Me the God-Emperor

And in a country, and a continent, with far more consequential things to fight for, this level of anguish over football is itself part of the problem. We have invested football with so much significance that a disputed penalty becomes an affront to collective dignity, and a league place warrants litigation, institutional bargaining and physical confrontation. Our livelihoods, public services and political accountability deserve far more of that urgency. The intensity of the struggle over football is wildly disproportionate to what a sporting victory can actually resolve in our lives.

Remember when I told you whatever transpired in Senegal Vs Morocco was just the encapsulation of what usually happens in local football in Africa? Today in Kenya, Kariobangi Sharks and Mombasa United were playing for the final place in the Premier League. But even the existence of this match had been contested. Sharks finished 16th in the top division and argued that the 2019 regulations entitled them to a relegation playoff. Mombasa United finished third in the second division and argued that the 2025 regulations entitled them to automatic promotion. The dispute produced conflicting court orders and delayed the entire league. Kenya’s football federation eventually negotiated a two-legged playoff. Today’s return leg was supposed to provide a sporting resolution. With the tie level at 3–3 on aggregate, a penalty awarded to Mombasa United triggered a pitch invasion. Fans confronted the referee, who had to be escorted to safety. This is another live illustration of the Senegal–Morocco AFCON final. The kerfuffle is the spectacle that attracts attention, but the institutional disorder precedes it: contested regulations, competing authorities and sporting consequences negotiated across several arenas. Focusing exclusively on the conduct of one team or the controversy over one penalty leaves that governing architecture unexplained. Senegal–Morocco concentrated this wider disorder into a continental final, where an international audience could finally see it.

One cannot drive a Bugatti in a slum and call it progress. Building a stadium is one thing; having an economy and sporting industry capable of sustaining its running costs is another. The international events you’ve invoked don’t simply arrive because there’s a well-run stadium. International hosting involves government commitments and guarantees covering infrastructure and other requirements, alongside public funding and institutional support. An event taking place in Nyayo is not, by itself, evidence of a commercially sustainable stadium market. Who finances the event, what does the venue actually receive, and what remains after costs? Then there’s the private investor you imagine stepping in. Who are their customers? Domestic clubs already struggling to fund their operations? International events whose delivery depends partly on state support? Where would the revenue needed to recover construction costs and sustain operations come from? More fundamentally, stadiums in Kenya are political assets. Their returns include visibility, patronage and legitimacy. Financial losses can coexist with political gains—which helps explain why governments keep building them. A private entrant would therefore need both sufficient paying demand and room to compete with politically backed facilities. Poor maintenance establishes neither. Yep, demanding accountability for how the stadiums are managed is valid. But assuming there’s a profitable private stadium business waiting to happen skips the political economy sustaining these facilities.