In recent days, Kenya has witnessed an intriguing turn of events as President William Ruto pledged to provide a one-million-chapo-making machine to support Governor Johnson Sakaja’s school feeding program. The proposal has sparked widespread discussion, with Kenyans taking to social media to lampoon the idea—some even christening the president “El Chapo.”
From a symbolic interactionist perspective, as espoused by George Herbert Mead and Herbert Blumer, food is not just sustenance—it carries deep social meaning. Our relationship with chapati, or chapo, in Kenya goes beyond mere nutrition. It is ingrained in our collective consciousness, shaped by childhood experiences and social traditions.
Growing up, chapo was an aspirational meal, reserved for special occasions. Its presence in a household was a mark of distinction, often sparking admiration among neighbours. When a family made chapo, children from the community knew it was a special day—an unspoken social contract of reciprocity dictated that friends who enjoyed chapo at one house would, in turn, share when it was their household’s turn. In this way, chapo became a symbol of generosity, friendship, and social connection.
Even today, chapo remains deeply symbolic. It represents the rewards of hard work, particularly for labourers in the construction industry (mjengo), where chapo and mandondo (beans) are considered a well-earned treat after a grueling day. It is more than just a meal—it signifies dignity, effort, and the ability to afford a small but meaningful indulgence.
It is within this cultural context that the president’s promise of a chapo machine for schoolchildren should be understood. For many Kenyans, the initiative appears laudable—it speaks to a fundamental desire for better meals, especially for children in low-income communities. Parents and local communities have welcomed the idea, seeing it as a step toward addressing hunger in schools.
However, this promise warrants a more critical examination. While the provision of chapo in schools may offer short-term relief, it does not address the root causes of food insecurity and economic hardship. The reality is that what families in Kenya—Nairobi in this case—truly need is not just chapo at school but sustainable livelihoods that enable them to afford nutritious meals at home.
By focusing on school meals, the government risks perpetuating a cycle of dependency rather than fostering long-term solutions. This is akin to giving people fish instead of teaching them how to fish. While feeding children may help keep them in school, it does little to address the underlying economic struggles that prevent parents from providing for their families in the first place.
Moreover, the broader school feeding initiative by the county government raises legal and structural concerns. Under Kenya’s devolved governance structure, counties are mandated to fund Early Childhood Development (ECD) programs. However, many public ECD centres remain underfunded, forcing parents to opt for costly private pre-primary schools. Sentimentalism aside, prioritising a chapo machine over addressing these fundamental education gaps is a misplaced priority.
Ultimately, the promise of chapo is about more than just food—it is emblematic of a government that, in some ways, has abdicated its responsibility to create an environment where aspirations can be turned into realities. Instead of offering a fleeting taste of prosperity, the government should focus on empowering citizens with the tools and opportunities to achieve economic self-sufficiency. Only then will chapo truly represent not just aspiration but sustainable progress.
Dr. Hesbon Owila is a Media and Political Communications Researcher.