Africa-Press – Kenya. A viral video has exposed an unsettling strain of ethnic mistrust in Kenyan football, with a group of fans demanding their coach’s removal and accusing him — without proof — of favouring players from his tribe and secretly backing a community club linked to his ethnic roots.
These accusations are not only unsubstantiated; they are perilous. They reveal how easily tribal suspicion can seep into football — and how quickly it can corrode the foundations of a sport that is supposed to unite.
Kenyan football, like the country itself, exists within a complex political and cultural context. But the pitch has long served as one of the few spaces where national identity routinely supersedes ethnic identity.
Fans may disagree over tactics, refereeing decisions, or transfer policies, but rarely has the sport tolerated an argument that a coach’s tribe determines his intentions.
The claims in the video threaten to reverse that progress. They rest on a dangerous assumption: that ethnic belonging determines loyalty.
Such reasoning undermines the dignity of coaches, players, and supporters alike. It implies that professional choices — who starts, who sits, who signs — are dictated not by football logic but by tribal allegiance. This is not only false; it is profoundly corrosive.
The idea that a coach would risk his reputation, his livelihood, and his future in the game to advance an ethnic agenda defies logic. Coaches are judged by results. Their success depends on discipline, tactical clarity, and performance.
Sabotage would destroy their own careers long before harming a rival club. Yet these allegations, though baseless, carry weight in a country where historical grievances over ethnic favouritism remain painfully alive.
Equally troubling is the effect such rhetoric has on players. A young footballer from the coach’s community may find himself questioned, his achievements diminished by insinuation.
A player from another background may begin to mistrust decisions made in the dressing room. Football teams thrive on cohesion, and cohesion cannot survive under the shadow of suspicion.
Kenyan football has long been enriched by the movement of players and coaches across regions.
Some of the sport’s most successful figures built their careers far from their home communities. That cross-regional mixing is part of what has kept the league vibrant. To inject tribal narratives into this system is to undermine the very diversity that sustains it.
The stakeholders of the game — club leadership, fan associations, the Kenyan Premier League, and the Football Kenya Federation — must treat this moment as a serious warning.
They must state clearly that tribal profiling has no place in the sport. Failure to do so risks normalising a discourse that could destabilise clubs, divide supporters, and damage the integrity of the league.
Supporters, too, must rethink how they channel their frustration. Criticism of tactics or performance is part of football’s DNA. But when disappointment curdles into ethnic blame, something essential is lost.
Football’s passion must not become an excuse for bigotry. Fans can demand accountability without resurrecting the tribal narratives that have repeatedly scarred Kenya’s public life.
The reactions captured in the video are not just expressions of anger; they are symptoms of how easily frustration can be redirected toward old prejudices. They show how thin the boundary is between sporting disappointment and political resentment.
This is precisely why the moment demands reflection: if football — a game built on collective identity — becomes another arena for tribal contest, what will remain to bind supporters together?
The coach at the centre of this controversy deserves to be evaluated on football terms: results, discipline, player development, and tactical vision. These are legitimate questions.
What is not legitimate is the premise that his ethnic background shapes his professional choices. Kenyan football must insist that performance, not ancestry, guides judgment.
In a country still striving to strengthen its sense of shared identity, sport must remain a stabilising force.
Ethnic suspicion cannot be allowed to dictate coaching decisions, roster selections, or fan sentiment. The future of the league — and the fragile unity it often represents — depends on rejecting that path.
Kenyan football deserves better than the politics of tribe. It deserves a meritocratic game, a united fan culture, and a league where talent, not lineage, determines success.
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