Bʏ Mᴀsɪʟᴀ Kᴀɴʏɪɴɢɪ
March 05, 2026
The wisdom my mother shared when I was growing up about fights has stayed with me throughout life. She would often say that brains fight better than fists, and the weaker brain will always reach for the fists first. Because of that lesson, I made sure I never started a fight; I believed that if I was truly the smarter one, restraint was the better weapon.
As boys, we learned another truth about fights. Once two boys started swinging, spectators rarely remained spectators for long. They joined in. What began as a quarrel between two people quickly became a chaotic brawl. By the time it ended, there were always more casualties than winners.
That childhood lesson echoes disturbingly in the unfolding tensions in the Middle East today.
Iran has drawn its neighbours into confrontation. Europe is beginning to edge in, invoking the language of defence. America and Israel are already deeply engaged. And the uncomfortable question lingers: who is next to be pulled into the fray? If history teaches us anything, it is that once spectators begin joining the fight, the casualty list grows far faster than the list of victors.
Floriweek holds no illusions about the oppressive nature of Iran’s theocracy. It is a regime whose policies and conduct have rightly drawn global condemnation. Yet acknowledging that reality does not automatically validate the wisdom of the military path now being pursued by the United States and Israel.
History should counsel caution. Vietnam, Afghanistan, Iraq, Somalia, and Libya stand as reminders of conflicts that were entered with certainty but exited with ambiguity at best and devastation at worst. These wars did not produce lasting stability. Instead, they often left behind weakened states, impoverished societies, and regions trapped in cycles of instability.
The current trajectory of the Iran confrontation risks travelling down that same road.
Already, the economic tremors are visible. Iran’s missile exchanges with its neighbours are disrupting global energy supply chains. Strategic logistics corridors across the region are under strain. Freight costs are climbing. Cargo aircraft are being grounded as security concerns grow. And, as uncertainty spreads, consumer confidence in many markets is beginning to weaken.
For industries far removed from the battlefields, the consequences are real.
Thousands of kilometres away, Kenya’s floriculture sector is beginning to feel the early shockwaves—just as it had started to reap the rewards of years of careful market development in the Gulf. In the third quarter of 2025 alone, flower exports to the United Arab Emirates reached KSh 2.52 billion, while Saudi Arabia accounted for KSh 1.25 billion.
These are not merely statistics on a trade sheet. They represent the hard-earned outcome of sustained effort: years of market development, strategic diplomacy, and heavy financial investment by growers, exporters, and the broader flower supply chain.
Breaking into Gulf markets did not happen by accident. Kenyan industry delegations have spent years travelling across the region promoting the country’s flowers. Millions of shillings have been invested in international exhibitions and trade missions. Buyers have been flown to Kenya to visit farms and witness firsthand the quality, sustainability, and reliability of the country’s production systems.
Exporters, for their part, have poured substantial resources into logistics networks and cold-chain infrastructure to ensure that Kenyan flowers reach Middle Eastern markets fresh and consistently. As a result, the Gulf—led by the UAE and Saudi Arabia—has emerged as a crucial growth frontier for Kenya’s floriculture industry. Rising incomes, expanding hospitality sectors, and a strong cultural affinity for flowers continue to drive demand across the wider Middle East.
But conflicts have a way of sweeping aside years of careful progress.
If instability spreads further across the region, disrupted air routes, volatile fuel prices, and weakening consumer demand could quickly erode the gains Kenyan exporters have fought so hard to achieve. The war may be fought with missiles and geopolitics, but its economic casualties will stretch far beyond the battlefield.
Which raises a troubling question: could Kenya’s flower sector become one of those unintended casualties?
It is difficult not to think of the famous lament by the Tanzanian football fan who once observed, with painful simplicity: “Mashabiki ndio huumia” — it is the supporters who suffer the most.
In wars, as in playground fights, it is often the spectators who end up paying the highest price.