrusted with billions of shillings in county budgets are absent. Which leaves us with a final, haunting question:

If leadership does not show up in life and death moments like this then what exactly is it for?

And that is my memo.