The KETRACO CEO Job That Wasn't Really a Job
Your new KETRACO CEO has already been picked—and the board just got caught trying to hire him anyway.
In a move that would make even our most brazen matatu conductors blush, the Kenya Electricity Transmission Company Limited board has quietly shelved its CEO recruitment process after a Nairobi law firm, Kipchoge & Associates, threatened court action over what they termed "blatantly illegal qualification requirements." But here's the thing that should make every Kenyan sitting in a Nairobi office nervous: multiple sources suggest the entire advertisement exercise was engineered from day one to make incumbent Kibias Kipkemoi the only viable candidate. It's the ultimate Kenyan inside game—announce a public process, set impossible goalposts that only your chosen one can clear, and when someone dares to question it, quietly cancel and hope everyone moves on to the next scandal. This isn't just about one man's ambitions; it's a masterclass in how our state institutions have become personal fiefdoms.
The controversy centers on qualification criteria so peculiar they deserve their own footnote in Kenya's book of institutional oddities. The board initially demanded candidates possess specific experience that aligned suspiciously—almost mathematically—with Kipkemoi's CV. When pressed, they doubled down. It took a sharp-eyed law firm seeing through the charade and threatening to drag them to court for the penny to finally drop. The board's response? Cancel the whole thing. Not reform it. Not reopen it with fair criteria. Just kill it dead. One anonymous source close to the process told us the board's strategy became clear when objections were met with delays, then ghosting, then ultimately, withdrawal. "It was never about finding the best candidate," our source said. "It was about managing optics while keeping Kipkemoi in the chair."
What makes this particularly egregious is the timing and the sector. KETRACO manages Kenya's electrical transmission network—the literal backbone of our economy, from Kisii factories to Mombasa port operations. When the institution responsible for keeping Kenya's lights on becomes a vehicle for predetermined appointments, we're not just talking about bad governance; we're talking about how mediocrity gets institutionalized at the highest levels. Every blackout, every transmission fault, every inefficiency now carries the shadow of a question: is this happening because the best person is running the show, or because someone's political godfather decided who should have the job?
The broader pattern is what keeps Kenyans up at night—not the KETRACO specific story, but what it represents. We've seen this script before. A state corporation announces a vacancy. The criteria are mysteriously tailor-made. Civil society raises an alarm. The institution either doubles down or cancels. And then? Nothing changes. Nobody goes to court. Nobody faces consequences. The predetermined candidate either gets the job anyway or shuffles to another cushy position. Meanwhile, Kenyans keep paying for services run by institutions where merit is a suggestion, not a requirement. In every sector—from energy to water to healthcare parastatals—this dance repeats itself while ordinary citizens foot the bill for the performance.
For the average Kenyan, this is simple: your taxes fund KETRACO. Your bills reflect its efficiency. And if the people running it got there through predetermined processes rather than competitive merit, then somewhere in your electricity bill, you're paying the cost of corruption dressed up as administration. The law firm's intervention was important not because it stops Kipkemoi—honestly, he might be excellent—but because it proves that institutions can be held accountable when someone refuses to play along. The question now is whether this moment becomes a turning point or just another footnote in our long history of institutional capture. In Kenya's power sector, just like in our politics, the institutions we don't fight for are the ones that end up fighting against us.