William Ruto has been strutting about with a swagger that only a freshly minted academic title can bring, taking every opportunity to wield his doctorate as both shield and sword. Armed with the title “Dr,” he has dismissed critics as unqualified to question his policies or his leadership. But behind the pomp and ceremony of his 2018 graduation lies a growing pile of questions—unanswered, uncomfortable, and perhaps deliberately ignored.
The tale of Ruto’s academic pursuit is anything but straightforward. His PhD journey was a marathon stretching over six years, a timeframe that even full-time students find daunting. Yet Ruto—then Deputy President of Kenya, embroiled in high-stakes politics, jet-setting on official business, and fending off charges at the International Criminal Court—managed to complete a rigorous PhD programme in Plant Ecology. Or did he?
The PhD That Almost Wasn’t
The official narrative has been carefully crafted: Ruto’s thesis, titled “Influence of Human Activities on Land Use Changes on Environmental Quality of Riparian Ecosystems: A Case Study of Saiwa Swamp Watershed, Western Kenya”, earned him his doctorate in December 2018. But this triumph was preceded by a conspicuous stumble in 2017, when Ruto failed to meet the “set requirements” for graduation. Within two months, those “requirements” were magically fulfilled, and Ruto walked away with his long-elusive degree.
Who Wrote It?
Whispers in academia suggest that Ruto’s thesis may not entirely be his own work. At the centre of this controversy is a well-connected professor, a former Permanent Secretary with a background in Biological Sciences and Hydrobiology, who allegedly penned the thesis. The professor’s close ties to Ruto—both in academia and in government—raise legitimate concerns about undue influence and academic fraud.
Ruto’s critics were vocal during the 2022 elections. Professor Makau Mutua ominously hinted at “dark academic secrets” that could be exposed if Ruto continued attacking Raila Odinga’s qualifications. “We know many shocking things about Ruto’s supposed PhD that we can bring to light,” Mutua warned. But the revelations never came—perhaps suppressed by political expediency or drowned out by the noise of electioneering.
Academic Cronies and the National Biosafety Authority
The web thickens at the National Biosafety Authority (NBA), where Professor Jenesio Kinyamario—Ruto’s PhD supervisor—sits as chairman. His right-hand man, Mr Nehemiah Ng’etich, who allegedly did the “heavy lifting” for Ruto’s thesis, serves as acting CEO of the same institution. This cosy arrangement stinks of cronyism, but it gets worse.
Dr Roy Mugiira, a competent and well-regarded official, was unceremoniously suspended from the NBA. Kinyamario and Ng’etich accused him of misappropriating funds and tampering with board documents—allegations that were later debunked in court. The Labour Court found them guilty of fabricating evidence to push Mugiira out. Why? To pave the way for Ng’etich’s appointment and cement their control over NBA’s funds.
It is a textbook case of corruption and academic dishonesty—a Faustian bargain where public institutions are traded for personal gain.
David Ndii’s Grim Verdict
Even Ruto’s allies seem unable to keep quiet. David Ndii, Ruto’s own economic advisor, did not mince words. In a now-infamous tweet, Ndii lamented:
“Some people don’t appreciate the implications of awarding Ruto a fraudulent PhD. It has devalued our education credentials. All Kenyan PhDs will be suspect. They’ve plundered and debased public morality; now they debase education. Who cursed us? Must be the spirits of Kiambaa church victims.”
The implications of this scandal go beyond one man’s academic vanity. If Ruto’s PhD is fraudulent, it casts a dark shadow over the University of Nairobi and every academic institution in the country. Kenyan PhDs—once a mark of intellectual rigour—risk being viewed with suspicion on the global stage.
A Crisis of Credibility
The issue here is bigger than William Ruto. It’s about the integrity of our education system and the erosion of trust in public institutions. If Kenya’s top universities can be co-opted into political schemes, what message does that send to the next generation of scholars? If our leaders can buy their way to academic titles, what hope is there for those who genuinely strive for academic excellence.
This isn’t just a scandal; it’s an indictment of a society that rewards connections over competence, influence over integrity. And unless we demand accountability—from Ruto, from the University of Nairobi, and from the gatekeepers of our education system—we will all be complicit in the debasement of our nation’s intellectual heritage.
For now, we wait. The questions remain unanswered, the evidence obscured, the truth elusive. But it won’t stay that way forever. Academic fraud has a way of bubbling to the surface, no matter how deeply it’s buried.
The clock is ticking, Dr Ruto.
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