JAMILA’S MEMO: A lesson in power and humility — From Luanda to the Vatican

It’s easy to be swept up in the allure of political power — the titles, the bodyguards, the flashing lights of government convoys. For five years, Caleb Amaswache lived that reality as the Deputy Governor of Vihiga County, the second most powerful man in county government. Today, he sells firewood by the roadside in Luanda Town to make ends meet.

When we met him, the contrast between past and present couldn’t have been starker. Gone are the official cars, the entourage, and the phone calls that once never stopped. Now, on a good day, he makes Ksh.200 to Ksh.300— barely enough to cover his family's basic needs.

His story is not just about a man’s fall from privilege; it is a cautionary tale for Kenya’s political class. When power shifted in 2017, the calls stopped. The “Mheshimiwa” title, once worn with pride, now echoes with painful irony.

Yet, in the simplicity of his current life, there is deep clarity. He speaks with honesty about what leadership taught him: that power is fleeting, respect is earned, and arrogance is self-defeating. “When you are in power, life is good,” he says. “But after that… you realize who your real friends are.”

And it’s not just in Luanda where we see the lesson. This week, the world reflected on the life of Pope Francis — a man who led not through spectacle, but through service. A man who chose simplicity over pomp, who rejected luxury, who embraced the poor, and who reminded us that leadership means kneeling — not ruling from above.

Pope Francis washed feet. He apologized for institutional failure. He spoke for the voiceless and challenged the powerful. And yet, he too faced criticism. He too had moments of solitude. But through it all, he showed the world that humility and strength are not opposites — they are inseparable.

Caleb’s experience — though smaller in stage — is a mirror of the same truth: that leadership is not about the seat you hold, but the soul you bring to it. When the cameras are off and the convoys disappear, who are you? How did you treat those beneath your office when you were above them?

As a society, we often confuse leadership with entitlement. We forget that it is a season, not a lifetime. A chance to serve, not a license to indulge. When their time in office ends, many leaders — especially those without patronage networks — are left to navigate life as ordinary citizens. Many are unprepared. And worse — many are quickly forgotten.

Let it remind us — from Vihiga to the Vatican — that the true test of leadership is not how loud your title sounds, but how gently you carried the people who gave it to you.

As Caleb hands over a bundle of firewood to a customer — once his constituent — and as bells toll over St. Peter’s Basilica in honour of a humble Pope — we are reminded of a simple, sobering truth:

No position is permanent. But every choice in power shapes your legacy — long after the convoy fades.