And so 2026, in Kenya, is announced as follows: with a list of construction sites, promises, kilometers, millions, and acronyms that seem to come from a press conference rather than a collective dream. William Ruto, from the stage in Eldoret, describes it as the year of infrastructural change, of modernity arriving by rail, of poverty receding by decree, of young people finally ceasing to wake up without work. A country that is accelerating, while in the background, the dull rumble of the election campaign that is about to begin can already be heard.
Because 2026 is not just a year of government: it is the last round before the vote. And Ruto knows this well. Today, he has the advantage, partly due to a fragmented and uncharismatic opposition, a situation vaguely reminiscent of certain Italian political seasons: so much power in the hands of one person, with few opponents truly capable of standing up to him. So the president speaks to the country as one speaks to an electorate that is already listening, with the language of big numbers and big projects.

The airport, first and foremost. Jomo Kenyatta International Airport, the aviation hub of East Africa, promised to be ‘world-class’, modern, competitive, the capital of regional aviation. However, this project also carries with it the ghost of the recent past: the failed agreement with the Indian Adani group, the canceled partnership, the controversy over transparency, and an expansion that has been suspended like a flight awaiting authorization. Today, the government promises to start again, because JKIA is already close to saturation and Nairobi cannot afford to lose ground while Addis Ababa, Kigali, and Dar es Salaam are picking up the pace.
Then there is the railway, the Standard Gauge Railway, the symbol par excellence of Kenya on the move. The extension from Naivasha to Kisumu and Malaba is described as the backbone of a logistical future that looks to Central Africa, ports, goods, and trade. It is a promise that smells of development, but also reopens old questions: debt sustainability, real economic return, distributed or concentrated benefits. These questions remain on the sidelines today, covered by the noise of the announced progress.

Alongside major infrastructure, Ruto also puts food security on the table: dams, irrigation, Galana-Kulalu, which is once again being touted as the promised land of Kenyan agriculture. More water, more cultivated fields, more work. On paper, it all adds up. On the ground, as is often the case, it will be a different story, one of long delays, contracts, setbacks, and hopes that dry up in the sun.
The most delicate chapter, however, remains that of public housing, one of the pillars of the Bottom-Up Economic Transformation Agenda. Homes for those who don't have them, new neighborhoods, dignified housing as a right. An idea that, on paper, everyone agrees on. But in reality, it encounters resistance, appeals, and courts. Watamu has demonstrated this: the public housing project was blocked by the Kenyan courts, not because the idea was wrong, but because the location was wrong, both symbolically and urbanistically. Building at the entrance to a tourist resort, sacrificing a green area, triggered a cross-party protest: residents, environmentalists, tour operators, and even the potential beneficiaries of the houses themselves.
This is the Kenyan paradox: development yes, but not everywhere, not at any cost. And the courts are increasingly becoming the arbiters of a fragile balance between growth and protection, between social urgency and long-term vision.

In his end-of-year speech, Ruto also promised to lift ten million Kenyans out of poverty, halve youth unemployment, and make the National Infrastructure Fund and the Sovereign Wealth Fund operational, citing Singapore as a model. These are weighty, ambitious words that sound good and are reassuring. But they come in a country where many young people continue to wake up without work, where the informal economy remains the only social safety net, and where patience is not infinite.
In short, 2026 looks set to be a year of open construction sites and consensus to be consolidated. A year in which Kenya is portrayed as a country on the march, while beneath the surface cracks, contradictions, and resistance remain. Ruto is running, partly because he has to. Voters are watching, some applauding, some waiting to see if, beyond the renderings and speeches, roads, houses, and jobs will actually arrive.
For now, the future has been announced. As is often the case in Africa, the real question is whether it will arrive on time or with the usual, legendary delay.