Social media exploded with anger this week after John Chebochok, the man at the centre of a shocking BBC exposé on sexual exploitation in Kericho’s tea farms, turned up at President William Ruto’s high-profile UDA aspirants meeting at State House.
Pictures and posts from the February 4 event show Chebochok among the massive crowd of over 12,000 party hopefuls gearing up for the 2027 elections. He’s made no secret of his plans to run for the Ainamoi Constituency MP seat on a UDA ticket.
But for many, seeing him there – rubbing shoulders in the ruling party’s big showcase – felt like a slap in the face, given the serious allegations hanging over him.
Go back to 2023. The BBC Africa Eye documentary laid bare ugly truths about life on some Kenyan tea plantations. Undercover journalists captured hidden camera footage of supervisors demanding sex for jobs or better pay.
Chebochok appeared in one of those clips, apparently offering work in exchange for intimacy during what posed as a job interview. More than 70 women came forward with stories of abuse, painting a picture of fear and desperation among pickers who rely on daily wages to feed families.
He pushed back hard, calling the claims false and saying the footage twisted things. No criminal charges stuck, but the fallout lingered. Courts stepped in to block him from taking a tea factory director role at one point.
A constitutional petition aims to keep him out of public office altogether. Judgment in that case got postponed recently, leaving everything up in the air as another hearing looms.
Now this. The State House forum brought together thousands dreaming of seats in Parliament, assemblies, everywhere. Ruto spoke about party unity and grassroots strength.
Aspirants posed for photos, shook hands, soaked in the moment. Chebochok was right there, according to multiple accounts and images circulating online. No sign he got special treatment or a speaking slot, but his presence alone set off alarms.
Online, the backlash came swift. Activists and ordinary Kenyans questioned how someone with such a clouded past walks into State House for political ambitions. One foundation focused on sexual violence highlighted the irony, asking about accountability in leadership.
Comments ranged from disappointment in UDA to broader worries about protecting survivors. “How do we trust people in power if this is who they platform?” one post read, echoed by hundreds.
In Kericho, tea means everything. Vast green fields stretch across the county, employing thousands – mostly women bending low all day, baskets on backs, picking leaves under tough conditions.
The industry pumps money into the economy, but stories like those in the BBC report exposed dark sides: low pay, job insecurity, and power imbalances that predators exploit.
Chebochok, a former contractor in the sector, built connections there. Supporters might argue the allegations never proved in court, so he deserves a shot like anyone. Politics draws all kinds, after all. But critics say public office demands higher standards, especially when women’s safety hangs in the balance.
UDA hasn’t commented directly on his attendance. The party pushes wide recruitment ahead of polls, casting a big net. Yet this episode raises tough questions. Does invitation equal endorsement? How does the party vet aspirants with pending cases?
Out in Ainamoi, voters will decide eventually. The constituency covers parts heavy with tea farms, so local feelings run deep. Some might remember the scandal vividly. Others focus on development promises.
For now, the controversy simmers. Survivors’ groups keep pressing for justice. Online debates rage about integrity in politics. One thing stands clear: old shadows follow into new arenas. As 2027 nears, stories like John Chebochok’s remind everyone that elections test more than policies – they test who we choose to lead.
In a country working through issues of abuse and power, moments like this hit hard. Kericho watches closely. So does the nation.
