There is something about childhood lessons that only reveals its full meaning with age. Some of the most profound philosophies are never taught in lecture halls. They are passed from one generation to another around fireplaces, in farms, at riversides, or while sharing a meal. They come wrapped in stories, proverbs and songs because wisdom survives longer when it is carried by memory rather than argument.

I remember watching my father prepare a piece of roasted meat. He never rushed it. With remarkable patience, he would use his knife to peel away the dark, hardened outer layer until the tender, juicy meat underneath appeared. Every so often he would slice off a small piece, chew it slowly, then lift the rib to his mouth and draw every drop of sweetness from the bone with obvious satisfaction.

It was usually at such moments that he would speak. “The hyena enters the compound through the hole created by the family dog.” He would say nothing more. The words would simply hang in the air while he cut another piece and handed it to me.

Then, almost instinctively, we would sing an old song whose message echoed the same truth: beware first of the betrayer within before fearing the enemy outside, because the insider knows where the doors are left unlocked. As a child, I confess I paid far more attention to the delicious meat than to the proverb. Today, I understand the lesson. Communities, organisations, families and even nations rarely collapse because an outsider is strong enough to destroy them. More often, they become vulnerable because someone on the inside weakens their defences.

That ancient wisdom may well explain how many supporters of former Deputy President Rigathi Gachagua interpret his repeated references to “traitors.”

Whether one agrees with his politics or not, it is important to understand the emotional language he is using. He is not merely speaking about political opponents. Opponents are expected. Democracy assumes that people will disagree. Elections exist precisely because citizens have different visions for the country. The deeper wound comes when people believe that those who were entrusted with representing their interests have instead become instruments of those they were expected to challenge.

Throughout history, accusations of betrayal have almost always generated stronger emotions than accusations of opposition. No army fears the enemy nearly as much as it fears the spy within its ranks. No company is damaged more by competitors than by executives leaking confidential information. No family is hurt more by strangers than by relatives who deliberately undermine it from within.

The reason is simple. Insiders possess knowledge that outsiders do not. They know the weaknesses. They know where trust exists. They know which gates remain open. That is exactly what the old proverb about the family dog teaches. The dog does not become the hyena. It merely creates the opportunity. The hyena simply exploits what someone else has already weakened.

Political communities often think in similar terms. When a community overwhelmingly supports particular leaders, it naturally expects those leaders to articulate its concerns, negotiate on its behalf and defend what its members perceive to be their collective interests.

When some leaders choose a different political path, supporters may interpret that choice in very different ways. Some see it as independence. Others see it as pragmatism. Still others conclude that the leader has abandoned the community altogether.

That is where the language of “traitor” emerges. It reflects a perception that the greatest danger no longer comes from political competitors but from those who possess the community’s trust while pursuing different priorities.

Whether that perception is fair is often a matter of political debate. But the perception itself is politically powerful. History provides countless examples. Empires have fallen because of collaborators. Kingdoms have been conquered after gates were opened from inside. Military campaigns have been lost because confidential information reached opposing forces.

Even in modern corporate life, organisations invest enormous resources protecting themselves from insider threats because they understand that internal breaches often cause greater damage than external attacks. Politics is no different. Trust is the currency that holds political coalitions together. Once supporters begin believing that trusted insiders have crossed over, rebuilding confidence becomes extraordinarily difficult.

This is why political language frequently shifts from disagreement to betrayal. Disagreement allows room for reconciliation. Betrayal suggests a violation of trust. The emotional distance between those two concepts is enormous. Yet there is another lesson hidden inside my father’s proverb. Communities must be careful not to see every differing opinion as treachery. Healthy societies require debate.

Leaders sometimes make difficult compromises.
Politics often demands negotiation rather than permanent confrontation. If every disagreement becomes evidence of betrayal, unity itself becomes impossible. The challenge, therefore, is distinguishing genuine independence from genuine disloyalty.

That requires patience, evidence and fairness rather than emotion alone. The old proverb is not an invitation to suspicion. It is a warning against complacency. It reminds every family, every institution and every political movement that strength begins from within. External competitors will always exist. The real question is whether the internal foundations remain strong enough to withstand them.

Looking back now, I realise my father was teaching far more than a proverb while sharing that roasted meat. He was explaining leadership. He was explaining trust. He was explaining why communities guard loyalty so fiercely. And perhaps that is why Rigathi Gachagua’s language resonates with many of his supporters.

They hear not merely an attack on political rivals but an expression of an older African wisdom: that the greatest danger is not always the hyena waiting outside the fence. Sometimes it is the unnoticed hole in the fence itself. For once that opening appears, the hyena hardly needs an invitation. It simply walks in.