There is a Kamba saying that always comes to mind in moments like this. "Musyi wa mutuku, utungilawawa vala waumila." An arrow that hits you at night is returned in the same direction it came from. It is a very practical philosophy. No long debates. No press conferences. Just direction, response, and closure.

If President William Ruto were a Kamba elder seated under a tree somewhere in Kitui, many would stand up, clap once, and say, “Eeeh, that one has understood the assignment.” He did not invent the arrow. He simply returned it.

In fact, let us congratulate our leaders. Truly. They have achieved something remarkable. They have brought us the political circus early. Normally, this grand show comes at the end of elections, when manifestos disappear, manners fade, and microphones become weapons. This time, they have innovated, delivering the circus in advance like a bonus track before the album, proper. At the very least, Kenyans should appreciate the timing.

Communication scholars call this mirroring, or reciprocal rhetoric. Simply put, if you call me a name, I return it. The idea is that an insult loses power when shared equally. It is like two children refusing to cry because each insists the other started it. In politics, it is meant to neutralise attacks. In practice, it often escalates them.

Throughout the week, voices of wisdom have emerged. Clergy say they are struggling to identify with leaders they once admired. Muslim leaders remind us that dignity is not seasonal, even under provocation. Parents quietly wonder what their children are learning on the national stage. Citizens in matatus and markets simply say they are exhausted. Not angry. Just tired.

Here is the uncomfortable truth. Our leaders are not visitors from another planet. They are a mirror. We elected them. If the reflection seems strange, we should not break the mirror but ask what it reveals about us. The laughter we enjoy today must not blind us to its lesson.

And for those who think this is new, history gently clears its throat. In the early years of independence, Jomo Kenyatta dismissed critics with sharp language that left little room for dialogue. Years later, Daniel arap Moi mastered political jabs, often wrapped in parables. Mwai Kibaki, though quieter, still delivered pointed remarks under pressure. And Uhuru Kenyatta occasionally responded with equal sharpness.

The pattern is not new. Only the volume has increased. So what do we do with this early circus, this national comedy that makes us laugh and wince?

We return to something deeper, steadier, and lasting. Responsibility, Efficiency, and Discipline. In my book 'Green For Life', these three define everything. I simply call them RED.

Responsibility reminds every leader that authority is not self-owned but held in trust before the people and ultimately before God. Words shape lives. Both the Bible and the Quran agree the tongue can build or destroy. Leadership that forgets this loses its moral anchor long before it loses power.

Efficiency asks a simple question: while arrows fly, who is building the nation? A nation cannot eat insults, export arguments, or educate its children on sarcasm. When citizens see noise without progress, they withdraw. Voter turnout declines. Hope fades quietly. Democracy weakens not with a bang, but with silence.

Discipline is the quiet force that distinguishes leadership from mere performance. It involves choosing restraint even when reacting seems easier. It means remembering every day that the office should be elevated, not just filled. It’s understood that children are observing, learning not from speeches but from conduct.

A nation does not weaken when leaders disagree. It weakens when they forget how to disagree. So yes, let us enjoy the humour for a moment. Let us acknowledge the cleverness of returning arrows. But let us also remember that a country cannot be built on arrows, no matter how accurately they are returned.