On Friday evening, People Daily journalist Habil Onyango was abducted from a hotel in Homa Bay, bundled into a car, and subjected to hours of beatings. His crime? Publishing a story that peeled back the curtain on a county-level hiring racket where fake appointment letters were being sold like second-hand goods.
“They told me to apologize, to clear the woman I had mentioned in my article,” Onyango said, nursing his wounds at a private clinic in Homa Bay town. “I told them, journalism doesn’t work like that.”
His refusal earned him more blows—but also turned a local corruption story into a national debate about the safety of journalists, the rot in county recruitment, and the political protection enjoyed by insiders.
The Corruption Machinery
Onyango’s story had detailed how jobseekers desperate for public service slots were issued fake appointment letters, some allegedly bearing seals of the County Public Service Board and the Office of the County Secretary. Money changed hands. Promises were made. Lives were ruined.
The name that kept surfacing in whispers was Beatrice Akugo, a county employee accused of being a fixer in the racket. Hours after the story hit the press, Onyango was in a hospital bed.
The Homa Bay Journalists’ Union pulled no punches, naming Akugo in its statement and demanding Governor Gladys Wanga act decisively.
“We cannot have goons hired to silence journalists doing their constitutional duty,” the union said. “If county officers are behind this, the governor must clean house.”
A Pattern Across Counties
Onyango’s ordeal is not an isolated case. In the last two years alone, press watchdogs have documented over 40 attacks on journalists exposing county-level graft—from Baringo to Mombasa.
In 2023, a Kisumu reporter was assaulted after publishing a story on ghost workers.
In 2024, a Nakuru-based freelancer went into hiding after receiving threats tied to a tender scandal.
Earlier this year, two Nairobi journalists were detained overnight by police after questioning procurement practices at City Hall.
Media Council of Kenya CEO David Omwoyo has repeatedly warned of “a creeping culture of silencing by intimidation,” noting that counties are emerging as new frontlines in the war against press freedom.
Politics, Power, and Jobs
Why is the jobs question so explosive? In Kenya’s devolved system, county jobs are not just livelihoods—they are political currency. Governors use employment opportunities to reward loyalists, cement clan alliances, and build war chests ahead of elections.
“Employment in counties is no longer about qualifications,” said Prof. Peter Kagwanja, a governance analyst. “It is about networks, money, and political survival. Anyone who dares question that system threatens very powerful interests.”
In Homa Bay, where unemployment remains stubbornly high, the black market for county jobs is thriving. Investigators say fake letters can fetch anywhere between Sh50,000 to Sh200,000, depending on the position.
Governor Wanga Under Pressure
Governor Gladys Nyasuna Wanga, who has cultivated an image as a reformist, now finds herself at a crossroads. The attack on Onyango has put her administration under the microscope: will she distance herself from alleged rogue employees, or risk being seen as complicit by inaction?
So far, her office has remained tight-lipped, fueling speculation. Civil society groups in Homa Bay are demanding accountability not just for the assault, but for the job scams Onyango’s reporting exposed.
Journalists Defiant
Despite the bruises, Onyango insists he will not retract his story.
“They wanted fear,” he said softly. “What they gave me instead is courage. If we let them silence us, corruption wins.”
His colleagues agree. Across Homa Bay, journalists have vowed to continue probing county finances, recruitment practices, and procurement scandals—despite what they now call “a climate of sponsored terror.”
As one senior reporter in Kisii told the SIAYA TODAY:
“Every journalist knows the risk. But if we back down, then counties become private businesses run by a few families. We cannot let that happen.”
The Big Question
Kenya’s Constitution enshrines freedom of the press. But on the ground, the guarantees ring hollow when journalists are beaten, threatened, or bribed into silence.
As Onyango’s case shows, exposing county corruption is no longer just a professional hazard—it is a life-threatening gamble.
For Governor Wanga, the message from her critics is clear: silence is complicity. For Kenya, the bigger question looms larger: if journalists cannot safely expose corruption, who will hold the counties accountable?
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