The writing is on the wall for some leaders on campaign trail

President William Ruto addresses residents in Kitutu Chache South after commissioning Nyakoe Modern market. [Sammy Omingo, Standard]

There is a story in the Bible about the downfall of two kings; Nebuchadnezzar and his son after him, King Belshazzar. One of them gave us the famous English phrase, from grace to grass, the other gave us the famous phrase: The writing is on the wall.

Let us begin with the father. He was the King of Babylon—a powerful kingdom that rode roughshod over others in the Middle East more than 500 years before the birth of Christ. Today, the ruins of Babylon lie buried in the sand, about an hour’s drive from Iraq’s capital, Baghdad.

The story goes that King Nebuchadnezzar was so powerful that “all peoples, nations, and languages trembled before him. Whomever he wished, he executed; whomever he wished, he kept alive; whomever he wished, he exalted; and whomever he wished, he brought low.”

Then power got into his head.

One evening, Nebuchadnezzar stood on the roof of his great palace and declared: “Look at Babylon! I built this great city. It is my palace. I built it by my power to show how great I am.”

According to the story, his pride so angered God that he was reduced from grace to grass overnight—from a diet of nyama choma to enforced vegetarianism.

In a flash, everyone forgot his great works—the palaces, the highways, the speeches. One day, Nebuchadnezzar was the most powerful man in the world, the next, he was eating grass with his horses, cows, and sheep.

Then came his kin, Belshazzar—who fell even harder.

He was notorious for hosting lavish feasts, inviting thousands to revel in his palace. One day, carried away by excess, he ordered that the stolen gold and silver cups and plates his father had stored away be brought out and used in his feasts. After flaunting these sacred treasures, judgment came swiftly.

In the middle of one of his lavish parties at his palace, an angel’s hand appeared and wrote on the wall: Mene, Mene, Tekel. A prophet interpreted this for the king: “Sir, it says that your time is up; you have been weighed and found wanting; you are, as Gen Zs are wont to say, ‘kwinished’ (sic).

It is from Belshazzar’s story that we get the enduring phrase “the writing on the wall”—a warning that the end has come for our unbridled pride.

History and folklore are full of such stories of hubris—intoxicating pride that brought down great leaders. Our forefathers have passed down hundreds of songs, stories, and proverbs that warn against pride.

But in Kenya, especially in this season of political madness that, predictably, has set in early, you do not need a time machine to travel back to 605–562 BC to witness Nebuchadnezzar at the height of his power, or to that night in 539 BC when Belshazzar crossed the line that led to his fall.

You do not need to be Daedalus, watching the wax melt on his son Icarus’s wings for flying too close to the sun.

No, you only need to watch the news every evening and see our politicians in action—many of them lost in live renditions of Nebuchadnezzar, Belshazzar, and Icarus from the rooftops of their luxury cars. You only need to watch the lavish displays, the flaunting of wealth and power, and listen to the brazen braggadocio of men and women drunk on power and money. 

Here, you do not need an explainer to recognise hubris when you see it. It is alive, loud, and on display in every corner of this country—from Lake Turkana to Lunga Lunga, from Lake Victoria to the Indian Ocean, from the mountain to the Valley.

And the remarkable thing is this: You do not need to be a prophet to read the writing on the wall for some of the characters who now behave as though they own this country—chest-thumping figures who say and do as they please, convinced the people are powerless and completely fooled. 

For them, the writing is on the wall, and it says: Mene, Mene, Tekel. Your time is up.

Mr Muchiri is a journalist