Helicopters all over but no food on the table

Have you noticed there are perhaps more helicopters plying our skies than 2NK matatus to Nanyuki? The preferred mode of transport today - by our politicians especially - is up in the sky, where they do not have to interact with hoi polloi, who will still wake up at the crack of dawn to vote for them.

Helicopters, once reserved for emergency evacuations and military operations are now the preferred toys of the political elite. It’s no longer surprising to spot a chopper or two landing in a village schoolyard, ferrying a politician for a 15-minute speech at the opening of a cattle dip or a weekend wedding appearance. I got the impression that we had more helicopters in Maasai Mara the other day than the wildebeests the local tourists had gone to see. This unusual explosion - not of good roads or medical facilities, but of helicopters - comes at a time when the economy is lagging, when most people can barely make ends meet.

The chopper craze started quietly, then picked up momentum. It was no coincidence that import duties on helicopters were reduced early in the current administration. What followed was a helicopter-buying spree that would make even developed countries raise their eyebrows. Suddenly, every senior politician and government appointee had access to a helicopter. Even some county-level leaders now move around like military commanders.

I believe we now have one of the highest concentrations of private helicopters in the region. A significant number of these are owned by politicians or individuals closely aligned to political interests. The cost of a basic helicopter starts from around Sh300 million, with luxury models going well past half a billion shillings.

But the purchase price is just the beginning. Helicopters are notoriously expensive to maintain. Routine servicing, fuel, hangar fees, and the cost of professional pilots quickly add up. A single hour of flight can cost anywhere from Sh150,000 to Sh300,000. The irony? These aircraft are often used for utterly non-essential travel. A quick campaign rally, a burial, launching a market — funded in many cases by taxpayer money or dubiously sourced public funds.

This unchecked helicopter culture is not just wasteful; it is offensive. In a country where over 15 million people live below the poverty line, where children learn under trees, and hospitals go without basic supplies, the image of a politician landing in a sleek chopper to deliver hollow promises, is an insult. We have our priorities upside down.

What message does it send when we see helicopters flying all over ferrying every Kimani, Sudi and Ojwang (all names made up of course) while public hospitals lack drugs and ambulances? What does it say when the government spends hundreds of millions on aerial joyrides, but a headteacher somewhere receives Sh10 per child for an entire school term? 

These aircraft have become the latest symbols of political privilege. In some counties, governors now fly to inspect boreholes or attend funerals—trips that could be done comfortably by road in under two hours. Why? Because helicopters signal power and command awe. They create illusion of urgency and activity, when no real work is being done.

Worse still, these choppers are now part of a broader electioneering arsenal. During campaign seasons, they ferry cash, goods, and even suspected bribery materials. The 2022 elections saw unprecedented aerial activity—every major political figure seemed to have a personal fleet. That trend is only accelerating.

So where do we go from here?

First, there must be a comprehensive audit of all helicopters procured using public funds—whether at the national or county level. Who owns them, who flies them, and what exactly they are used for. Secondly, the government must reinstate or increase import duties and regulate the ownership of these machines with transparency. If you can afford a chopper, you can afford the tax. Most importantly, we must rethink our definition of leadership. Flying above the people you are supposed to serve is not leadership—it is sheer arrogance. Kenya needs grounded leaders, not airborne elites.

-The writer is a communications consultant