jumi090106.txt
 
Watch this!!!!!!!!!!!  Can you put the dots together???????

SAMUEL

KIVUITU

 

Fellow Kenyans, my name is Samuel Kivuitu. I

could tell you all my Akamba names, but I don’t see what

purpose that would serve, so let me stick to the two names you

know well. I know that you’ve waited a long time to hear from

me, to learn from the horse’s own mouth what happened that

night…the night I finally decided to announce that President

Mwai Kibaki had won the presidency by a thin margin.

First off, let me tell you that Mwai Kibaki never won the

election. Indeed, I have proof that the Hon. Raila Odinga beat

Mr. Kibaki soundly. According to my own calculations—and

based on the strength of documented data—I can categorically

report that President Kibaki was beaten by his opponent by a

clean nine percentage points. Had everything played out

according to the dictates of democratic practice, the Langata

Member of Parliament would be Kenya’s president today. There

would be no Prime Minister and Assistant Prime Minister and

forty Cabinet ministers and over fifty assistant ministers and so

many permanent secretaries and…

But I digress.

I know that the question uppermost in your mind is—

Why did you do it, Samuel?

If you expect a simple answer, I’m sorry to disappoint

you. This is indeed a very complicated matter. But despite the

complexity of it, I promise to tell you everything, and to tell you

nothing but the truth. And I hope you understand that I’m doing

this only to set the record straight and to leave an authoritative

document for posterity on one of Kenya’s most painful chapters.

Why did you do it, Samuel?

Before I answer that question, let me give you a

backgrounder. In Kenya, what we have is an executive, allpowerful

presidency. The president of Kenya—at least within

the borders of the nation—is so powerful that he is only beneath

Christ in the hierarchical scheme of things. His word is law. His

desires are orders. And his reach is from sea to shining sea. Talk

of a monster!

But I digress again. I do that a lot, don’t I? I hope you

understand that digression and a little humor—as you’ll run into

later in this debriefing—is the only way I can deal with an issue

that led to the death of more than one thousand of our fellow

countrymen. It saddens me that when history is written, our

historians and writers will place the blame for what went wrong

in Kenya on me. They’ll conveniently ignore the role the men

and women who were directly responsible for the implosion

played. But…there’s nothing I can do about that. I hope, though,

that after you read my account of what happened, you’ll at least

understand why I called the election for a man I knew didn’t win

it.

Okay, buckle up now.

Here is the story.

It was December 30th. The election had been conducted

three days earlier and everything had gone just fine. The

Electoral Commission of Kenya officials on the ground—men

who were my eyes and ears in the field—had called in and given

a positive report about how things had played out. From Nyanza

to Central, Western to Eastern, the Coast to the NEP, the reports

were glowing. Kenyans had carried themselves with remarkable

dignity. The occasional skirmishes that had reared their ugly

heads in certain parts of the country had been dealt with swiftly.

I was a happy man.

We had pulled it off.

And this evening—the results were coming in steadily

from the precincts. Nyanza was turning in spectacular numbers

for the Hon. Odinga. Central was voting to a man for President

Kibaki. The Rift Valley was following the counsel of the new

kingpin, William Ruto, and voting impressively for the Hon

Odinga and the Orange Democratic Movement. At the Coast, the

competition was stiffer, but again Raila had the edge. Out in

Western, the emerging picture was one where the Hon Odinga

was going to carry the day, but he was going to be beaten in

pockets of the province by President Kibaki. Nairobi and Eastern

were problematic. These were the two provinces that I can

confidently say—even as we speak—still fascinate me. I say so

because the results were so badly tampered with, it was

impossible to say with certainty who won.

Here is what I mean. Did President Kibaki beat the Hon

Kalonzo Musyoka in his own backyard? And did the ODM kick

the butt of the president’s Party of National Unity in Nairobi? An

area everybody thought would come down to the wire? My take,

if you ask me is—there was a deal. There was fixing.

Fixing?

Let me be categorical here. I know there was fixing. Do

you remember the day—it was October 14, 2007—when

President Daniel Arap Moi met Kalonzo Musyoka and Attorney

Mutula Kilonzo at Kabarak, ostensibly to strategize? I have

evidence that at that gathering, a deal was reached where

Kalonzo Musyoka would work to divide ODM and mount his

own run for the presidency. The idea was to weaken the

opposition. Anyway, it was at this high-powered meeting that

Moi’s and Kibaki’s men prevailed on Kalonzo Musyoka to

deliver Eastern Province in exchange for the Vice Presidency.

After money exchanged hands—and I can prove this—the deal

was sealed.

So did President Mwai Kibaki beat Kalonzo Musyoka in

Musyoka’s own backyard? Quite Unlikely. What happened was

simple. Musyoka’s men in Eastern Province—in cahoots with

sellout precinct officials—sent deeply flawed figures and

compromised reports to Nairobi. Based on the figures I saw at

the headquarters, the KICC, it was clear that the rigging was

blatant and done with chilling impunity. It was unbelievable.

But I had to work with the set of circumstances that were

presented to me. So I sat at the KICC and warned the electoral

officials there to do the best they could, to consult with me over

any matter they didn’t understand, to avoid talking to the press as

much as possible and to carry themselves with utmost dignity.

You have to realize that by the 30th, votes from most of

the country had already come in and were already tallied. The

Hon. Odinga was ahead by nearly one million votes. Because of

the insurmountable lead, it had become a forgone conclusion that

President Kibaki had lost and would graciously concede

defeat…turn over power to his opponent. But that was not to be.

Instead, Kenyans watched with collective horror as results from

Central and Eastern Provinces started to roll in. The numbers

were simply astounding. There were precincts that reported a

near one hundred percent turnout.

The gap between the Hon Odinga and President Kibaki

started closing fast. Tension started rising dramatically in the

country. Everywhere I went, I could feel the sense that

something grave was about to happen in Kenya. And even

though I projected the image of one in total command of the

process, I can safely say that by this time my commissioners and

I had effectively lost control. The bravado with which I spoke at

the KICC was just a show. A sick show. But what could I do?

What would you have done?

Resign?

Talk to the press?

Flee the country?

Trust me. Those were options I considered carefully. In

the end, however, I concluded that the international community

wasn’t going to let anybody rig an election in one of Africa’s

most prosperous and quiet countries. The United States wasn’t

gonna let it happen. And the Brits would surely say no.

Right?

Wrong.

But I’ll talk about that later. Suffice it to say that it was

around this time that I first realized just how dangerous the

situation was. And it was the first time the warning to the public

the Police Commissioner had issued two days earlier started to

look very ominous indeed. Did Ali know something I didn’t? If

he didn’t know something, why had he warned the public? And

why were his boys on high alert all around the city? Indeed, why

was the KICC practically barricaded by the police? As I went

into a bathroom to pray and think, I remember whispering this:

Dear God,

I fear that this nation is about to be hit by a

storm of a proportion I can’t even begin to

comprehend. I pray that you may give me the

wisdom to steer the country out of these

turbulent waters.

Amen.

Yes, I’d gone into the bathroom to pee, but I never did. I

couldn’t. I don’t know whether it was a premonition or just a bad

feeling, but by the time I walked back into my office, it had

become clear to me that the nation I love was only moments

away from going up in smoke.

Was I going to burn with it?

MWAI

KIBAKI

 

My name is Emirio Stanley Mwai Kibaki. Ohhh yes,

those four are my real names. I’ve been the President of the

Republic of Kenya for five years. The Hon Raila Odinga and

millions of Kenyans have accused me of staging a civilian coup

and of massively rigging the election in my favor. I find that

very disturbing. Here is why. I find it disturbing because I

never—at any one time—participated in the blatant theft that I

witnessed with my own eyes. In fact, I’m still amazed that there

are people in this world who can so coldly and methodically

doctor numbers, manufacture votes and announce fraudulent

results with such a straight face as Samuel Kivuitu and his

commissioners did. You’d think the results were authentic and

irrefutable. Absolutely dead on.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

Since you want to know what happened that night, I’ll

start from the beginning. The truth is—I lost the election. I say

that right off so you’ll understand that there were forces that

made it their mission to stop the Hon. Odinga from becoming

president. If you ask my son, Jimmy, he’ll be glad to tell you that

I wasn’t one of those people. In fact, I was ready to turn over the

government to the Hon. Odinga.

So why didn’t I?

Let me take a deep breath. I’m about to bore you with a

backgrounder, but I make no apologies for it. You have to realize

that to understand Kenya, you must crawl back into the deep

past. You have to come to terms with the sense of entitlement

that has characterized Kikuyu attitude because of the

disproportionate sacrifice they made in liberating Kenya from

colonial bondage. You have to get to the fact that the Kikuyu are

vastly wealthier than other Kenyan communities and feel a

strong need to protect their wealth from any possible threats.

Now, in the Kikuyu mind, there is no other threat that is

greater than a man called Raila Odinga. That man—for reasons

I’ve never ever understood—is a symbol of what political and

business thought-leaders from the Mt. Kenya region fear like a

plague. His name is synonymous with trouble. His actions are

watched very closely. His words are listened to, studied and

debated late into the night all across Central Province. Why?

Look, all I can say is that the fear is based on a fundamental

misunderstanding of the man’s nature and character. I’ve worked

with him and found him to be a man with a sincere and deep love

for Kenya. He is a man of his word, a guy you want on your side,

not against you. But that’s all I’m gonna say about him…lest I

annoy the folks who support me.

But the one thing most Kenyans don’t really know is just

how uncomfortable former president—Daniel Arap Moi—is

with the Hon. Odinga. The loathing borders on hate and a

pathological fear, really. So while the Kikuyu elite harbor a

sizzling mistrust of the Langata MP, the former president and his

minions are mortified by the man. They’ll go to any lengths to

stop him.

And that’s how we got to where we are.

I’m sure you’ve heard the rubbish that the Americans

supported me because I surrendered Kenyan citizens of Moslem

persuasion to them for interrogation in camps in Ethiopia. Others

have said that the U.S. Ambassador, Michael Renenberger, had a

stake in the outcome of the election because he was my personal

friend, a golf buddy and a nyama choma partner.

Bullshit.

Truth is—and I’m an old man so I won’t lie—there were

three forces that derailed the elections. Before I mention them,

let me take my portion of the blame for not stopping them. But

that does not answer your question about why I didn’t stop them,

does it? In the interest of posterity, I’ll answer that question very

directly. I never stopped them because I was afraid.

Uoga.

And I’m very sorry about it. I hope Kenyans will forgive

me for letting them down. For cowering behind the marble walls

at State House while children and women were being butchered

and burned alive by marauding gangs.

Pole sana—Very Sorry!

Okay, now I’ll tell you who I was afraid of.

John:

What most Kenyans don’t know is that this is one of the

most dangerous men on the face of this earth. When John

Michuki warned once that “If you rattle a snake it will bite back”

nobody took him seriously. People thought those were the words

of a deranged man, a senile fat cat. But I knew better. Since our

Mau Mau days, I knew that John was not a man to mess with.

Look, he fought on the side of the white settlers and enriched

himself like a toad in the process. The plight of the Africans—

our fellow Agikuyu—didn’t seem to mean much to him. I’m

talking in whispers because I don’t want him to hear me say

things about him. So, does the fact that he fought darn hard for

the British mean he didn’t care for the cause of the Mau Mau? I

wouldn’t say so. I think he just figured out a way to make money

for himself and keep it. But once that money was made, John has

worked extremely hard to keep it, to grow it, to make it protect

him. I know for a fact that if it came right down to it, he’s all

along been willing to die to protect his empire. And now there’s

no bigger threat to it than that kihi.

Does that mean he could kill even a long-time friend like

me?

The answer is yes. I leave it at that.

Nicholas:

You should have seen this man on the night of the 30th. I

was seated in the State House, at the balcony, having coffee with

a friend that I’ll not mention here. I was politely notified by an

aide that Nicholas Biwott was in the living room and wanted to

see me urgently. I naturally thought he had a word from

President Daniel Arap Moi…since the two have been very close

over the years.

I hurried to the living room and met a man with red eyes.

He was in full panic mode. Only moments ago, the results for his

constituency had been announced and he had been trounced by a

humiliating margin. So what did he want?

He said, “Your Excellency, I have come here to warn

you that you can’t turn over power to Raila Odinga. The man is

dangerous.”

“But he has won,” I said.

Nicholas looked at me and said, “Mr. President, we

don’t know that he has won. The Electoral Commission has not

announced that he’s won.”

“So what are you saying?”

“That the wazee—the elders have decided that power

can’t be turned over to the Odinga boy. We won’t let him rule

this country.”

“But the people have voted for him?”

“Damn the people. What they say doesn’t matter.”

I was stunned. Was Moi in this scheme? If he was, why

was he doing this? To this day, I don’t know whether Moi sent

Nicholas, all I know is that by the time I was about to tell him I

couldn’t put the country through such drama, John Michuki and

my wife—Lucy Muthoni, the daughter of Reverend Kaggia—

burst through the living room door and sat opposite me.

It was dramatic.

It was scary.

But I’ll have to let Lucy talk for herself later on. For

now, let me just say that she was the third force I was scared of.

Read why below.

Lucy:

That’s my wife. The First Lady. You’ve read a lot about

Lucy. How she slaps people. How she doesn’t take shit from

anybody. How she doesn’t get along with her more attractive cowife.

But what you’ve not heard is just how…obstinate and

nagging she can be. Matter of fact, by saying obstinate and

nagging, what I’m trying to hide is the fact that Lucy treats me

the exact same way she treats everybody out there. Has she

slapped me? I won’t answer that. Has she made me sleep in the

living room couch? I won’t answer that either.

All I can say here is—Lucy was the person I was the

most afraid of. I saw her eyes on the night I suggested that power

be turned over to Raila. Her eyes were red. She was ready to kill.

Matter of fact, she drew a shotgun and pointed it at Jimmy.

Before I could get to her—you know pombe has slowed me

down—she squeezed the trigger and got the boy’s butt. I don’t

want to get deeply into this story. I thank God that Jimmy is

alive today. I would have lost my son.

And because I know people will always wonder what the

Kibaki children felt about the election debacle, let me say—for

the record—that all my children wanted the right thing done.

They wanted the presidency turned over to the man who won it.

Jimmy was especially keen that democracy not be subverted.

Obviously his wishes were never carried out…because he feared

for his life.

What!?

Feared for his life?

Sorry, guys, that’s all I’m gonna say about that. But you

get the point. I was trapped. Had I turned over power to Raila

Odinga, the power cartel that has controlled politics in Kenya

since independence would have done everything to make Kenya

ungovernable. In fact, they were prepared to do something

heinous.

They were ready to kill the man.

Kill him!

After what I’ve said here, you are obviously telling

yourself that Emirio is saying this just so he can look good, so

Kenyans can see him in a better light. Let me assure you that I’m

not engaging in revisionism or trying to make myself look good.

I’m just telling you what really happened. Ultimately, the buck

stops with me and I know that I let Kenyans down.

I’m sorry for that.

But I also think we need to move on. That’s why I must

say—Mjienjoy.

RAILA

AMOLLO

ODINGA

 

Wananchi Watukufu,

My name is Raila Amollo Odinga. Most of you know

me by my nicknames. Agwambo. Tinga. Wuo Nya Alego. Owaga

Kinyi. Nyundo. Or the more recent one—Arap Mibei. Where do

you guys get these names from? No. I’m not complaining. I’m

just humbled by the faith my fellow Kenyans have placed in me.

My family and I realize that to whom much is given, much is

expected. We don’t take this faith for granted. I will always work

hard to make sure Kenya is a place where fathers and mothers

and grandmas and grandpas can bring up their children and

grandchildren in peace.

That’s my pledge.

Now to the matter at hand. You’ve heard what Samuel

Kivuitu and President Kibaki have had to say. I’m not going to

spend the little time I have here disputing anything they’ve said.

What I want to tell you is the inside story of what happened that

night. Most people—after I bit the bullet and got into a coalition

government with Kibaki—accused me of not standing strong. Of

giving away too much. Of having been hoodwinked. Outgunned.

Outsmarted. People who are saying those things don’t know me

very well.

I’ve always loved Kenya. I own businesses in Kenya. I

am a grandfather and a Christian. My father brought me up to

respect all people and to see Kenyans as members of one big

family. Over the years, I’ve lived by the principles the old man

instilled in me as a young man.

Well, on the 30th of December 2007, I was at a secret

location. It was clear to me that ODM was on the way to winning

the election. Our party had just swept out political titans

affiliated to the PNU across the nation. Matter of fact, it was

clear that the ODM was going to be a dominant party in

Parliament and that Kenya—under our leadership—would never

be the same again.

But even at that time, what bothered me was a secret that

was shared with me by a friend inside the PNU. This was a guy

who had always told me—in confidence—what was going on on

the other side. His word had always been good…and I fully

trusted him.

What he told me was that there was a very dark plan in

place for Kenya. He said that the people around President Kibaki

had realized, since September 2007, that he was headed straight

for defeat. All the major polling agencies were placing him a

distant second to me. In fact, even George Waititu’s discredited

Steadman Poll had him trailing me by a significant margin.

It was during this time—in total disregard for the

staggering numbers—that Uhuru Kenyatta and other hangers-on

were telling Kibaki that a GEMA-Akamba alliance was

sufficient to defeat the ODM. What I kept wondering was just

how stupid these people could be. Did they really believe that the

four communities in Kenya’s central region had more numbers

than the combined numerical strength of the rest of the Kenyan

communities? What kind of math was this?

But like I’ve always realized in politics, when your

opponent is looking at a set of misleading data, making decisions

based on grossly flawed logic, don’t come to their rescue. Cheer

them on. So I let Uhuru and Michuki feed Kibaki the bullshit.

Even so, I couldn’t shake off my friend’s warning about PNU

intentions. They are going to take the government by force, my

friend warned. In fact, let me tell you how it will play out.

Samuel Kivuitu will be taken hostage and given a set of rules.

He’ll be made to swear—at a secret State House ceremony—that

he’ll do whatever is asked of him on behalf of Kibaki. He’ll let

the elections go well, but he’ll find a way to declare Kibaki the

winner. Predictably, the nation will erupt in chaos. There will be

riots. It is then that Michuki—in his capacity as Security

minister—will unleash terror on Kenyans.

“But the military is made up of a lot of ODM supporters.

Do they think the sons of the Kalenjin and Luhya and Luo in the

forces will take that kind of treatment lying down? Do they?” I

asked my friend.

He said, That’s where things get really complicated.

Strategists inside the State House—I mean the few elements

intent on subverting democracy—have anticipated just that kind

of trouble. So they won’t go with the military to quell and

contain the riots. They’ll use soldiers from a neighboring nation.

I knew immediately what nation he was talking about.

The only pinhead in Eastern Africa—a man who has been at the

center of some of the worst bloodletting in the region—was

Yoweri Kaguta Museveni of Uganda. He troubled Rwanda. And

Sudan. Some even blame him for doing in the leader of the

SPLA, the late Dr. John Garang.

But I digress.

I asked my friend how he came by this sensitive

information.

Njenga Karume. That old man is deeply disturbed by

what Kibaki has become. The two have been friends for years.

Matter of fact, they co-dated and—if I’m not wrong—Njenga was

even Mwai’s best man at his wedding. They are that close. But

Njenga has been increasingly frustrated by Kibaki’s direction

since becoming president. He’s watched with alarm as Kibaki

has gone from a wise, accommodating man to one flatly

controlled by his wives, especially Lucy, and a bunch of

hardliners from Central.

But when—in October 2007—a meeting was held at the

State House, where members of the Mungiki were brought in and

given the task to terrorize Kenyans into accepting another

Kibaki presidency, and when it was revealed that military

uniforms would be given to members of the outlawed group and

transported to Western Kenya and the Coast in the Daily Nation

newspaper vans, Njenga knew that he had to act to save Kenya.

And to save his friend, Kibaki.

At this point, I was trying very hard to stay calm. I knew

Kibaki. I knew that he couldn’t possibly want a legacy that was

marinated in the blood of innocent Kenyans. So how could he let

his kitchen cabinet plot something so evil?

So Njenga—when he walked out of that meeting—drove

straight to my home in Lavington. He asked me to make sure I

told you what the men and women around Kibaki were planning.

Here is how he put it: “I want you to warn Raila that if

he doesn’t act prudently, Kenya will be reduced to ashes, and the

blood of innocent children will flow to the Victoria and leave a

curse on our land forever.”

I said, “They really want to use the Mungiki?”

Yes.

“Kibaki’s men want to kill fellow Kenyans?”

To these people there are no fellow Kenyans. I get

amused when I see the blind support the Kikuyu people give

Kibaki. If they knew just how disdained they are in the corridors

of power… But I won’t get into that. What I’m trying to tell you,

Hon Odinga, is that Njenga has passed on to you very sensitive

information. He gets killed if this comes out. So handle it with

care.

“One last question,” I said. “How did Njenga know that

you and I are friends?”

Look, they see our children together. They see our wives

together. And we’ve occasionally been seen together. People

have a way of making those kinds of associations. In any case, if

Njenga didn’t come to me, he was going to find another way to

reach you. This is too scary for him…and he believes the Kibaki

group is bent on starting something that once it gets going will

consume Kenya. He can’t let it happen. So let’s just be thankful

that he came.

When I was done talking to my friend, I called Ida. I was

in total shock. I told her to meet me at Safari Park. When I was

done telling her what my PNU friend had told me, she pulled out

a Kleenex and dubbed her forming tears.

It was too much to take.

___

Fast forward.

Everything my PNU friend told me was planned—with

senior Mungiki figures at the State House—came to pass. Over

one thousand five hundred Kenyans perished. The former United

Nations Secretary General, Dr. Kofi Annan, came to Kenya and

gracefully nudged Kenyans to form a provisional coalition

government. But because of the sheer scale of the violence and

destruction visited on Kenyans by the Mungiki and the supposed

Ugandan forces, my supporters were livid. People wanted me to

fight. Fight. And fight. In fact, there were those who were

prepared for an all out war.

Then what?

Then what after the war?

How many Kenyans was I willing to sacrifice by my

intransigence? One thousand were already dead. Property worth

millions of shillings destroyed. Thousands of our people were in

refugee camps. Was I to overlook that grim reality and insist that

I had to be president or else? If I did, what would be the

difference between me and them?

I decided that I couldn’t let Kenya burn. I decided that

the internally displaced brothers and sisters at the camps had

gone through enough. I decided that our people stuck in

Ugandan camps needed to come back home. That Kenya was

bigger than any of us and needed to heal. After all, in just a few

more years the post-independence politicians who have

subjected Kenya to such retrogressive politics would be dead.

Why destroy our nation because of them?

Well, I’ve said a lot. I hope you now understand why I

made the decision I made. It had nothing to do with Renneberger

or Sir Adam Wood or a misread of the gist of the agreement I

signed…the one that produced the 50-50 government. Some

people will try hard to make you believe I didn’t know what I

was doing. Don’t believe them. We will have another chance to

present the ODM vision to the public. This time I’ll make sure

we do it after the constitution has been changed to reflect the

common aspirations of Kenyans, and the process will be

overseen by a newly constituted electoral commission.

Isn’t that better than a civil war?

God bless Kenya!

KALONZO

MUSYOKA

 

My name is Kalonzo Musyoka. My Christian name is

Stephen. I come to you—my fellow countrymen—with a heavy

heart because I’ve been called one of the worst things a Christian

can ever be called. A Traitor. You’ll recall that in the Bible only

one man has been branded a traitor…and that man did the worst

thing any human being in history could ever do. The man was

Judas. He sold Jesus Christ for thirty pieces of silver. To be

compared to such a man is devastating for me, personally, and

even more hurtful to my family. That’s why I want to be straight

with you—my fellow countrymen—about what happened on the

night of December 31. I hope this clears the air.

It’s true that at a top meeting of my party’s officials, it

was decided our party would back the PNU position of calling

for an official announcement of the results of the presidential

election. We did so because since October 2007, it was the

official position of ODM-K to be in government.

Now, the question many have asked is—how did you

know Kibaki’s PNU was going to form that government. That’s

a legitimate question. Truth is, I held a meeting with President

Daniel Arap Moi and President Kibaki at Moi’s Kabarak home.

At that meeting, I was with my good friend and our party’s

Secretary General, Mutula Kilonzo. You’ll recall that Mutula

had been President Moi’s lawyer for more than ten years. So he

was my guide at the meeting. He knew the two men better than I

did. And he was a player at these high levels.

Anyway, as the meeting progressed, the talk wasn’t

about how to defeat Raila and his ODM party, rather it was

about how to make the country accept the defeat. In fact, I even

raised the possibility that a Raila defeat would plunge the

country into chaos because it would look rigged.

At that point, Kilonzo had asked for a timeout and taken

me aside. He said, “You don’t get it, do you? What these guys

are saying is—Kibaki has already won. He is the President

whether Kenyans like it or not. So the reason you’ve been called

here is to gauge whether you want to play on the Nyayo side or

the Agwambo side. Do you get it?”

With a heavy heart, I nodded, then asked, “Then what’s

the point of our running? What’s the rationale for ODM-K’s

continued fight? Why don’t we just join the PNU?”

Mutula cleared his throat. He looked pensive. You see,

there are those who’ve assumed the guy was my friend just

because he comes from my community. That’s not the case.

What brought us together was my presidential run. In fact, if

truth be told, Kilonzo would have preferred that I stayed within

the Odinga camp so that victory was assured and he’d be

appointed Attorney General. He was keen to oust Amos Wako,

whom he’s always held in low esteem. But when we went to

Kabarak and Moi asked Mutula to send feelers my way, I saw

Mutula change tack. He went from working to unite Raila and I

to figuring out how he benefited from a PNU-ODM-K alliance.

I know what you’re thinking. You think I’m trying to tie

a rope around Mutula’s neck. I assure you, that’s not what I’m

doing. I’m just trying to help you understand how this thing

played out.

So like I was saying, Mutula cleared his throat and said,

“We can’t join the PNU because that would be suicidal. What we

can do is continue to run as if we’re in the opposition.”

“Does that mean we won’t be in the opposition?”

“If we accept to work with the PNU…no. At that point

we become the government.”

I frowned. “Really? But how will we officially join the

government. How will this work structurally?”

Most of you don’t know Mutula Kilonzo well. There’s a

good reason that man was the president’s attorney for a decade.

When he saw that I was hesitant to endorse the crazy scheme

he’d apparently worked out with Moi and Kibaki, he looked me

in the eye and grimly declared, “You have two choices to make.

One, you work with Kibaki and get rewarded. You’ll get most of

whatever you ask for. And you’ll be compensated well.”

I thought…a bribe?

Mutula said, “It’s not a bribe by any stretch of the

imagination. I couldn’t let myself be party to anything sleazy.

This is just a token of appreciation for agreeing to help the Head

of State stabilize the nation. That’s all.”

“What’s the second choice?” I asked.

“If I were you I wouldn’t entertain thoughts of a second

choice. It’s dark. After working with these people for years, I

know what they are capable of. Let me just warn you that since

you have children, you don’t want to have a second choice.”

I froze.

“So what will you do, Mheshimiwa?” Mutula asked.

I told him I couldn’t make a decision so quickly. At that

point, President Moi joined us at the porch.

Before I delve into Moi’s discussions with me, let me

tell you straight out that Moi is the reason I am where I am.

Together with Mulu Mutisya, he helped me gain traction in

Kenyan politics by appointing me to the Cabinet. Look, at the

time he appointed me, I’d just come out of a second attempt at

being elected. My first attempt was just shortly after I’d come

out of the University of Nairobi. I was trounced. At the second

attempt, Mulu Mutisya reached out and took my hand. With the

blessings of Moi, he guided me through Ukambani politics and

helped me get elected.

With that backgrounder, now you know why Moi

mattered to me. He was my mentor…in a way. So when he came

out and asked for a minute alone with me, I signaled Mutula to

leave us alone.

Mutula did.

“I hear you’ve decided to stick with Raila?” Moi said

without preamble. “Have you so soon forgotten what Mulu and I

did for you?”

The old man could be blunt. But it wasn’t the bluntness

that got to me. It was the pain in his eyes. I could see the fear,

the tension, the sense that his prestige was on the line if Raila

won. For him, a Raila win was tantamount to saying the Kalenjin

had rejected Moi. Here is why. It’s because Raila was working

closely with William Ruto, a man who had taken Moi on and

was slowly replacing Moi as the political kingpin in the vast Rift

Valley.

So as far as Mzee was concerned, this election was more

about him than it was about Raila and Ruto.

“I can’t forget what you did for me, Your Excellency,” I

said.

“Then do as Mutula says.”

That was it. Moi walked back into the mansion and shut

the door. He left me alone. I thought they wanted to give me

time to think, but it wasn’t so. Within minutes, Mutula walked

out and said, “Fifty million in the U.K. for you. Are you in or

out?”

“In.”

“Good choice,” Mutula said. “You’ll pick that money in

London. I’ll let you know the details.”

I’m sure you’d like me to tell you the details of my

London trip and the complex transactions that brought millions

of shillings to my account out there, but I don’t see the relevance

of it. Suffice it to say, I followed the instructions and bagged my

money. Once I had the money, I was in the opposition in name

only. I was there to chochea, to derail the opposition, to make

sure Raila was wounded beyond repair. That was what Moi and

Kibaki wanted me to do. That’s what I did.

Now, there are many people out there—led by an

uncompromising string of Kumekucha writers—who accuse me

of having betrayed Kenyans. By the way, Kumekucha is Kenya’s

most authoritative blog…for those who don’t know it. Not

surprisingly, I don’t agree with the views of these writers. When

they say I betrayed Kenya, are they assuming I knew Kenya was

going to implode? Are they suggesting I wanted Kenyans to die?

Or is it their contention that my Christianity doesn’t mean

anything to me?

Look, I’m a very competitive politician. And politics is

about winning and strategizing. That’s what I tried to do in 2007

when the elections were approaching. Obviously my strategy

worked in a way I would never have predicted. It led to the death

of over a thousand of my fellow countrymen.

I’m sorry about that.

But if you expect me to be sorry about the money I

transferred into my account in London, you’re mistaken. I love

money. I love power. The only way to get both—in Kenya at

least—is to consort with Moi, Kibaki and the Kikuyu elite who

support them. If you disagree, tell me another way.

Finally, I can’t stop talking without telling you that I

can’t stand Raila Odinga. I can’t stand his brand of politics. But

what bothers me most is the adoration people have for the man.

Just consider this…at a time when people call me a traitor, he’s

being called Nyundo!

I don’t find that funny.

Do you?

____

Most people thought I was at home, in Ukambani, on

December 31, the night Samuel Kivuitu was battling James

Orengo and William Ruto and Otieno Kajwang and Musa Sirma

and other ODM luminaries. Others think I was at my Karen

home. Both are wrong. I was actually at the State House.

I know you’re surprised by my revelation. What you

don’t understand is that I was scared. It was clear to me—by the

time I was whisked to the State House—that something major

was about to happen. Of course I was aware that the elections

were going to be rigged, and that I would eventually be named

vice president, but I never thought that because of the rigging

churches were going to be burned, property destroyed, thousands

of people killed and many others displaced in Kenya.

So when I tell you that the eruption of violence in Kenya

took me by surprise, I’m telling you the truth. But if I say the

first night of violence stunned me, I was in for a rude shock.

Because in the next three days, Kenya literally went up in

smoke. I watched with horror as Kenyans butchered Kenyans.

As people were burnt to death in a church in Eldoret and in their

houses in Naivasha. I sobbed with my wife when I saw the

charred remains of a family. All of them set on fire till they were

rubble. It was…worse than anything I’ve ever seen.

You blame me for that?

Let’s be fair to each other, my fellow countrymen. Like

I’ve said, I’m sorry that the policy of my party to be in

government at any cost may have been partly responsible for the

mess that followed the elections. But I hope we don’t lose sight

of the fact that when all is said and done, I just walked into a

plan that had already been put in place by others.

I was a pawn.

LUCY

KIBAKI

 

I am Lucy Kibaki. You’ve heard what my husband has

said. It’s bullshit. The man always wants people to believe that

I’m a bad girl. But you all know that I’m not. In fact, let me tell

you right away that my daddy was a pastor, a revered minister of

the gospel. The reverend Kaggia brought me up to be a good,

honest girl. That’s what I’ve been all these years. Even when

Stanley provoked me deeply by bringing some piece of trash

called Mary Wambui home, I tried hard to control myself. Yes, I

made him sleep on the living room sofa a couple of nights, but

what woman wouldn’t have done the same?

I have four children, but it’s Judy and Jimmy who are

known well to Kenyans. I always get amazed that people know

Judy because she’s a very quiet girl. Jimmy—my eldest—came

to the public’s attention on the night I shot his butt. I know that

Emirio and his spin machine told you that I didn’t shoot the boy.

They are lying. I shot Jimmy in the butt. If you look at his right

butt, you’ll see a mark. It’s probably healed now because I don’t

see him limp anymore. I’m told he was sent to a London hospital

for treatment. I don’t give a shit where he went. All I know is

that a msaliti is a msaliti whether it’s your child or not.

Let me explain.

The night was December 31. Across the nation, tensions

were rising. The returns from most of the country were in, but

Central and Eastern were not. When the results started coming in

from those two Kibaki strongholds, the numbers were incredibly

high. Even an idiot could sense that they were cooked. But what

did people expect? That Emirio and I were going to just walk

away from the State House? That I was going to graciously show

Ida around the executive mansion then pack up and leave? If you

expected that, you people don’t know the daughter of Reverend

Kaggia very well.

I was born a fighter. I don’t take slights lying down. So

when those results started trickling in from across Kenya, it

became obvious to me that Kenyans had slighted me, told me to

go to hell. What I couldn’t understand was why they were doing

so after all I’d done for them. Wasn’t it me, Lucy Muthoni

Kibaki, who had gone around the country telling Kenyans that

my husband was a good man? Wasn’t it me who had shaken the

dirty hands of Wananchi, telling them how I loved and cared for

them? And wasn’t it me who had made a fool of myself by

dancing at campaign events in all the provinces except Nyanza?

Do you think I did that because I was ready to leave the State

House? If you thought that, you’re even more stupid than I

thought. Mjinga kabisa!

Truth was, I wasn’t ready to leave the State House. I

didn’t care what Emirio and his handlers thought. I was going

nowhere. Not even Muthaiga.

So I called all the District Commissioners in Central and

Eastern and asked them to sit on the results. “We’ll release them

after the rest of the nation’s results have come in.”

One chilled DC said, “What good will that do, Fast

Redy?”

“We’ll top up the nation’s. Emirio must win!”

I could tell the DC was stunned, but I didn’t care. Where

was he when Agikuyu warriors stormed the bush in Nyandarua

and drove the Brits away? Where was Ida and Raira? I know

they call Emirio General Kaguoya, claim he was a home guard,

but that’s just bullshit. Emirio was a fighter. It’s true I saw him

talk to the British soldiers. I even saw him picked up in the green

Land Rover…laughing with the British Marines, but that wasn’t

because he was an informant, it’s because he was cunning.

But how did he make his money?

That’s a stupid question. In fact, why don’t you ask

Michuki that question? Why don’t you ask Biwott and Moi? And

why don’t you ask Raira and all the other fat-cat politicians?

What I know is that Emirio worked hard for his money. He had

the brains. Everything he owns is legit. Period. I must warn you

that if you ask me anything about our wealth to my face, I’ll slap

the shit out of you. I mean it.

But I digress.

Hell no, I’m not digressing. This is important. Look,

there are people who claim I cost Emirio the election. They say I

did it by slapping people who ticked me off. What I ask such

people is—what would they have done were they in my shoes?

Take the example of the night Diop, the World Bank Country

Rep, was holding a farewell party at his Muthaiga home. First of

all, that home was not Diop’s home…as was reported by some

dunderheads. It is our home. Diop had rented it from us. And

second, I was in my home asleep that night. Emirio was in the

State House. At around midnight, there was music blaring from

Diop’s house. It was loud. It was obnoxious. Is there any surprise

it pissed me off?

When I couldn’t take it anymore, I jumped out of bed in

my pajamas, went straight to the electric outlet where the cord

was and unplugged it. I told the idiots to turn down the volume

or I’d make sure the party was over. Then, like a reasonable

woman, I plugged the cord and went back to sleep.

The revelers didn’t obey me.

So when I came back, I unplugged and started to walk

away with the cord. It was at that point that I saw Judy and

Jimmy. Judy was practically near tears. She said, “Mama, why

are you doing this?”

I didn’t answer.

Then Jimmy rolled around and tried to grab the cord. I

told him to leave me alone if he didn’t want any embarrassment.

“Ngai? More than you’ve already caused Judy and I, you

mean?” he asked.

I said, “Believe me, you ain’t seen nothing yet.”

He backed off.

Judy backed off too. She went away saying Ngai Ngai

Ngai. But I didn’t give a damn shit. Why didn’t they try to stop

the loud music?

Moments later, trouble with the press started. This is

even more interesting. If you give me a minute, I’ll tell you

about it.

____

Trouble with the press started as soon as the Daily

Nation and the East African Standard people saw me trotting

into the backyard of Diop’s house—where the party was going

on—in pajamas. I instantly saw flashes, angling, laughter and

horror. It was refreshing. Within minutes, a couple of men—who

I later thought were my secret bodyguards—rushed to the spot,

approached the media people and told them to hand over their

films. Usi fanye ufujo hapa!

The reporters declined.

The guards confiscated some of the films, but I later

learnt the journalists got away with others. What that meant was

that the pictures were going to hit the news the following day. I

couldn’t let that happen. So I jumped into the gray Mercedes

Benz and ordered my driver to paste his butt on the driver’s seat

and nail the accelerator.

“But where are we going at this time?” he asked.

“Nation and Standard.”

You should have seen the guy. He bit his lip. “At this

time?”

I nodded.

“But…you are in those!”

“Pajamas? Forget about pajamas. Take me to those

idiots. They had the audacity to take pictures of me; they are

going to pay a price.”

“But they’ll take more pictures!” he said.

“Then I’ll have no choice but to fight.”

“Fight!?”

“Exactry. I’ll fight them like a school girl. I’ll grab their

groin and scratch their faces. And if they fight back, I’ll tear their

shirts and throw my shoes at them.”

“But you don’t have shoes on, ma’am.”

“Then let me get them.”

I saw the man say…wazimu. I didn’t care.

I ran back to the mansion and grabbed some low Adidas.

I dashed back to the car, and this time the guy didn’t ask any

questions or try to dissuade me. He just turned on the engine and

kissed his foot to the accelerator. Within minutes, we were at the

Daily Nation offices. There, I demanded the rest of the footage

from the Diop party. To my astonishment, instead of giving me

the damn thing, some son of a bitch started taking more pictures.

I hurried to him and grabbed the camera. I slapped him hard…I

think I even drew blood.

As this was going on, Judy and Jimmy called the State

House and Emirio was told what I was doing. Within minutes,

the pot-belly Nairobi Police Commissioner arrived at Nation. He

persuaded me to leave.

I left.

But I never told him what my intentions were. He only

came to realize when we were approaching the East African

Standard and KTN offices that my nocturnal mission was still

on. When my Mercedes Benz stopped at the lobby, his Toyota

Land Cruiser screeched to a halt right next to my Benz. He

jumped out and said, “Mama Taifa, what are you doing here? I

thought you were going home?”

I said, “I changed my mind. I have to teach these fools a

lesson. Watajua mimi ni ndume!”

What I didn’t know was that the Nation people called

their Standard colleagues to warn them. So when I got into the

lobby, flashes blinded me. I could tell there were multiple shots.

Strategic shots. They had me covered. Worse still, these people

owned KTN and I was sure the TV crew was here too.

For some reason, the Nairobi Police Commissioner

didn’t follow me into the studios. He waited outside a couple of

minutes. Was he talking to Emirio? I couldn’t tell. But after five

or ten minutes, he walked into the studios and asked me to leave.

As he did, he told the cameramen to not dare take any pictures of

him.

They didn’t, but I suspected it was only because they’d

already taken the juicy part. They didn’t need pictures of the

commissioner. They wanted pictures of the President’s mad

wife. He he he!

Needless to say, the next day TV stations around the

world showed footage of me straddling the studios at Nation and

Standard. They also carried a full story on how I busted the party

at Diop’s. It made me so mad. But it was then that I learned

never to trust the press. The idiots were up to no good.

Then there was the story of Mary Wambui—my

purported co-wife. I literally had to call the top editors at Nation

and at Standard to warn them that the woman was not Emirio’s

wife, and that if they reported anything to the contrary I would

personally deal with them.

That scared them.

But let’s move on. Finally, there were the slaps. I

slapped a lot of goons, that’s for sure. But the question isn’t how

many goons I slapped, it’s why I did slap them. Well, I’ve

already elaborately told you why I slapped the fools at Nation

and Standard. Other people I’ve slapped include Emirio himself,

that bitch called Mary Wambui, my sons, my daughter, and my

driver.

I’ve told you about slapping my immediate family

members so you can ask yourself this question. If she can slap

Emirio and the boys and the girl, who won’t she slap? Who is

safe from her quick hand?

Answer: Nobody.

That’s why I came after fools like Gitobu Imanyara, that

idiot who had the audacity to mix up my name with Mary’s at an

important state function. Look, you can call me what you wish,

but I must warn that if you plan to do or say anything stupid

where I am, make sure you’re out of the range of my flailing

hand. Okay?

Thank you.

Now back to that night. December 31, 2007. Tensions

were rising across the country. By nine o’clock, KBC and KTN

were reporting the beginning of trouble. Over in Kisumu, irate

youth were burning tires and warning members of the Kikuyu

community to leave. In Eldoret, a seemingly organized gang of

youth was advancing from the east, approaching the city military

style, warning members of the Kikuyu community to leave. At

the Coast, a few members of the Kikuyu community had already

seen their homes burnt and their property—worth millions of

shillings—destroyed.

It was at about that time, right around 10:30 p.m., that

Jimmy walked into the living room, where I was seated with

Emirio, and asked his dad to do the honorable thing. “Turn over

power to the man who won it,” he said.

Emirio said, without looking at him, “I would if your

mother allowed me.”

“Mama?”

I said, “Jimmy, if you repeat what you just said, I’m

gonna shoot you.”

But I was his mother. He didn’t think I would shoot my

own son. So he pressed his bullshit. He pleaded with his dad to

turn over power to Raira. Finally, I had enough. I grabbed a

shotgun from under the chair, pointed at his butt and squeezed

the trigger.

Jimmy limped out of the living room and was hurriedly

bundled into a waiting State limousine. Within minutes, he was

rushed to Kenyatta, treated, then put on a flight to London. At

least that’s what I was told.

While all that went on, Emirio cowered at the corner. He

didn’t want to mess with me. I left him there and walked into

another room. When I came back, I was with John Michuki and

Nicholas Biwott.

These were fighters.

 

I’m Samuel Kivuitu. I like the way everybody is

being forthright about their role in this debacle. I wish though

that Kibaki could have been more descriptive about the Mungiki

meeting at the State House. But if Kibaki won’t, I hope Maina

Njenga will…in another segment.

For now, here is why I’m back. While Kibaki and Lucy

were telling their stories, it just hit me that Kenyans were not

getting the full picture. The truth is a lot scarier than the two

actors make it out to be. For me, here is how that night evolved. I

was at the KICC. There were several GSU personnel, some mean

people who had earlier even pushed the Hon Raila Odinga out of

the building.

James Orengo and William Ruto and Charity Ngilu and

Kosgei—the man—had just led ODM supporters in demanding

that election results be withheld because they suspected the

numbers that had just streamed in from Central and Eastern

provinces were doctored. “In light of how these numbers have

come in, we ask that they not be read, Mr. Chairman,” Orengo

pleaded. But when it appeared like I might just read the results,

Orengo went back to his University of Nairobi days. He came at

me and literally warned me not to read the bogus results.

Justice Richard Kwach, who was in the building at that

time, was more controlled. He beseeched me to take my time, to

ensure that the matters raised by the ODM side were adequately

addressed before results were read. Because of the respect I had

for this seasoned judge, I led the commissioners back to our

offices at the KICC and deliberated on this matter. Within

minutes, we came back out and gave our findings. It was Kihara

Muttu’s suggestion that carried the day. Here is what it said:

We, as a commission, are tasked to carry out elections

and read the results. Once we’ve read them, it’s the duty of those

who feel aggrieved to have their grievances heard in court. We

therefore must proceed with reading the results.

When I made that statement, all hell broke loose. Both

inside the KICC and in the wider Kenya, I could feel the heat.

Kenya was beginning to burn.

Orengo, seething at my apparent carelessness, said, “Mr.

Chairman, does it matter to you that this nation may go up in

flames?”

I said, “If it burns, I’ll burn with it.”

Now it was burning. What was I going to do? Was I

going to heed Raila Odinga’s call and resign? Was I going to

declare the results inconclusive and call for fresh elections?

Thinking fast, I told Kenyans that I had to sleep on this matter.

“I’ll come back here tomorrow to read the results,” I said.

Needless to say, the following morning, by the time I

came to the KICC, hundreds of Kenyans had died in the night

and millions of shillings worth of damage wrought across Kenya.

The simple matter was—people were convinced that rigging was

taking place blatantly…and that I was part of it.

Like I said earlier, it’s true rigging took place. And it’s

true Kibaki lost the election. But what Kenyans don’t know is

what I went through. The previous night, as I left the KICC, I

was shoved into an idling Mercedes Benz and driven away from

the raging mob at a high speed. It took me several minutes to

realize that the car in which I was was neither my official ride

nor any of my private cars.

But when I looked at the driver and saw a man in GSU

uniform, and another next to him talking on a walky-talky, I

knew things were not good. Where were they taking me? And

who the hell were they? The Mungiki?

But I had no nerve to ask.

Nearly half an hour later, I was brought into a dark

room. It was about 1:30 am. I was led up the stairs and shoved

through a marble door. The minute I got through, the lights went

off and I found myself in total darkness.

“You were supposed to read the results!”

That voice belonged to a man. I didn’t know who it was.

“Because you didn’t read, you’ve made yourself a target of our

crusading army. But lucky for you, I’ve just heard word from the

Big House that we spare your life. So I won’t cut your throat.

But I must warn you that your foolishness has made us bring in

your wife. You may talk to her on the phone if you wish.”

I wished.

After talking to my shaken, pleading wife, I regretted

taking money from these goons. Was five million shillings worth

putting myself—and my family—through this?

“You must read the results tomorrow or you’ll never see

her again,” the man said.

I was shaken. Never see my wife again? And just where

were they holding her? Was she in this same building? Was she

safe?

“Will you do your part?” the man demanded.

What if I didn’t? What if I called the election for Raila?

What would they do? Would they kill my wife? My children?

Would they rape…

Rape.

That stopped me cold. Rape my wife?

“Will you, sir?” the man said.

“I will,” I said.

But where were my children? Were they safe?

The man interrupted my train of thought. He said,

“Here’s how things will play out. You will sleep in here…under

guard. In the morning, you’ll shower, take breakfast, then you’ll

be driven back to the KICC.”

I said, “My security is in the hands of the Police

Commissioner. Matter of fact, he may be searching for me right

now. Can I at least talk to him? Let him know all is well?”

“He knows.”

My brows arched. Major General Mohammed Ali knew

I was here? In a dark room? Being warned with death? Was he

aware that my wife had been kidnapped? Feeling utterly

defeated, I said, looking in the direction of the voice, “I’ll do

what I’m supposed to do.”

On that note, the lights came back on and I saw the

man’s back as he walked away. Jesus, it looked so much like

Michu…

Right then, a lady walked by and asked me to follow her.

Only God knew where she was taking me.

____

I slept in a small room. I had no idea what part of the

city this was. At 7:30 a.m., the lady woke me up and made sure I

was taken excellent care of.

At 8:30, two men walked into the building and asked me

to get ready. They asked me to follow them. As I did—and just

before I reached the last set of stairs—he slapped a piece of cloth

on my face and made me blind. I didn’t see a thing the rest of the

way.

I got to the KICC at around 9:30. I instantly read the fear

in my commissioners. The nation was on fire. Word was

trickling in that a church had been burnt in Eldoret with people

in it. Kibera and other city slums were on the brink. The city,

though I was blinded, I could tell was a ghost town.

“We must get out there and read the results,” I said.

My commissioners looked at me with fear in their eyes.

It was at that time that I realized that some of them must have

been put through a similar ordeal as I was. They were terrified. I

had to wonder…had they also received the five million?

Without a word of protest from the commissioners,

especially Kihara Muttu, who I suspected was put in the

commission to deliver the presidency for his longtime friend,

President Kibaki, I led the commissioners to the lobby of the

KICC. Without preamble, I started to read the results.

I was stopped by hecklers.

The GSU people moved in and led my commissioners

and I to the office upstairs. When I got to the office, I found a

KBC crew waiting. I was ushered to a seat and a mic dropped

before me. “You may read now, Mr. Chairman,” a sweet voice

said.

And so I read.

When I was done reading, I felt like killing myself. I had

given Kibaki the presidency when I knew very well he’d not

won it. I had denied Kenyans their democratic rights for five

million shillings. But what became too much to take was when I

saw Kenyans being butchered in Kisumu and Nakuru because of

my actions. It made the five million instantly become blood

money.

I was devastated.

But if I thought having the KBC on short notice at the

KICC was quite something, I was in for a rude shock. Because as

soon as I read the results, I was bundled into a waiting Land

Rover and sped with to the State House. When I got there, I

found dignitaries seated and ready. I saw the Chief Justice rise. I

saw President Mwai Kibaki seated nervously behind the podium.

But what I didn’t see were diplomats and presidents from

neighboring countries.

Within minutes, it occurred to me that this was a

swearing in ceremony. But it was not like any other Kenya had

ever witnessed. There were no diplomats, the national anthem

wasn’t played and it was over within minutes.

It was a sham!

After it was over, other dignitaries stayed back to

celebrate. For me, I asked to be taken to my wife. When I finally

met her…it was the first time I’ve cried in my adult life.

I’d set Kenya on a path to destruction.

***

Hey wait. I know you’d like to hear from the next guy,

but if I don’t tell you why I chose to take the five million, you’d

think it was plain greed. Truth is, it wasn’t. The man who came

to me with the proposal made it clear if I didn’t accept the

money, the alternative was death.

If you were me, what would you have done?

MARTHA

KARUA

 

My name is Martha Karua. I’m a graduate of the

University of Nairobi and the Kenya School of Law. I was in

school with the likes of James Orengo, Kiraitu Muriungi and

Gitobu Imanyara…among others. I know that makes me look

old, but trust me, I am a very young and pretty woman. Those

who say I’m ugly and that I have big eyes don’t know what a

beautiful woman looks like.

Well, that’s it for theatrics. Let’s get serious now.

December 30, 2007.

The election results are streaming in. I’ve just received

word that President Kibaki needs me at the State House. I’m not

entirely sure why he needs me, but I can guess that it has

something to do with this dramatic turn of events…where he

(Kibaki) is now poised to overtake Raira in votes because of

Central and Eastern votes.

Like every Kenyan, I’m stunned by the returns from the

two zones. I know that it’s impossible to marshal the numbers

the precinct officers have turned in to the Electoral Commission

offices at KICC, but I don’t talk. I don’t want to talk. So I get

ready and drive to the State House. But when I get there, it’s not

Kibaki who wants to have a word with me, it’s Lucy. I’m

ushered into a room, where the First Lady is animatedly talking

to Michuki and Biwott.

“Welcome,” Lucy says.

“Thank you,” I say.

And suddenly I’m in the presence of men and a woman

who are plotting to deny Raila Odinga the presidency. And by

the way, these guys don’t beat about the bush. They go straight

to the heart of the matter.

Lucy says, “Martha, we’ve called you here because you

are a lawyer. You know the constitution. What we want you to

do is—snatch the baby from that boy from the lake…and use the

book while doing it.”

Biwott is not impressed. He doesn’t like parables. So he

interprets Lucy’s words. He says, “Martha, what the First Lady

is saying is that you will use the constitution to deny the Hon.

Odinga the presidency.”

“Deny? Are you forgetting that I am the minister for

Constitutional Affairs?”

“Nobody is forgetting that,” Michuki says. “But just

think of what you stand to lose should Mzee be defeated. Raira

won’t give you a job, or if he does, it won’t be as high a profile

ministry like Mzee has given you.”

Given?

I’m troubled by the word given. Does Michuki think I

was given a ministry? Is it the case that he doesn’t believe I

deserved it? Does he feel I was unqualified to handle

Constitutional Affairs? Or is he just a male chauvinist pig?

Lucy looks at me and shakes her head. “Don’t, Martha.

We have no time to quarrel among ourselves. Look, I know you

are eager to know whether Mzee is in this scheme with us. The

answer is—he is. He is the one who told us to call you.”

That revelation makes me happy. But what Lucy fails to

tell me is that Mzee suggested I get called only after he’d been

boxed into a corner by this trio. Trying to imagine what Mzee

might have told them, here is what I come up with. Ruci,

Yohanna, Kipyator, if you people are hell bent on stealing this

election from the son of Jaramogi, at least let’s do it with some

brains. Let’ bring in Madhaa Garua.

I laugh.

Right then, Mzee walks in and takes a seat next to Lucy.

No kiss? These two are not in love at all. Mzee says, “Thank you

for coming in, Martha. Ohhhh yes! Now we can start the

business of undoing what the electorate did. The stupid

Kenyans.”

“But how will we?” I ask.

Michuki clears his throat. I watch as his eyes narrow and

focus on me. He says, “Martha, we have an elaborate plan. But

first of all, we have to swear you to secrecy.”

A man comes out of an adjoining room and gives me a

shity concoction. What he doesn’t tell me is that that’s the same

concoction the Mungiki people had taken just a month ago right

here at the State House. So…am I Mungiki now? Decide that for

yourself.

Michuki—after I’ve forced down the shity liquid—asks

me to sit down. He says, “Madhaa, we are now bound by

destiny. Where the brave boys…the inheritors of the Mau Mau

flame go…we will go.”

“The Mungiki?”

Nobody talks.

So Michuki says, “Every angle is covered. But I’ll give

you the picture in a nutshell. The first phase of this operation is

on. It entails cooking the numbers so that Central Province and

Eastern Province give Mzee the numbers he needs to win this

election. As we speak, he’s just a couple hundred votes behind.

That should change in an hour.

“The second phase starts tomorrow morning. At that

time, we’ll send our boys to Kisumu and other Luo-dominated

slums here in the city to quell the riots that will inevitably follow

a declaration of Mzee president. The boys are under orders to use

maximum force so that Kenyans will know we mean business.”

I flinch. “A civilian coup?”

Michuki shrugs. “I don’t care what you call it. The third

phase starts as soon as a semblance of order is restored. At that

point we’ll call on Raira and his ODM to go to court if they feel

aggrieved.”

“Court?”

Michuki nods. “You don’t have to worry about that. By

the time he goes to court, Chief Justice Evans Gicheru will have

sworn in Mzee, so it will be obvious to any observer that all

avenues are closed.”

“A civilian coup?” I repeat.

“Like I said, I don’t care what you call it. All I can tell

you is—the next few hours won’t be pretty.”

Now, as I look back, I’m stunned by just how much

Michuki and Biwott and Lucy underestimated the fury of the

Kenyan people. In fact, after only two days of satanic

destruction, of smoke and corpses, of unprecedented venting by

Kenyans, Michuki called Lucy and wondered aloud whether

such a catastrophe was worth it.

“I’m not leaving the State House,” Lucy said.

And meanwhile, Raila Odinga refused to play according

to script. It was as if he’d secretly been given our game plan.

First, he refused to go to court, calling them kangaroo courts full

of Kibaki’s yes-men. Then he did a curious thing. He refused to

meet Kibaki for arbitration unless the mediation was overseen by

an international body, preferably led by Dr. Kofi Annan.

I was shocked.

And…it was around that time that Kirui came out and

gave a chilling account of how the numbers were cooked at the

KICC. Indeed, even the European election observers talked

about precincts where they witnessed tabulation and certification

only for the numbers read by the ECK at KICC to turn out to be

double what was certified at the precincts.

It was amazing.

In the coming days, I sat at the Annan mediated efforts

with one thing in mind. The Kibaki succession. Since I was

selected to lead the government’s side, I sensed an opportunity to

use this matter as a stepping stone to bigger things. I could run

for president in 2012 or 2017.

But as destruction and mayhem went on across the

nation, it became clear that Michuki’s plan had completely

flopped. Literally flashed down the toilet. In fact, as I sit here

today, I thank only one man for saving the nation we all love.

I thank Raila Odinga for his statesmanship.

But I can’t say that loudly.

 

Just call me Bike Rider. I lived in Nakuru before the

elections came and turned my life upside down. Back in Nakuru

I was just a worker in a hotel. I cleaned the dishes and kept the

floors clean. For that kind of work, I made just enough money to

keep me going. It even enabled me to send my brother’s son to

school…just like I promised him before he sailed into the sunset

one rainy evening.

On the night of December 30, 2007, I was glued to a

neighbor’s TV. It was clear that Amollo was coming like rumbi.

There was no stopping the son of Jaramogi. I was excited

because for the second time in Kenyan history, there was going

to be an orderly transition in my country. President Kibaki—a

gentleman like no other—was going to congratulate Raila and

turn over power.

But around 9:30 p.m., things started going so wrong.

Kibaki’s numbers started dropping in and forcing his totals up

like an avalanche. Within hours, the son of Othaya had managed

to erase the one million votes Raila had built a lead of. It was

like the gods were laughing at us.

At around 11:00 p.m., I went to bed, but I couldn’t sleep.

I knew that something was gravely wrong. And I sensed that

something ominous was about to happen. But I never took any

action until two days later, when the Mungiki were dropped in

Nakuru in broad daylight.

Now, I’d earlier heard that the Daily Nation vans were

being used to ferry machetes to areas considered hostile, to await

the arrival of the Mungiki, but I never saw them myself. I never

saw the vans and I never saw the machetes.

Suddenly, on a Saturday, Nakuru erupted. I watched

with a dropped jaw as my neighbor—the man in whose house I

watched TV the previous night—guided the Mungiki to the

homes belonging to the Luo and the Kalenjin and the Luhya. I

watched as fellow Kenyans, even though they were Kikuyu,

poured paraffin on my shanty squalid and burnt it down. I

watched as children and women were hacked to death. I saw an

elderly man being forcefully circumcised.

That’s when I knew I had to leave Nakuru.

I tiptoed to my shell of a house/shanty, looked to see if

anything could be saved. What I saw was my bike. It stood intact

at a corner. I hurriedly retrieved it, then went down on my knees.

I asked Obon`go Nyakalaga to watch over me. It was going to be

a long, long journey…especially on a bike that had just come out

of a fire.

I was going back to Nyanza.

____

You don’t know how beautiful Kenya is because you

always cruise through it in a bus or your private car, or fly across

its skies in a plane. Me, I’ve seen the beauty that only a man who

has had to ride from Nakuru to Kisumu could have. It’s beautiful

at day time and it’s calm at night.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

Look, I have to tell this story with the seriousness it

deserves. When I climbed on my bike and set foot to the paddle,

I knew that the country I love would never be the same again. I

knew that it would be Kenyan against Kenyan. Tribe against

tribe. I was so dispirited that I thought it would have been much

better to just hang around and wait for the marauding Mungiki

forces to come out of the blue and drive their arrows or machetes

through my neck.

But God said no.

I didn’t spare that bike for nothing. Get up and go

back to Nyanza.

Nyanza? Lord, Nyanza on a bike?

Yes. I will be with you till you get home.

That was God’s voice. So I climbed on my bike and

started out. One mile. Two miles. Three. Four. And on I went.

No food. No water. Just my clothes and the bike. And God’s

promise to take care of me.

It was actually around 2:30 pm when I set out. I rode

along the road, whistling spiritual songs, having a sweet

conversation with God, asking Him why he’d let my country go

down this path. Was there something Kenyans had done to

offend Him? Was the nation being punished because of some

hidden sin? Had the Lord heard of the growing devil worship in

the country’s secret corners?

It’s Greed.

Greed?

I looked around, in the bushes, as I rode. There was

nobody. The country was hiding. People were staying indoors. In

the expansive pyrethrum plantations, I threw my eyes to the

horizon to see if I could catch any human being. There was

nobody. But yes, there were occasional cars and buses and

lorries. Whenever a car or a lorry passed by, it did so at a high

speed.

It was amazing.

As evening came and the night was just moments away,

I stopped to pee. It was close to a shrub. As I was peeing, I felt

fear. I looked up to the heavens and asked God why He didn’t

warn me this was going to be a long and dangerous journey.

Didn’t He know it would.

I knew.

So, how do you propose I ride at night?

I’ll be your light.

So you want me to ride on?

Keep going.

God can be funny. I didn’t know He had such a sense of

humor. Keep going? In the night?

Like I said, I’ll be your light.

How about the animals.

They’ll cheer you along.

The snakes?

They’ll whistle as you ride by.

The hyenas.

I’ve ordered them to be quiet tonight.

That was God.

I got back on my bike at 7:15 pm. What I saw ahead of

me was a bush as long as the eye could see. In the bush was a

road that linked Nakuru and Kericho. Was I going to make it?

Yes, you will.

But why was God doing this? I’d just come out of

Nakuru and I’d seen a lot of people killed. I’d seen many homes

burnt. I’d also seen the Mungiki…dressed as soldiers…manning

the roads. Why was God keen on saving a worthless old man?

Why didn’t He save the kids I saw dead on the streets? Why

didn’t he save the woman I saw with a deep cut in the head?

You must not question my ways.

I shut up.

And now I must surprise you. Just like God said, I rode

along the road without matata. And I could see very clearly.

Some scientist will call that adaptation. I call it God’s eyes.

Whenever I saw a huge snake cross the road, I rode faster to see

if it was going to whistle like the Lord had said. Guess what?

The noise their scales made on the tarmac as they crawled by

sounded even sweeter than whistling. The hyenas? They were

nowhere. I never saw them. Never heard them.

Around 2:30 am, I felt like something touched my back.

I slowed down and turned to look. There was nothing. I rode

about three more kilometers, then the same thing touched my

back again. I slowed and turned. Nothing.

Finally, when I was about to speed up again, I said

“Thank you!”

How did you know it was me?

I stopped.

The Lord was with me.

In the bush!

Kericho is not too far away. And since you’ve

demonstrated your faith in me, now I’ll help you ride.

All I know is that from that point on, I was on the bike

but I didn’t know how it was moving so fast and so effortlessly. I

even slept about thirty minutes into God’s ride all the way to

Kericho.

God is a safe rider!

____

I know you’d like to hear the end of my story, so I’ll

hurry it along. I didn’t stay in Kericho much. It was already

dawn and I wanted to have a direct chat with God. We left

Kericho at about 6:45 am. But just as we gunned left to take the

rise toward Kisumu, a band of youth came out of the bush. The

agile boys wore leaves and were ready to kill. Trust me when I

tell you that it was the first time in my life I ever saw an angel.

The two angels appeared out of nowhere and stood

between me and the boys. The tallest of the boys—who I could

tell was the leader—asked me who I was and where I was going.

“My name is Jaktone. I lived in Nakuru until yesterday. I

had to leave because of the Mungiki. They killed my friends and

people from my community. I had to flee on my bike.”

“So you rode this bike from Nakuru?” the leader asked.

“Yes.”

“Where are you going?” he pressed.

“To Kisumu,” I said.

“On a bike?”

I nodded and smiled.

I saw the leader’s teary eyes. He talked to his boys in

Kalenjin, then came back to me. He said, “Look, we’ll give you

a place to eat and rest, then we’ll put you on your way. Any man

from Arap Mibei’s community is our man…our cousin.”

I said, “I’m well rested. Just let me go.”

Right there, they collected fifty shillings and gave it to

me. “Fare thee well, our brother,” the leader said. “God be with

you!”

God?

So they didn’t see the angels?

Only I saw them?

Let’s go now.

I got on the bike and rode two kilometers…then God

took it from there. While God was riding, I fell asleep.

I woke up just as we were approaching Kisumu. How

could the Lord have let me sleep when I was approaching

Kisumu?

Because you’re such a sleepyhead.

I laughed.

Moments later, we rolled into Kisumu and the Lord

asked me if I could make my way home alone.

I nodded.

It was nice riding with you. I know you have many

questions in your mind about how I do things, but there are

things you can never understand in your present human

state. For example, are you aware that as we speak, a church

is burning in Eldoret with women and children trapped in it?

Don’t you wonder why I’m not there?

Yes. Why?

But God was gone.

UHURU

KENYATTA

 

My name is Uhuru Kenyatta. My daddy—as you’ll

recall—was the first president of Kenya. My mom is Mama

Ngina Kenyatta, the woman I owe what I’ve become. Without

saying too much about my family, let it suffice to say that I have

brothers, sisters and a lot of relatives. Because of dad’s

prominence and his influential position as president of Kenya,

our family became extremely wealthy after independence. We

own huge swaths of land, most of which was acquired by

resettling their owners in the Rift Valley. The original owners

were from Kiambu. But again, I shouldn’t reveal very much

about how this was done.

Hope you understand.

So you want to know what happened that night, right? I

have to begin by telling you that what happened that night had its

roots in the deep past. It started in the colonial times and wound

its way through my dad’s presidency, on to President Daniel

Arap Moi’s and on to Mwai Kibaki’s. It’s called elitism. This is

a situation where a few fabulously wealthy people in Central

Province—about one hundred families to be sure—have decided

that they not only own the wealth they acquired under

questionable circumstances, they own Kenya as well.

When I decided to align my political fortunes with those

of President Daniel Arap Moi in the nineties, it was because I

thought that this Kikuyu elitism had vanished, replaced by the

reality that every Kenyan community had a stake in the running

and development of the nation. But aligning myself with Moi put

me in a direct collision course with Raila Odinga, who supported

Kibaki.

I lost.

When I lost, I reassessed my political bearing and

beliefs. Unfortunately, whichever way I sliced it, the events of

2002 taught me the lesson that Kikuyu dominance was alive and

apparently acceptable to Kenyans. How else would you explain

the fact that Raila led the nation to vote for Kibaki—another

Kikuyu—barely two decades after my dad was president for

years? And how do you explain the fact that after four years of a

turbulent Kibaki presidency the nation seemed to be hurtling

toward reelecting him? Didn’t George Waititu’s polls suggest he

was going to beat Raila? And didn’t the Daily Nation

commissioned polls suggest that Waititu’s polls were right?

That’s why in October—after meeting Presidents Moi

and Kibaki—I decided to cease being in the opposition and back

President Kibaki’s reelection bid. My calculation was that for me

to be acceptable to the Kikuyu, I had to back Kibaki. Strangely, I

was wrong again. Because this time Kenyans rose up in arms and

violently rejected the shameless tribal nature of Kikuyu politics,

where three quarters of important jobs in Kenya were held by

people from Central Province.

In fact, so deplorable was the tribalism that I kept

wondering why a District Commissioner in Kisumu was a

Kikuyu. And why the Police Commissioner in Nyanza was some

woman from Eastern. Do you see so many people from other

parts of Kenya running affairs in Central Province? I don’t.

Anyway, I supported Kibaki. And it was me who

pressed on him the fact that the two provinces—Eastern and

Central—were enough to deliver the presidency for him. The

math seemed straightforward enough. But I was wrong. When

Raila Odinga marshaled Kenya against the House of Mumbi,

Kibaki was trounced.

Luckily, we were prepared.

Since November 2007, it had become increasingly clear

that Kibaki was going to lose the presidency. Every credible poll

showed a spread that was going to be difficult to bridge in the

remaining two months. It was at that time that I suggested we

bring in the Mungiki. Like them or hate them, the Mungiki was

emerging a formidable force in Central Kenya politics and a lot

of politicians were working to earn their respect. In fact, most

politicians in Central were secretly channeling money to this

group. So, in my usual zeal to outplay everyone, I said, “Why

don’t we bring in the Mungiki? If we lose the election, we can

use them to keep the trophy from going to the Lake.”

To my surprise, Michuki and Saitoti and Lucy and others

agreed with me. And just like that, the Mungiki became the

alternative army. And I was given the task to bankroll it.

Together with the Daily Nation’s man—Kirubi—I secretly

became the man behind the Mungiki.

I know you’d like me to tell you about my relations with

the Mungiki national chairman, Mr. Njenga, but I can’t. I’ll let

him tell his layered story. The story of the Mungiki. What I’ll

concentrate on is tell the story of what I saw on the 30th.

To tell the truth, I can’t understand why I’m always on

the wrong side of political waves in Kenya. Because of the

power of incumbency and the sheer sums of money Kibaki

loyalists had marshaled for his campaign…and may I

add…because of Kikiyu thinking, I was sure that Kibaki would

form the government. And I wanted to be in government. That’s

why I supported him. Moi? Okay, I supported Moi because my

mom, Mama Ngina, asked me to. She explained that Moi was

loyal to Daddy, and that there was a secret agreement between

Dad and his Vice President.

According to Mama, Dad and Moi had agreed that when

the time was ripe, Moi would help me become president. It was

like making the Moi clan an extension of the Kenyatta one. I

found it curious, but it helped explain why Moi had so adamantly

insisted on making me the KANU flag bearer…to the detriment

of my campaign.

You may call what I just said an excuse, but when

you’re as young and as green as I was when those events took

place… I’ll leave it at that. Let me just add that I hate opposition

politics. I was born an aristocrat. I was born rich. I’ve never felt

what the common man feels. I don’t walk their walk and I don’t

dream their dreams. To me, common Kenyans are people to be

used and dumped. Isn’t that what politicians always do to them?

Besides, I never really wanted to be in politics. I was brought

into it against my wishes. And after being in it for almost a

decade now, my fears about this dirty game have been

vindicated. Politics is a lousy game.

Moving on, I now focus on that night. By ten o’clock, it

had become clear that Raila Odinga had won, and that plan B at

the State House was in full gear. We were well on our way to

overturning the people’s wishes. If I told you that I wasn’t

scared, I’d be lying. You don’t pull off a civilian coup and think

everything is just fine. But for things to work, it was clear to me

that we’d entered a stage where we were going to use brute

force—at least in the interim—to pacify a seething electorate.

We knew that Kisumu, Nakuru and Eldoret were going

to be a problem. We also estimated that swaths of slums in

Nairobi would be problematic. Of course Eastern and Central

provinces were not going to be a problem. Once it became clear

to the people of these two provinces what we were trying to do,

they’d fall in line and support our theft. Democracy kitu gani?

Isn’t tribalism a sweet thing?

Things played out exactly as planned. The Luo,

Kalenjjin, Luhya and Costal tribes were seething. The Kikuyu

and Akamba fell in line and supported the theft.

But three days into the ensuing riots, when a boy in

Kisumu was killed in broad daylight, and Kenyans of the

Diaspora started making loud noises in capitals around the

world, and ODM politicians started asking questions about

Ugandan troops, and proof started emerging that the Mungiki

were deployed in cities outside Central Province, I got scared. I

watched with dismay as our assessment that Kenyans would

accept the status quo within three days of terror went up in

smoke. People refused to be cowed. Kenyans wanted their

democracy.

As I thought about these matters, I received a call from

my mom. She said, “Do you feel good about working with

people who’ve denied Kenyans their rights?”

That was a discussion I didn’t want to have. I knew we

were wrong. And the international community was beginning to

lean heavily on us to stop the killings that were destroying any

chance of a quick resolution of this matter. “Mama,” I said, “I’m

quite busy right now, can you call me back later?”

“No, I won’t. Just think about how you’d have felt were

you in Raila’s shoes.” Click.

I froze.

I hung up and dialed her number.

She didn’t answer.

That night, as I sat in one of my Nairobi homes, I

thought long and hard about what we’d done. I knew we couldn’t

go back and undo the damage. It was already too late. Besides,

we’d cut deals with the Mungiki that no Central Province

politician was willing to go back on. So we had to go forward

with the theft. But it was on that night that I decided that should

this matter get resolved, I would take a very low profile. I would

fight to be an assistant Prime Minister, but after that I would lie

low. I would work hard to reinvent myself, make myself a

Kenyan politician, not a tribal chauvinist, which I’ve come to be

seen as.

Like I said earlier, I’ll let Njenga tell the story of what

the Mungiki did that night, but let me just tell you categorically

that I saw them wear Kenya Army uniforms. I saw them

transported to Kisumu and Eldoret and some Nairobi slums. I

saw them dropped off in Mombasa. And I knew that the people

everybody thought were Ugandan forces were not really

Ugandan, they were Mungiki troops, trained in Uganda by

Museveni’s commanders. And lastly, I saw the machetes ferried

in the Daily Nation trucks to these destinations for delivery to

the Mungiki troops.

Why didn’t I blow the whistle?

Because I couldn’t. I was scared. Two MPs were already

dead. James Orengo had just escaped death. Raila Odinga’s

Karen home had just been visited by weird people. Mungiki? I

think so. So I couldn’t blow the whistle. It was too dangerous.

By the time the morning came, I’d made a decision to

make a trip to Nakuru. I was going there ostensibly to bring

peace and healing. My real intention, though, was to bring fresh

supplies to the boys. Matter of fact, I think any Kenyan with half

a brain, who studied my body language as I talked to the boys,

could read the insincerity in me. It was a charade. And the boys

read it as such.

But I was disturbed. What the hell was this Mingiki

thing? Why were we in bed with such a dangerous organization?

How were we going to extricate ourselves from these people

once Kenya was back on track?

As I traveled back to Nairobi that day, it became clear to

me that my game plan had to dramatically change ahead of 2012.

Just how was I going to do it?

Before I answer that question, let me give you Maina

Njenga. This man is the national chairman of the two-million

strong Mungiki.

The floor is yours, Bwana Njenga.

MAINA

NJENGA

 

My name is Maina Njenga. I’m the national chairman

of the Mungiki. I know you’re sitting there and wondering why a

man who is at the Naivasha Maximum Prison feels compelled to

talk about the events of December 30, 2007. Simply stated, I feel

compelled because my organization, which has gotten very bad

press, was at the forefront of saving the Kikuyu Diaspora when

Kenya erupted in an orgy of destruction and unprecedented

bloodletting.

It shouldn’t come to you as a surprise that I’m in very

close contact with my brigades outside of this Naivasha den,

where they’ve had me locked up for years now. In October 2007,

when a meeting was held at the State House to map out what role

the Mungiki would play in the coming elections, I was fully

briefed. In fact, on one of the occasions, when the blessings of

the top leadership of the Mungiki were required, I was secretly

driven to the State House. It was around 12:30 a.m. The car that

picked me up was a GK Mercedes Benz. The man who drove it

had a deep voice, stiff manners, but he wore a mask, so I didn’t

know who the hell he was.

On that October night, they drove me at a high speed

through the country, from Naivasha to Nairobi, and all this time

nobody said a word. Not even the two hawk-eyed paramilitary

types who sandwiched me at the backseat.

Finally, at about 1:45 a.m., I found myself at the gate of

the State House. Imagine my shock. Who wanted me here? And

what did he/she want? I instantly prayed that it wasn’t Lucy. I

hate that woman. I hate her gut. But while I still wondered why I

was here, the gate flew open and the driver sped up a hill,

coming to screeching halt right in front of a marble door.

“Karibu,” a man said.

Karibu? Whose guest am I?

I was hurried down a long hallway. I was nervous like

hell. Then…suddenly a door opened and I found myself in front

of Michuki, Karume, Uhuru and Lucy. Was I dreaming? What

did these people want?

Michuki was the first to put out his hand. “Oroaku?”

I refused to greet him.

But let me cut out the bullshit and tell you what went on

there. For the next two hours, I was filled in on a plan that

sounded very much like something straight out of a Hollywood

thriller, or the capital city of hell. As I listened to the know-it-all

confidence of Michuki and Lucy, all I could think about was that

these people were either crazy or they were thoroughly prepared

for what they were about to unleash on Kenyans.

I said, “How do you plan to protect our people in

Kisumu? In Eldoret? In Kakamega? In Mombasa?”

“The police commissioner has instructed his officers to

use maximum force to quell any riots. It’s our estimation that

within two to three days, people will have accepted the reality

that Kibaki is going nowhere and will give up.”

“What if they don’t?” I asked.

Nobody had a good answer to that.

Lucy said, “We’ll make sure they surrender.”

I didn’t know how they’d ensure that, but I didn’t ask. It

became obvious to me that the Mungiki needed to be mobilized

to save Kikuyus in the Diaspora. So as I was driven back to

Naivasha, I started plotting—in my mind—how my organization

was going to save people from Central Province who lived in the

Rift Valley and Nyanza. And once back in my cell, I found it

deplorable that Kibaki and his people would plan something this

dangerous without adequately taking care of the security of the

Diaspora. What the hell were they thinking?

To cut the long story short, when trouble started across

Kenya, our guys were ready. Our boys who’d gone to train in

Uganda had come back in through the lake. Our uniforms had

been shipped to strategic locations by the Daily Nation vans. The

money was available in millions…donated by fat cats from

Central Province. All that was lacking—as far as my boys were

concerned—was my word.

That word came at 6:30 on the 31st. A call that originated

in the State House was answered by the Naivasha Prison

officials. It somehow ended up on my ear and it was my field

commander on the line. “We have to make our move,” he said.

“Without delay,” I said.

He hung up.

As I sat there, in the wee hours of the morning, I

wondered what the field commander’s thoughts were. Did he

think we were going out there to fight for Kibaki? If that’s what

he thought, I didn’t want to disabuse him of that notion.

Nationalism was a powerful enough force to make the boys fight

like crazy. When this was over, I was going to tell the leaders of

the sect that Kibaki and those crazy men around him cannot be

trusted. They were using the community to fight their evil

battles, yet they don’t care for the people. And just how far were

they prepared to go in isolating the community from the rest of

Kenya?

I slept for four hours.

At about 10:30 a.m., Field Commander Chura—again

through the State House—informed me that a church had just

been torched by rioters in Eldoret and men and women burnt

alive. Then, over the next three days, word of total devastation

and death came to me like a tornado. People were being killed,

displaced, their property destroyed. What the hell was FC Chura

doing? Where was Chura?

The next time Chura called, I told him that I would

personally cut his balls if the Diaspora Kikuyus continued facing

death and displacement on the scale they had in the two days

since the implosion.

Within hours of my warning to Chura, the boys arrived

in Nakuru and sent a very strong message to the rioters there. In

Kisumu, where one fool called Grace Kahindi had given a shootto-

kill order, our boys took advantage and shot a guy in cold

blood. Suffice it to say that throughout Kenya, the Mungiki boys

found a way to save the Diaspora from the attacks of their fellow

countrymen.

Then as days turned to weeks, I watched with keenness

as Raila Odinga—the man our elderly leaders had painted as a

monster—took steps to save Kenya from disintegrating. I was

very disturbed by the fact that Raila the monster was the one

willing to climb down his demands and save Kenya while Kibaki

and his team were ready to see the nation wash in blood to hang

on to power. Why was this?

Fast forward.

On the day that Raila became the nation’s second Prime

Minister, I knew that the Mungiki had to work with him. He’d

won my admiration. It occurred to me that the man had a deep

love for Kenya, and that he understood why young men—like

the ones who filled the ranks of the Mungiki—felt aggrieved by

the way resources were distributed in Kenya.

So as I sit in this Naivasha cell, I want to tell you, my

fellow countrymen, that I’ve grown older and wiser in prison. I

know that I have blood on my hands, but that’s a chapter we

should try to close together…as a nation. We can choose to work

with the Hon. Raila Odinga to save Kenya or choose to perish.

What will it be?

ELEVEN

 

I’m back. I’m still Kalonzo Musyoka. This time I’m

back to announce that I’m still running for president, and this

time it’s for 2012. I know you don’t trust me and would much

rather that I disappeared, but that will not happen. All my life,

I’ve always been guided by one thing—calculation. Going into

the 2007 elections, it was my calculation that I couldn’t beat

Raila on my own, that’s why I worked with Kibaki. I’ve

accepted blame for helping him steal an election. Can I be

forgiven so we can move on? I sincerely hope that 2012—if we

even go that far—won’t be a replay of 2007.

Here is my game plan. I want to do everything to endear

myself to the GEMA bloc. It’s the calculation of my political

handlers that the combined numbers of GEMA and the Akamba

community are enough to beat back Kenya. What still worries

me though is the fact that in 2007 that didn’t seem to work out as

Uhuru and Michuki had promised Kibaki. In fact, GEMA and

Akamba fell short by nearly one million votes. Which begs the

question—will it be an outright win or will we resort to rigging

again?

All I know is that just like in 2007, I’ll do everything in

my power not to let Raila Amollo Odinga become president of

Kenya.

No to Raila. Period.

JOHN

MICHUKI 

I’m back too. Was I even here before? I don’t

remember. But don’t call me John Michuki anymore. That

name has been soiled by evil people. Naturally I wouldn’t want

to see Raila become president, but I think that man is inevitable.

People love him. And now I fear that even the younger

generation of Kikuyus are warming up to him. They admire the

fact that he dropped his demands to become president so the

nation could calm down and heal. Just imagine how many more

Diaspora Kikuyus would have died and displaced had he insisted

on his rights? I guess that’s why Maina Njenga is walking the

sons of the Mau Mau to a tent built by Raila.

As for me, I’m now an old man. I want to sail quietly

into the sunset. I’ve made my share of mistakes, starting from

the colonial times, when I fought on the side of our oppressors,

but that’s too long ago.

To the extent that I’ve hurt my fellow Kenyans, I ask for

your forgiveness. You’ll never hear from me again, until the day

they announce my death on KBC.

Ida, mama

taifa

 

Before you guys wind this up, I think I should have

my say. My name is Ida Odinga. I’ve been married to the Hon.

Raila Odinga for a long time. He is a man of honor. A man of

dignity. And quiet frankly, he is a man who loves Kenya with all

his heart.

On the night of the 30th, he called me at 1:30 a.m. to tell

me that he wasn’t coming home. He couldn’t reveal where he

was calling from. Matter of fact, I never asked him. Across the

nation, things were getting nasty pretty fast, so I knew that he

was taking maximum care of himself. But I could tell that he was

stressed and hurt by what Kibaki had done. His voice broke for

his country.

The following morning, at around 10:30 a.m., he came

home for breakfast. He never ate. I watched him agonize. He was

in shock. He couldn’t believe that in this day and age there were

some people who could blatantly steal an election and get away

with it. But he also knew that the killing orgy that was spreading

across the nation needed to stop.

It was around 10:50 a.m. that he opened up and said,

“The Americans don’t seem to understand what is going on

here.”

He caught me off guard. “The Americans?”

“The ambassador, Michael Rennenberger, seems to be of

the idea that Kenya’s security is of more importance than

democracy. He wants the country quiet. And I agree with him.

My fear is that a precedent is being set where future leaders will

steal elections and get away with it.”

“So…what’s gonna happen?”

“I don’t know. I’ve decided that I’m going to do

everything in my power to keep Kenya from disintegrating. I’m

aware that Kibaki and his people don’t really care what happens.

The recklessness on their side is stunning.”

“So…what’s gonna happen?”

“Like I said, I don’t know. Opinion is divided at the

Pentagon. There are those who want us to fight to the bitter end.

Then there are those who are so sick of Kikuyu impunity that

they are ready to curve Central Province out of Kenya, make it

into a Lesotho. Finally, there are those—me included—who

think we are young enough to fight another day. It’s the opinion

of those who think like me that we must hold Kenya together by

all means. If we prevail, our approach will be to take these

people for a ride. We’ll make them think we are with them when

we are not.”

“But aren’t you running the risk of being perceived as

weak? Won’t people say you’ve gone to bed with the enemy?”

He looked at me, then turned and looked at his grandson.

Shaking his head he said, “Sweetheart, look at that boy. Am I

more important than him? Doesn’t he deserve to grow up in a

peaceful country?” He wiped a tear. “That boy, and the millions

like him across Kenya, is the reason I’m not going to go down a

path that will lead to a civil war. I owe it to Kenya’s children

to…”

He chocked.

“I owe it to Kenya’s children to…”

“You don’t have to say it,” I said. “I get your point.”

When breakfast was done, he called me to the bedroom and said,

“These are the moments when my faith in humanity is shaken.

Give me a big hug.”

I did.

“Now I’m ready to go fight.”

He left.

I watched over the next few days as my husband led his

party to the negotiating table instead of the bush. I watched as he

struggled with Kibaki’s people, who included the obnoxious

Martha Karua. Let me digress for a second here. Can you believe

that Martha Karua—the same woman who fought the Moi

administration like hell to expand democracy in Kenya—was the

one now doing everything to subvert it?

Back to the elections. I was moved when I saw my

husband stand and shake hands with Mwai Kibaki. I was moved

when he added his signature to the document that brought a 50-

50 government to Kenya instead of war. I was moved when he

made it possible for a cabinet to be named. And then I was

moved when he was inaugurated. I knew that he did it all for the

children.

The nation’s most vulnerable.

But now, several months on, many people look at what

he did, how the PNU is doing everything to shortchange him,

and think he’s becoming weak. Wrong. What I know for certain

is that my husband has a plan. No, he has plans. Plan A. Plan B.

And plan C. When the time is right, the PNU won’t know what

hit them.

Enough said.

GENERAL

ALI

 

Fellow Kenyans, allow me to also say my piece. My

name is General Ali. I am the nation’s police commissioner. I

hate to have to say what I’m going to say, but since everybody

has been honest, I must be too. I’m a Kenyan of Somali descent.

My family has been prominent in the NEP, and it has produced a

number of influential Kenyans. Let that introduction suffice for

now.

I want to move quickly to the night of December 30. I

was at my home when I heard a sharp knock on my door. Only

minutes ago, I’d just come in from my girlfriend’s place—you

know that media tycoon called Rose. Before that, I’d met a

number of men—who’ve spoken ahead of me—at the State

House. These men had instructed me how to handle the coming

crisis. I sat there glumly as it occurred to me that a coup was

being planned and executed right before my eyes.

The minute I got home—after my visit with my

girlfriend—I called the State house and told Michuki, who was

still out there, that I was resigning.

“Oh, but you can’t,” he told me.

“I can. I must.”

“Why?”

I cleared my throat. “Because I don’t agree with where

you’re going. When I joined the forces, I signed up to help

uphold the law, to protect Kenyans, not to kill them. I can’t

allow myself to do anything contrary to my conscience.”

“Ujinga tupu—bullshit,” he said.

“I’ll drop off my resignation letter in an hour.”

I never had a chance.

Within minutes of talking to Michuki, I heard that sharp

knock on my door. When I opened, two men forced themselves

in, pointed their guns at me and said, “Follow us.”

My brow arched. “What’s going on?”

“The president needs you.”

The president?

I was stunned. Why did the president need me? I turned

off the TV, which had Vitimbi on, and told the two guys I was

ready.

They bundled me into an idling Range Rover and sped

off.

When I got to the State House, I was led straight to the

balcony where President Kibaki was waiting. He was seated on a

stiff chair, with Michuki sipping some kind of liquid by his side.

“Mabo gani haya ninayo sikia, Generali?” the president

said, looking at me with deep concern.

I looked the head of state in the eye and said, “I’m

resigning. I don’t know whether you’ve heard what John is up to,

but I can’t go along. My conscience won’t let me.”

“So you must resign?”

I said yes.

“Then look,” President Kibaki said, “I’ve called you

here to tell you that you can’t. The nation is in the middle of a

crisis. Should you resign now, it has to be considered an act of

treason…which means we must arrest you.”

“Arrest me?”

Michuki nodded with a smile. Then he said, “So,

General, is it to prison or are you helping us quell the riots?”

“Give me time to…”

“You’ve had all the time,” Michuki said. “Either you’re

with us or you’re with the other side. It’s that simple.” He

cleared his throat. “Where are you?”

I felt like spitting on this bastard’s face. I said, “I’ll work

for Kibaki, not for you.”

Michuki laughed. “Suit yourself.”

When I walked out of that State House, I knew exactly

what Michuki was going to do. He was going to plant spies on

me, have his men watch me every minute. If they saw me go

toward any foreign embassy or the airport, they would either kill

or arrest me. I was terrified.

To cut the long story short, I didn’t do anything to hurt

any Kenyan. When Grace Kahindi gave her shoot-to-kill orders

in Kisumu, the authority by which she did it did not come from

me. It came from…John.

Now, there are things I saw during and after the 30th of

December that I must die with. They are too horrible to believe.

What I want Kenyans to know is this—that had it not

been for my toughness and restraining influence on the police, a

lot more Kenyans would have died.

I prevented a catastrophe.

 

Samuel Kivuitu.

I’m back to wish Kenyans peace and prosperity. I know

that the nation is hopelessly divided between the people from

Western Kenya—who have successfully put together an alliance

that brings Kenya’s tribes under one banner—and the GEMAAkamba

alliance. It’s my duty, as a proud son of the Akamba, to

tell my people that staying in a coalition fronted by a man like

Kalonzo Musyoka is a boneheaded strategy indeed. The man is a

loser. And to most Kenyans he is a traitor.

Now, before we’ve even had a chance to resettle all our

IDPs, he is out there scheming how to become president. I know

that he is more acceptable to the Central Province power barons,

but I must warn that should he be shoved down people’s throats,

the implosion that rocked Kenya in 2007 will look like a piece of

cake.

Kenyans are angry.

So as we plan future elections, let me plead with

Kenyans to carry out free and fair elections. Let us get back on

track.

That’s my prayer.

 

Mimi naitwa Daniel Arap Moi. Kimombo ni ngumu,

lakini nita jaribu. There’s a good reason I’ve waited this long to

speak. I wanted to hear what these people had to say. What I’ve

heard has impressed me. I’m happy that there’s been a candid

discussion about how things played out on one of Kenya’s most

ignoble nights. First and foremost, I’m glad that this mess

happened on Kibaki’s watch and not mine. Don’t pundits always

say that brilliant men like Kibaki are what Africa needs? Now

look at what Mr. Africa has brought us.

But to blame the entire mess on Kibaki is to miss the

point. The man from Othaya is a very weak man, that’s for sure,

but that’s no reason for people around him to take advantage of

him.

Before I go on, though, let me be the first to confess that

I took advantage of Kibaki. You have to understand that when I

decided to leave the presidency, it wasn’t of my own volition.

The stupid Americans literally pushed me out. They wanted

Uhuru Kenyatta to take over. So I played along—made them

think I supported Uhuru—when in reality I supported Mwai

Kibaki.

Why?

It’s very simple. I supported Mwai Kibaki because I

wanted someone in power who wouldn’t come after me and my

family and my aides. I looked through the spectrum of Kenya

politicians and decided that Kibaki was the man. I didn’t trust

Raila Odinga. The man is like a storm. And I didn’t trust Uhuru.

Knowing him as I do, what I’ve seen in him—which most

Kenyans haven’t—is a man who makes rush decisions. He goes

on impulse, not reason. That’s why when the time came, I

secretly supported Kibaki and did everything to turn over power

to him.

Okay, I know what you’re asking yourself. You’re

wondering why the Kibaki people mistreated me after I’d so

graciously turned over power to them. The simple answer is—

they were idiots. And I dare say, they’ve remained idiots

throughout the Kibaki presidency. Why, for example—did they

choose to antagonize Raila after he’d accepted to work as a

Cabinet minister? And why did they allow Lucy to be such a

pivotal figure in Kenyan politics when they knew she was a

nutcase?

That said, I believe that the events of December 30th

could have been avoided were it not for the mortal fear most

Kenyan politicians have for the Hon. Raila Odinga. The man is

charismatic, a brilliant strategist, and he’s got more energy than a

high school chap. You look at him barnstorm the country during

campaigns and you wonder where he gets all that energy from.

It’s amazing.

But if you ask me why we fear Raila, I’ll be honest and

say I don’t know. When you talk to the man, or work with him

like I did, what you see is a man whose sole desire is to create a

better Kenya for future generations. He is genuinely trying to

unite Kenya’s tribes, be a bridge between the past and the future.

And even the perception that he is a dangerous radical is

misplaced. I loved to cast him that way when I was president

because it worked for me, but in truth, the man is no radical at

all. He is more of a pragmatist. What guides him is—does it

make Kenya a better country for our grandchildren?

So, based on what I’ve said about Raila, if I were

challenged to endorse a candidate for the presidency of Kenya, I

would endorse Raila Odinga. But am I going to do so? No. I

won’t because he schemed and successfully made Ruto replace

me as the Baba of the Kalenjin community. Besides, wasn’t it

him who put together the ODM juggernaut that locked my three

sons—including Gideon—out of Parliament? It’s a vendetta.

That’s all it is. But he’d make the best president.

____

December 30, 2007.

I was in Kabarak. I’d just come back from treatment in

Germany. Everything was going well. I’d even accepted the fact

that Kenya was going to have a new president. Raila had

outplayed us all. Then things started to happen. Strange results

started pouring in from Central Province. I had to sit back and

laugh. Wasn’t it Mwai Kibaki who once said that even rigging

required brains? That it had to be done intelligently? Where was

intelligence in the way this one was being done? This was

blatant. Impunity. Is it any wonder that a lot of PNU supporters

hit the blogs and asked the damning question—Mta do?

There was nothing Kenyans could do to take Kibaki out.

And I knew that there was nothing the Americans or the Brits

could do. Look, it’s almost impossible to drive anybody from the

presidency if they’ve decided to hang on. And what I saw in

Kibaki was a man who had decided to hang on, to let Kenya burn

to rubble if that was the price to pay. I was scared to death.

Within days of things going out of hand, my doctor

recommended that I go to the hospital. No, I wasn’t sick. It was a

political move. You see, I didn’t want to get involved in this

mess. This was Kibaki’s thing.

Did I have any part in it?

Many people have asked what my role was in what

happened. Truth is—I never had any part. I deplore what

happened. It was a shocker when Nicholas Biwott called to tell

me that the elders had decided not to turn over power to Raila

Odinga. The first question that went through my mind was—

Who are these elders?

“You’re one of them,” he said.

“Me?”

“Yes. I’ve told Mwai Kibaki that you’re one of us.”

I was stunned.

When I told my aides and doctor, they all agreed that I

needed to be at a place where Kenyans would see me resting,

rather than be at a place where they’d be guessing what I was up

to. That’s how I wound up in the hospital. And I must say it

worked well for me.

To close, let me say that I’m soon sailing away. But I

leave behind my sons and grandchildren. It’s my hope that when

the time comes and I must go, that I will leave Kenya in the

hands of the only man who can unite the young and the old, the

rich and the poor, the Central Province tribes and the Western

Kenya tribes. I say so because our children and children’s

children deserve a Kenya that’s peaceful and prosperous.

That’s why I endorse Raila Odinga for president.

 

Finally, Fellow Kenyans, I’m back to let you know

the way forward. I am Raila Odinga. As Ida told you earlier, I

took a bullet in my chest for Kenya because I want the children

of the nation I love to grow up in a peaceful and prosperous

society. I know there are people who don’t care what history

says about them, but I care about my legacy. I want future

Kenyans to look back at what I did in 2007 and early 2008 and

say that A Patriot Lived Among Us.

For now, it’s full speed ahead to 2012. But I must warn

my supporters across the nation that—2012 is a date we most

likely won’t get to. I say so because the PNU is full of people

who don’t have the slightest regard for the agreements they sign

on to. They are dishonorable people who say one thing and do

the exact opposite. However, let me disclose here that I met

President Kibaki at the Sagana State Lodge in Nyeri. We drew

the map into 2012, or sooner. Barring some unforeseen

eventuality, power will be turned over to me.

That’s all I’ll say for now.

Back to what I was talking about. Many times I sit and

laugh at the PNU operatives because they think they managed to

shortchange the ODM on parastatal appointments, ambassadorial

postings and PS jobs. Does it look like we were shortchanged?

Yes. Am I aware that it’s created a perception of weakness?

Again yes. But after spending nearly a month with Dr. Kofi

Annan and observing how Martha, Mutula and the PNU team

treated our ODM team, it became clear to me that even if we

tried our best, staying in a government run by these scoundrels

would be impossible. So given such a situation, it became

necessary for me to do just enough to give the impression that I

was in government. Truth is, we are on to the next chapter in our

long struggle to fully democratize Kenya.

I’m saddened that the men and women who fought

alongside the patriots of yesteryears came to power and turned

out to be even more dictatorial than the previous regimes. I still

wonder—for example—how Kiraitu Muriungi and Martha Karua

could have wound up oppressing Kenyans. Do they remember

that they nearly lost their lives trying to liberate Kenya?

Friends, the march is on. We are not going to stop until

Kenya is freed from the grip of the men and women from Central

Province. And this time I make this promise—that I will not let

anybody play games with the rights of Kenyans. I did it in 2007

to stop the bloodletting and destruction. But you and I know that

there comes a time when lasting peace can only be won through

bloodshed.

So should the elections be rigged again, no amount of

police brutality and gang mayhem will deter our determination to

drive out autocracy and impunity from Kenya. We will fight and

we will win.

That is my pledge.

So help me, God!

Fellow Kenyans,

I wrote this book shortly after the events of 2007. Since then,

Prime Minister Raila Odinga and the ODM, the party most

Kenyans were looking up to for deliverance, has proved to be no

different from those who’ve oppressed Kenyans for years. You

undoubtedly watched in disbelief as he remained glued to his

seat as Kenyans were clobbered on a national holiday. As for

Kibaki, his wacha wapigane call was typical. It is my belief that

for Kenya to be freed from the grip of these men, the

brotherhood of politicians who’ve misled Kenya since the sixties

must now be defeated. The fight to usher in real democracy,

where all Kenyans will live as one people…bound together by a

common destiny…has now come.

As we march toward taking back our country from the most

authoritarian, most insensitive Parliament in the history of this

nation, and as we rise up to stop the resurgent and growing

police brutality, let’s keep that image of Fredrick Odhiambo

being battered on Jamhuri Day 2008 in mind. Let’s remember

Caroline Mutoko, Mwalimu Mati and his wife, and all the other

civil society heroes who bravely protested the media suppression

bill. If we don’t stop the forces that would drag us backward,

we’ll never see the future we wish for our children.

So ladies and gentlemen, we now know that the enemies of

Kenya are not the poor Kikuyu, or the poor Luo, or the poor

Kalenjin, or the poor Luhya, or the poor Kisii next door. Our

enemies are the unscrupulous MPs and the successive

governments that have never shed colonial, repressive tactics,

and see Kenyans as a people to beat up and subdue.

This shall end.

That’s why I announce my candidacy for the presidency of

Kenya in 2012. In June 2009, I will put up a website that will

cover in detail my plan for Kenya. The campaign we mount will

be powered by the people of Kenya, not the fat cats who have

repeatedly used money to buy the presidency. We will repeat

Obama’s magic right here in his father’s homeland. Where the

old guard use thuggery and terror to silence us, we will answer

them with a firm no. We will present a clear and inspiring

alternative to the retrogressive politics our band of politicians

have perfected over the years.

Join me, my fellow countrymen, in taking Kenya back from the

Kenyattas, the Mois, the Kibakis, the Odingas and all the other

families that think Kenya belongs to them…and not to us all.

Yes we can.

Let’s get moving!

Sam Okello

Nairobi, Kenya