Opinion: We cheer the stars but we're starving the teams that produce them

We celebrate giant-killings in the FKF Cup, cheer marathon winners, and applaud Shujaa’s promotion. But behind the glamour lies a painful reality — an entire layer of Kenyan sport is slowly suffocating.

Two recent stories perfectly illustrate this crisis.

First, Peter Munui, head coach of Desert Warriors, a Kenya Volleyball Federation Men’s Division Two League volleyball side from Turkana, spoke with raw honesty after his team’s match at Nyayo Outdoor Court.

Munui described how his squad travels hundreds of kilometres with almost no support, how talented players are left behind because the club cannot afford transport and accommodation, and how the absence of a reliable sponsor makes every away fixture feel like a miracle.

“We don’t have a definite sponsor that is sure games will come. The cost alone kills us… some players are left behind,” Munui said.

Then there’s Mully Children’s Family FC (MCF), a club founded on charity and youth empowerment. Earlier this season, they were forced to withdraw from the National Super League after 18 matches because they could no longer afford salaries, food, accommodation, and basic match-day expenses.

Despite being reinstated following FKF intervention, Dr Charles Muli, the club’s founder, painted a bleak picture of their reality.

“We played for six years in the NSL and I then realised we have a shortage of funds… The cost alone kills us,” echoed Dr. Muli.

These are not isolated cases. They represent dozens of teams in KVF Division Two, FKF National Super League, lower-tier basketball, handball, and other disciplines — especially those from remote counties like Turkana.

While top clubs negotiate multi-million-shilling sponsorship deals and enjoy modern training facilities, these ‘forgotten teams’ spend more energy trying to reach the venue than actually preparing for the match. The playing field is not just uneven — it is brutally tilted against them.

This situation is not only unfair; it is short sighted.

Kenya proudly brands itself as an athletics powerhouse and a rising force in several sports. But real sporting growth cannot be measured only by Olympic medals and international titles won by a handful of stars from a few counties. True development must include giving talent from every corner of Kenya a genuine chance to compete.

If a gifted young volleyball player in Lodwar or a promising footballer from Mully Children’s Home cannot even afford to travel for league matches or trials, then we are wasting enormous potential.

We are also denying thousands of young Kenyans the life-changing benefits that sport provides — discipline, teamwork, education, and hope.

The solution is not sympathy. It is deliberate, sustained investment.

Sports federations must create meaningful support systems for lower-tier teams — travel subsidies, shared training facilities in major towns, minimum sponsorship requirements, and structured talent identification programmes that reach remote areas.

The Ministry of Sports, county governments, and corporate Kenya need to view these teams not as charity cases, but as crucial pipelines for national talent and community development. We cannot continue celebrating occasional giant-killings while ignoring the daily struggles that make such fairy tales possible.

The magic of BB Bread knocking out Gor Mahia or Chema beating established sides is real — but it should force us to ask: how many more Desert Warriors and MCFs are we losing because the system refuses to support them?

Peter Munui and Dr Charles Muli are not asking for favours. They are asking for a fair chance.

It is time Kenyan sport stopped treating Division Two and lower leagues as an afterthought. These teams carry the dreams of entire regions.

They deserve more than occasional match reports at the bottom of the sports pages. They deserve real investment, real recognition, and a real opportunity to compete.

Because the next great Kenyan sporting star might not come from the usual places. They might come from the desert, or from a children’s home — if only we give them the chance to get there.