There are mornings in Kenya when national unity wakes up, looks in the mirror and wonders what it is still doing there, stuck between crumpled posters of cohesion and statistics that contradict it. It stretches and thinks that the important thing is not to wage war between tribes, as has happened too many times in the past.
Then, as unexpected as a matatu that revs its engine even when empty, comes the report from the Commission for Cohesion and Integration.
 
It reminds you that, despite the 46 ethnic communities + one honorary community (the Indians) that should colour the country like a Watamu kanga, the palette of opportunities is still governed by the same five hands: Kikuyu, Kalenjin, Luo, Luhya, Kamba.
Plus three permanent guests in the super-minority quota: Kisii, Meru, Mijikenda. Eight in all. 
An eight-square Kenya, with people watching from the outside.
It is as if the whole nation were a big Sunday lunch, but only those with the right accent are allowed to sit at the table.
The others, 38 communities, are still waiting for someone to say “ingieni... karibuni”. Meanwhile, 70% of positions in state-owned companies are occupied by those who already have a full plate. 
And the remaining 12% seems almost like a typo, a distraction of fate.
Commissioner Makori, with that Kenyan frankness that raises his finger before his voice, says that what is truly shocking is that 90% of positions are controlled by eight communities out of forty-six. Eight.
 
One wonders whether the independent Kenya imagined by the founding fathers was a democracy or a poorly administered condominium.
And what about patronage? Ah, it is never missing.
It is the guest that no one invites but always brings the best food.
It is patronage that decides who will be CEO, secretary, director, commander. It's always the same surnames dancing around the armchairs, while leadership roles are transformed into a kind of ethnic bingo: in four communities, almost two-thirds of the numbers are won.
Makori is keen to point out that he is not opposed to “phone calls”.
 
Of course not. In Kenya, recommendations are part of the landscape, like the “No hawking” signs that no one respects.
 
He only asks that people also call for the wanyonge, the little ones, those who don't have the right uncle or clan chief in their address book.
A tender, almost poetic request, were it not tragically real.
Then there is the issue of women. The report tells us that they represent 22% of CEOs. In a country where the Constitution requires at least a third, we are below par in everything: numbers, goodwill and embarrassment.
Not even universities, which should resemble markets of ideas, have been spared. There too, the usual five communities dominate 85% of the places. Minorities? They are still being sought in some faculty corridor, perhaps behind a pile of never-stamped paperwork.
The Commission's president, Samuel Kobia, puts it simply: there is no equal distribution of opportunities.
 
End of philosophy.
And in a Kenya that continues to repeat that the strength of a nation lies in its diversity, it sounds like one of those truths that hurt more than a matatu tyre on your toes.
The problem is not new, but the urgency is: a country cannot expect to grow if it continues to choose tribe over talent. National unity is not poetry, it is a daily practice. And every time it is ignored, we take three steps backwards in the red sand of the Rift Valley.
Yet something can still be saved. Perhaps we could start with a simple gesture: hiring someone because they are good, not because they speak the right language. In a changing Kenya, it would be almost revolutionary.
Or at least, for once, it would be fair.