In the warm August air of Homa Bay County, along the shimmering shores of Lake Victoria, leaders from across Kenya have gathered for the 2025 Devolution Conference under the banner “For the People, For Prosperity: Devolution as a Catalyst for Equity, Inclusion and Social Justice.” The symbolism is hard to miss.  

A county once dismissed as peripheral now plays host to the most important national dialogue on how Kenya governs itself.  

Thirteen years since devolution took root in 2013 during the presidency of Uhuru Kenyatta, the conversation is no longer about whether it should exist, but whether it can fulfil the profound historical promise it embodies. As a historian, I see devolution not as a single reform, but as the latest chapter in a long and contested story of how power has been distributed, centralised, and contested in Kenya. 

When Kenya achieved independence in 1963, under President Jomo Kenyatta, the architects of the new State faced a central dilemma: how to build a cohesive nation without erasing the identities, priorities, and autonomy of its diverse peoples.  

The solution, embedded in the Independence constitution passed as an Act of British Parliament in April and became Law May 31, 1963, and strongly advocated by leaders such as Ronald Ngala and Daniel Arap Moi in the KADU camp, was majimboism—a quasi-federal arrangement that divided the country into semi-autonomous regions.  

Each had its own assembly and president, empowered to manage key functions such as agriculture, health, and local infrastructure.  

It was a political structure designed to ensure that no single community dominated the others and that development was tailored to local needs. 

Majimboism was dismantled by 1966, through deliberate constitutional amendments, and the regional governments were absorbed into a centralised state headquarters in Nairobi.  

The official justification was that the system was too expensive and politically divisive; the deeper truth was that Kenya’s ruling elite saw unity as synonymous with central control. 

Henceforth, provincial and district administrators answered directly to the President, and development priorities became instruments of political reward and punishment.  

This was the first great rupture in Kenya’s decentralisation story since power was withdrawn from the periphery and consolidated at the core, sowing the seeds of structural inequality. 

It would take four decades before the centre allowed even a modest experiment in decentralised development. In 2003, during the presidency of Mwai Kibaki, the Constituency Development Fund (CDF) emerged as a response to public frustration with Nairobi’s stranglehold on resources.

Pushed forward by legislators like Muriuki Karue, supported by a bipartisan group of MPs, CDF directed a fixed share of national revenue to each parliamentary constituency, allowing Members of Parliament (MPS) to implement local projects.  

For many rural areas, this was the first time development seemed to respond to local priorities rather than ministerial dictates.  

Boreholes were dug, schools constructed, and dispensaries opened. Yet CDF also exposed the risks of giving resources without reforming governance.  

MPs blurred the line between legislating and executing projects; accountability was weak; political patronage often determined whose projects thrived. CDF decentralised funds, but not decision-making power. 

The demand for something deeper and more enduring intensified in the 1990s and 2000s, fuelled by civil society activism and political opposition.  

Groups like the Institute for Economic Affairs, the Centre for Governance and Development, and reformists such as Raila Odinga, Martha Karua, and Anyang’ Nyong’o championed stronger devolved units.  

The violent aftermath of the 2007 elections, during Mwai Kibaki’s second term, crystallised the urgency for structural change.  

Out of that crisis emerged the 2010 Constitution that is arguably the most ambitious restructuring of Kenya’s governance since independence, drafted under the stewardship of the Committee of Experts led by the late Nzamba Kitonga. 

The 2010 constitution placed devolution at the heart of that new constitutional order. It created 47 county governments, each with its own governor, assembly, and executive. 

These were not administrative outposts of Nairobi, but autonomous governments, constitutionally guaranteed at least 15 per cent of nationally collected revenue; today (2025) the figure has risen to over 30 per cent in practice.  

Counties were entrusted with significant responsibilities in health, agriculture, local transport, and trade, and crucially, their powers were constitutionally protected from unilateral clawback by the centre. 

Thirteen years on, the results are complex but undeniable. In some counties, citizens have seen devolution’s potential realised through universal health coverage, agro-processing industries, healthcare expansion and structured public participation forums.

This illustrates what can happen when local leadership is visionary and deliberate. Even in historically neglected regions like North Eastern, modern hospitals now stand where basic healthcare was once a dream.

For the first time in post-independence Kenya, many citizens feel they have a direct stake in how their communities are governed. 

However, devolution’s successes are uneven, and its vulnerabilities are real. Many counties remain overwhelmingly dependent on transfers from the national government, generating far less local revenue than their economic potential allows.  

Wage bills, often consuming well over half of county budgets, leave little for development. Auditor General Reports regularly expose inflated procurement, dubious expenditures, and outright theft.  

The joke that “corruption has been devolved” is a grim acknowledgement that localising power does not automatically clean it. 

Moreover, inequalities persist between counties. While some surge ahead, others, particularly in the north and parts of the coast, struggle with infrastructure gaps, service shortages, and limited capacity.  

Intra-county politics often mirrors the exclusionary patterns once practised at the national level, with dominant ethnic or clan groups capturing resources.  

Disputes between the two levels of government over functions such as health services and land administration frequently end up in court, delaying service delivery and eroding public confidence. 

The 2025 Devolution Conference in Homa Bay is, therefore, more than a policy gathering. 

Its theme: equity, inclusion, and social justice echoes the unfulfilled ambitions of Article 174 of the Constitution: to promote democratic and accountable governance, to foster unity while recognising diversity, to ensure equitable sharing of resources, and to bring government closer to the people.  

Discussions here have focused on re-engineering county governance to entrench transparency, strengthen public participation, expand fiscal space, and target investment towards historically marginalised groups. 

The historical trajectory offers three clear lessons. First, as majimbo taught us in the 1960s, devolved power without constitutional and political protection will always be vulnerable to centralisation.  

Second, as CDF revealed in the 2000s, decentralising resources without reforming governance only shifts patronage to a smaller scale.  

Third, as the 2010 constitutional order demonstrates, durable devolution requires both structural guarantees and a political culture committed to equity. 

From Homa Bay’s conference halls, one can trace the distance travelled from dismantled regional governments under Jomo Kenyatta, to partial decentralisation under Mwai Kibaki, to constitutionally entrenched counties inaugurated under Uhuru Kenyatta in 2013.  

But the road ahead is steeper. If corruption and inefficiency are not confronted at the county level with the same vigour applied internationally, devolution will stagnate. 

Counties must diversify revenue sources, discipline spending, and deepen citizen oversight.  

The national government, for its part, must respect the constitutional autonomy of counties while collaborating on functions that require shared responsibility. 

Devolution is Kenya’s most significant governance experiment since independence. It has shown that development can be more responsive, that citizens can have a stronger voice, and that local leadership matters profoundly. 

But it has also shown that institutions alone cannot deliver justice—only the consistent practice of accountable leadership can.  

Thirteen years in, the question is not whether devolution should continue, but whether we will do what it takes to make it succeed for every Kenyan.  

History warns us of what happens when we squander such moments. The choice, as in 1963, as in 2010, remains ours. 

Dr Chebii Z.K is a lecturer, historian, political commentator and UASU Chapter Trustee at Alupe University, Kenya