Absolutely Powerful!

By Philip A. Ochola

"Absolutely Powerful! is a work of fiction; it is a story of an African leader who amasses power and wealth and the effect of this on ordinary citizens. Ochola tells his story through Professor Pangloss, an academician and a journalist who is detained, tortured and then flees to the US on release.
In America, Pangloss enrolls for a course at the famous USC in Los Angeles and it is during that time that he realizes that he has to adjust his way of life radically to fit into the American society.
Back in Kenya, the professor becomes one of the most popular broadcasting journalists in the country. With reliable sources working close to the president, Pangloss gets a reliable but rare insight into the operations of African Big Men.
The novel is sprinkled with serious debate and dialogue among highly educated Kenyan middle class about their situation and how they can come out of it. To make the book both intellectually challenging and interesting, the story is sometimes told with a light touch of humor. Any reader will find the book educative and entertaining.
The novel also tells the story a humorous but sometimes reckless young man, Evans Bosire, who is a close friend of Prof. Pangloss."

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Aug 13, 2010
• ISBN: 9781453525722

Book preview

Chapter 1

I was heading back to the office after wondering aimlessly within the city center during lunch hour. It is reasonable to assume that I did not eat lunch during this, and any other lunch hours, from Monday to Friday, since I could not afford it. I was not the only one going without lunch in Nairobi or Kenya for that matter. I have no statistics to prove this assertion, but I would guess that close to 80% of Kenyans were living on one meal a day. And this is only a conservative estimate. But somehow, I managed to have a beer nearly everyday, how, I don’t know. I think the Almighty Lord knows how to take care of his own.

I crossed Harambee Avenue and walked past the National Bank Building, then turned right on Agha Khan Walk and then turned left on Haile Selassie Avenue, towards the former US Embassy. The site had since been turned into a shrine, a small park where people are charged a token fee to be able to enter and sit around, read the names of the victims of the fatal terrorist attack in 1998 and think about terrorism.

On that fateful day of the terrorist attack on the US Embassy, I was in my office just across the road in the morning hours when I heard a loud Boom! There were two blasts, the first one was not so loud but the second one was very loud, really loud. At first I thought the bomb had gone off right underneath our building which was only about 200 yards from the US Embassy.

It took a few moments before I realized what was happening; a lot of people were screaming and running in confusion, many were bleeding from cuts caused by pieces of glass. I heard the sound of ambulances and when I looked through the window, which now had no glass, I could see the smoke billowing out of what was left of the Embassy. The adjacent building was however not so lucky, it was completely flattened and later on I learnt that most of the casualties of this terrorist attack were people who were within this cooperative building at that fateful moment.

CNN and other international media got onto the story within minutes but I found it rather distasteful that some international media houses were only counting American casualties while in fact over ninety per cent of the dead were Kenyan citizens.

As I went past this venue, many questions went unanswered in my mind: Why Nairobi? How does the mind of a suicide bomber work? Are they paid some money or is it just a commitment to an ideal? If there is money involved, then most Kenyans would understand. Is it a commitment or is it a result of a well planned brainwashing? Did these bombers achieve their objectives? What are their objectives? Were the Muslims so wronged, and history and world opinion so corruptly turned against them that they were left with no option but to fight might with their lives? Why has Kenya been turned into a battleground for a war being waged between America and Muslims? These and many other questions go through my mind as I pass near the site of the biggest homicide scene in independent Kenyan history.

As I write this story, Kenyan victims of this tragic mass murder have not been compensated by the American Government or by Muslim fundamentalists. They have lodged numerous petitions to the US government through the US Embassy in Nairobi, but it seems governments all over the world are the same. They are all bureaucratic. Some victims have also entertained the idea to lodge claims for reimbursement with Osama bin Laden; the problem has been locating his physical address.

I personally know friends who were crippled or blinded by the terrorist bomb. They will always serve as a permanent reminder that evil does exist and that it can strike anywhere, anytime, if we are not vigilant.

What I can add here without any fear of contradiction is that Kenyans are in love with America and Americans. There are deep historical ties to America, first personally engineered by the late Thomas Joseph Mboya, the mercurial Kenyan politician who was assassinated by the government in 1969, and the famous American Kennedy family in the 1950’s. Hundreds of Kenyan students were airlifted to America in late 1950’s and early 1960’s as a result of the personal friendship forged (I don’t how) between one Thomas Joseph Mboya and the Kennedy family. The current President of the United States, Barrack Obama’s father was one of the beneficiaries of the scholarships awarded to Kenyan students to study in the US.

The simple idea was that Black Africa was inevitably going to be free so there was a need to equip as many Africans as possible who would be able to run the government when the British were finally kicked out. Most Americans may not even be aware of this act of benevolence let alone its impact on the Kenyan people. Kenyans always look upon America like the big brother and America has not let Kenya down, except at the height of the Cold War era when Washington used third world countries as a pawn in its wider struggle against international communist forces. As long as an African regime sided with America in this war, America was ready and willing to do business with you, whether you were a beast, a looter, a thug or a common thief.

I have always wondered what would have happened if it was Kenya and not Mexico which shared a common border with the US at the south. There are three possibilities I can think of right away. One, all Kenyans would have crossed into the US legally or otherwise, and I am not ruling out the use force. Secondly, the territory to the south would be part of America. Thirdly, no Kenyan would be speaking in Spanish. We follow culture and traditions, but when those cultures and traditions conflict with our economic and commercial interests, we weigh our options and change accordingly. Knowing that the gringo loves drugs, Kenyans would have been more creative; they would seek to drastically reduce the supply lines. Weeds would be grown on American territory. Crossing the border with the harvest is cumbersome, dangerous and uneconomical, to say the least.

Thanks God, the USSR is dead and America has returned to defend her traditional values in Africa. Most educated Kenyans (and they are many) are applauding the current American approach to issues like civil rights and democracy. Most ordinary Africans would like America to flex its muscle more often against dictators who change constitutions at whim to allow them to remain in power for ever.

For democracy to flourish in Africa, European countries with political and economic clout like Britain, Germany and France and America need to play a more interventionist role for the continent to realize its full economic potential. Africans are genuinely tired of dictatorship and corruption—the leading enemies of economic progress. With little help from Europe and America, Africa will, within our lifetime, join the rest of humanity in reaping the benefits of modern technology. Do not get me wrong here: Africans are not asking for handouts. We are only asking for an enabling environment to be able to move forward. The US government is now in a unique position where it can make a huge difference in Africa.

Chapter 2

I worked at the Kenya Telephone Limited (KTL), a wholly owned government profit-making organization; I also had a part-time job as a Journalist with ‘The Voice of Africa’ media house. I was also a lecturer at a number of private universities in Nairobi. I was headed to the KTL as I occupied my mind with these issues. Thinking about issues of this nature sometimes helped to divert my attention from excruciating hunger.

As I approached the office, an idea struck me: I have to see John Kamau immediately before he leaves office. Kamau was a shylock, our money-lender of last resort. Because of this advantageous role, he was probably one of the most respected, if not feared, person in the office second only to the managing director. He was only a clerical officer and a high school graduate but senior officers and highly educated people who worked for this corporation literally feared him. He was not only rich but also influential; he could get you hired or fire just like that, he used to boast. Most senior officers were his customers and he used drink with these people over the weekends. John Kamau was also known to be generous with beers when in the company of his bosses.

But before I approached Kamau, I had to device a waterproof strategy that would convince him firstly, that I really needed the money and secondly, that I would not default on payments this time around. Kamau’s money was expensive, he was lending at an interest rate of 35%, not per annum, but per month, and if he didn’t like your attitude, the rates would be adjusted upwards. That is why everybody at KTL made sure that we all kept a healthy relationship with John Kamau.

So, I sharpened my wits and steeled my nerves before I faced this important member of the community. The ideal situation was to corner him alone in his cubicle because there are certain things you don’t want your colleagues to know about you, like you are perpetually broke. The problem was you could not know what Kamau did with the information about you; there were no laws at that time about what a shylock could do with information about a customer. There was no credit rating at that time in Kenya. The handwritten agreement you signed only protected the interests of the shylock. Most people did not even bother to read the agreement. When Kamau had agreed in principle to lend you money, all your mind and wisdom were fully focused on the beer and women, everything else became irrelevant, academic and a waste of time.

As I neared Kamau’s office, I saw my boss, Mr. William Wilberforce K’Owade Korguok (the last name literally means the thorax of a dog in Luo language) saying bye to the money-lender and he looked very happy from the expression on his face. William was my supervisor at the Human Resource Department and I was his second in command in Human Resource Development (Training) unit. I immediately deduced that this man had secured a loan but being a wise person, I did not intend to let him know that I knew, so I took a sharp corner towards Musyimi’s office to avoid embarrassing Korguok. Some supervisors may not want you to know that they borrow money from clerks in the office. Musyimi was the manager in charge of women’s volleyball. He was proud to be called Manager for Women’s Volleyball.

When it became clear that Kamau was alone, I cleared my voice and made deliberate steps toward his office. But as entered the office, all those strategies I had crammed while pacing between Kenya Railways Headquarters and the Nairobi Railway Station evaporated from my brain like a flock of birds. Nervousness was beginning to take over my voice and probably my knees as well at this critical hour of need. Having forgotten what I wanted to tell this man, a story came to my mind and I knew immediately that Kamau would love this one Hey Kama, have you heard what happened to Evans Bosire last Saturday? I asked Kamau (I knew he loved to be called Kama, a shortened form of Kamau).

No, what happened, Professor? he said.

Well, promise not to tell anybody else as this is top secret. Besides Bosire himself, I am the only one who knows this in the whole building. Of course I knew this was like asking him to call a press conference for Breaking News

You know me, I am not the type who spreads rumors about my friends all over the place he said with a smile.

Whenever I tell you guys to moderate your drinking habits, some of you think I am a prefect I told him and there were already signs in his body language that I was beginning to get the attention I wanted.

What happened to Evans, we were drinking with him at the Republic on Saturday morning? Kamau inquired.

From the Republic he went to Carnivore where he drank until around two in the morning, and then he went home. He has confided in me that he does not know how he reached home. But when he reached home, God save Africans . . . he tiptoed to the servant’s quarters where their maid sleeps. First he removed his shoes then walked stealthily like a cat or a Leopard about to pounce on his prey. He then opened the door, which had not been locked, maybe on purpose; it would appear he has been doing this for a long time. Bosire did not know that his wife had already known something was cooking the moment he started defending the maid even in cases where the maid was obviously wrong. She waited until Bosire had settled in bed then she opened the door, switched on the lights and went ballistic! A few neighbors had now woken up but they didn’t switch on their lights lest it be known that they were watching this drama The shylock was now using hand gestures to urge me to continue, he didn’t want to interrupt the flow of this drama.

Then what happened, Professor? He asked when I stopped abruptly to look for opportunities to close the deal. I realized I had to finish the story; there was no way this man was going to give the money until he knew the fate of his friend Evans.

God save Africans . . . . Evans shot up like a solder ambushed by a terrorist, ‘What’s this happening to me? Where am I? I thought I was in my bed upstairs with you!’ Evans told his now bewildered wife. But listen, Mr. Kamau, this is just between you and me: yesterday Evans confided in me that an African man should not admit these things even under circumstances where they are caught red-handed. He told me that he thinks even African women would not want their men to admit adultery. He has lost it completely! Kama, don’t allow alcohol to ruin your marriage I said.

Man, you are killing me; you say Evans pretended he didn’t know what was going on? Kamau asked and I could already smell money.

"Salaala, he not only said that! He was now accusing his wife of using witchcraft on him, can you believe it? And you know his wife has an LLB and Masters in Law degrees from Toronto, Canada. On Sunday night after another drinking spree to make him forget his misfortunes, Bosire returned to an empty house. The wife had left with their kids and all the furniture; she left a message hanging on the door which said, ‘I must have made a terrible mistake, I married a fool, bye’ Anyway, don’t forget this is confidential stuff, if Bosire hears it anywhere he will know I am the one who spilt the beans. Which reminds me, Mr. Kamau I need some small loan which I’ll pay back by the end of the month together with the other two outstanding loans" I said this very quickly to take advantage of the good atmosphere which I had generated with my story about our mutual friend.

I was surprised that my voice was now rock-steady and my palms were not sweating anymore. I was in charge of the situation right now but Kamau, like all other businessmen, was unpredictable in all matters concerning money. He fell dead silent for a moment and I knew this was partly meant to intimidate me and partly to communicate an important message that when you borrow money from Kamau, you must pay it back or else . . . . Within that brief moment he had managed to pull off a counter-coup of sorts, taking back the command of the situation from me. It was like a mind game when you were dealing with this guy.

How much did you have in mind? Is your mother dead again? He said this but he was smiling which was not a bad sign, I thought.

No, Kama, my real mother is still alive but I have lost our fourth step mother, you know in African languages like Kiswahili, there is nothing like step-mother, step-brother: your step-mother is your mother, there are no steps in Africa, I am sorry I gave you the impression that it was my real mother who had passed away. I need only 4,000 shillings I told Kamau staring him directly into his eyes to give him no room to manufacture excuses not to lend me money.

Well, Prof. I have seen people here who need money for beer so desperately on Fridays to the extent they are prepared to fake their relatives’ funerals to get a loan from me. But I always tell people to be honest, because if you get used to cheating about serious things like death and hospitalization what will happen to you when you have a real funeral or when your child actually becomes sick? It is like the saying ‘Crying Wolf’. Kamau was now posturing like a wise man but the problem was, I was not listening, my eyes were locked into his hands. My eyes followed his hands’ movements from the cheap calculator in front of him, to his desk drawer, to his cigarettes, the lighter, to his mouth—like a hungry dog follows your hands when you are eating. When you throw him a dummy, the dog jumps but returns to his original posture but his eyes never leave your hands. That is the game Kamau was playing on me; he knew it and he was enjoying it. I could hear him saying to himself, who is more powerful now, a clerk or a manager?"

Eventually I got what I wanted and disappeared so quickly that I almost bumped into Rose, Mr. Korguok’s secretary, who was on a similar mission. As I apologized and left, something told me Kamau was just about to hold his first press conference on the Evans Bosire drama.

Part of the reason why I needed this money so badly was that I would use it to help me process my loan application from the Loans Department. I had long realized that if you wanted to get your loan faster in Kenya, you had to ‘grease’ hands. In Kenya the Swahili saying, mkono mtupu haulambwi meaning, empty hands cannot be licked is common in every office, especially in public offices.

Chapter 3

But before I headed to Finance Department of the Kenya Telephone Limited (KTL) to check on the status of my loan application, I passed through my office. I noticed that one of the items in my In-Tray was a memo from Mr. Korguok directing me to make a submission to the Managing Director requesting him to approve sponsorship of a son of one of the Directors for a Masters Degree in the United Kingdom. One of the supporting documents attached to Korguok’s memo was a copy of a degree certificate from an Indian university, the name of which sounded like someone’s home. The man’s name was John Kemei and he was not even an employee of this government corporation which was the largest telecommunications firm in East and Central Africa and probably the richest corporation in the region. So, as you can see I was being asked to do something illegal and most probably, criminal. But in the Kenya of those days (I am informed by reliable sources that it is much worse right now), this was the norm rather than the exception.

All employees knew that John’s father, Mr. Barnabbas arap Kemei, was a relative of the Managing Director, who was in turn rumored to have some kind of blood relationship with President Bernard arap Kemkem, the second president of the Republic of Kenya. Roughly 80 per cent of the top management of KTL was from the president’s region. The same situation obtained elsewhere in the country’s public service. There was of course a dramatic change when President Rufus Karao Bindi took over from Mr. Kemkem. This trend of filling all public positions by people from the president’s community was started by our first post-independence first president, Mr. Nicholas Diambo Ware.

When I could not get all the answers I needed from Mr. Korguok and his secretary, Rose, I was politely asked to go and see Mr. Arap Kemei himself on the 17th Floor within the same building. In fact, Korguok said the Director would be expecting me. So I hurried up to the 17th Floor from our Human Resource Department base on the 3rd Floor. I took the stairs since the lift was not working, as usual. By the time I reached the Director’s office I was breathless. So I posed for a while in the corridors to catch my breath. While I waited to cool down, I saw Mr. Njoroge, a fifty-something year old guy who was about to retire, check left, right and then left again, before he went to the condom dispenser and took a handful of condoms and shoved them into his right lower coat pockets. Our company was making a huge mistake by keeping these condom dispensers in the open, next to lifts. Most Africans at that time associated condoms with promiscuity and discussing sex those days was still considered an anathema, a taboo. So I naturally ducked to give Mr. Njoroge his space.

When I was ushered into Kemei’s office, I started by introducing myself and why I wanted to see him, Good afternoon sir, my name is Edward from the Human Resource Development, Mr. Korguok asked me to see you in connection with this case I said handing him the memo and the papers attached to it.

Kijana, umesema unaitwa nani? he asked in Swahili (young man, what have you said your name is?)

Edward I repeated.

Edward, what is your last name? he asked in Swahili.

Pangloss, my name is Edward Pangloss I told him politely.

Where do you come from, Edward? he was persisting.

I come from Kibera Estate here in Nairobi I said

Where were you born the old man asked.

Kibera, Nairobi, sir I didn’t know where this would end. All of a sudden, he gave up that line of interrogation and he started to lecture me.

Do you know who I am? I am a senior director in this company and who are you to question what has already been approved by the Managing Director? You are a very small person in this organization and you can be fired . . . . just like that! He said making a sound by clicking his middle finger against his thumb; it sounded like the sound of a gunshot. You are like a mende (cockroach) and I can end your life in this organization ‘just like that’ he said by making the ominous sound again with his fingers.

Do you know who I am? he asked again but I didn’t think he wanted me to answer that one so, I kept cool. I thought it was a rhetorical question like those ones you often hear from politicians.

After listening to him for a few minutes, it now became very obvious to me: Mr. Kemei was semi-illiterate; I could place his formal education at somewhere around Grade 7. He had difficulties expressing himself even in Swahili; it was a disaster every time he ventured into English language. I could see him close his eyes, almost spitting into my face in the process of pronouncing a word like sponsorship which ended sounding like sponychachip.

Your work is to write a letter to the Managing Director asking him to put his signature on that paper, nothing more, do you hear? I guess he was looking for the word Approval when he said signature, which he called ‘siginecha’ and I really wanted to help him find the right word but I was afraid he could have misinterpreted my gesture. This guy was like a bomb waiting to go off.

I waited until he cooled down then I went on the offensive again, very politely of course. Mr. Kemei, I will process this matter as soon as possible. May I have John’s PF number? I asked for his son’s employee number.

John hana namba, kuna kasoro na maskio yako? he said, meaning, John does not have a number, is something terribly wrong with your ears? He had now turned to intimidation as a weapon of last resort. Instead of telling him how sorry I felt for him, because he looked pathetic, I told him my ears are perfect and that I was just doing my job. Then he did something out of the ordinary, he reached for the phone on his desk while asking me to repeat my name to him. I knew straight away that this man was not going to call the Managing Director to recommend me for a promotion. So, I told him I was going to expedite this particular submission given that it was urgent and that the applicant was related to one of our esteemed directors. When I told him this, I could see that he was breathing normally again.

Clearing his voice and at the same time straightening his tie, which looked like a rope, he said, Sasa unaongea kama binadamu, Bwana Pangloss! meaning, Now you are talking like a human being He then got up and I also followed suit. Mr. Kemei struggled to reach a desk at the far right corner of his office overloaded with tons of new Calendars and personal Diaries. He gave me one of each, and welcomed me to see him anytime I had any problems like getting a promotion or if I had a problem with procuring of a car loan from the Finance Department. That last offer was very tempting but I just thanked him and left.

Back at my office, I was still shocked at having come face to face with an illiterate Director serving on the Board of a corporation which was supposed to spearhead technological advancement in telecommunications in this region of Africa. People had told me that such people were to be found at all levels of our organization but I didn’t expect to meet an illiterate Director. When Directors were discussing such important issues like the ‘National Teledensity’ what would be Mr. Kemei’s contribution? Maybe nothing, I concluded. While in his office it struck me as odd, the absence of documents, computers, official papers or other things of that nature. Instead, I saw all the three local daily newspapers on his desk. It appeared he had been struggling with the Taifa Leo crossword, a Swahili newspaper, before I interrupted him.

Whatever I was going to do with this case I had to be careful. I had to be perceived by Barnabbas Kemei and whoever else was following this issue that I had acted as fast as I was supposed to. I had also to put in a mechanism to protect my behind. When I eventually got down to writing a letter to the MD, as Barnabbas called it, this is what I came up with: (as usual it had to go through our bureaucratic chain of command:

To the Managing Director

Through Deputy Managing Director

Through Assistant Managing Director

Through General Manager—Human Resources

Through Deputy General Manager—Human Resources

Through Assistant General Manager—Human Resources

Through Manager—Human Resource Development

Through Deputy Manager—Human Resource Development

Through Assistant Manager—Human Resource Development

Through Senior Human Resource Development Officer

Through Assistant Senior Human Resource Development Officer

Through Manpower Development Officer

Through Assistant Manpower Development Officer

Dear Sir,

REF: SPONSORSHIP FOR A MASTERS DEGREE IN UK FOR JOHN KEMEI

Please refer to the attached admission letter from the Admissions Officer of the Greenfields University College of London, United Kingdom (UK) accepting Mr. John Kemei’s application to pursue a Masters of Arts (English Literature) course. The program is scheduled to start in October this year.

The total cost of the course including return air ticket, full-board accommodation, tuition, per diem, books and other materials, will be US $20,000.00, which is equivalent to Kshs.1.8 million at the current exchange rates.

However, Mr. John Kemei is not one of our employees but he is the son of a member of our Board of Directors, Mr. Barnabbas arap Kemei.

The training program which John intends to participate in, Masters of Arts in English Literature is not relevant to our corporate goals and objectives and will not be of benefit to this corporation in any way.

We are however requesting you to use your personal discretion to approve this application for sponsorship.

Thanking you in advance for your kind consideration and approval, sir.

Best Regards,

Professor Edward Pangloss

Manpower Development Superintendent

Korguok liked this kind of flowery, colonial type of English, and I did too.

The bad thing about this arrangement was that in most cases I did the job and Korguok took the credit. I wrote most the HR technical papers which were presented at telecommunications conferences all over the world. During those days, senior officers became rich through inflated per diem claims. They were traveling all the time; when an officer was broke, he or she would simply create an excuse for traveling, besides, in this industry there is always an international conference happening somewhere in the world in any given month.

In any case, if they could not travel overseas, they manufactured reasons to travel within Kenya and this also paid good money too. The good thing about local per diem is that you did not have to go wherever you had said on paper you would go to. A senior officer would just complete the paperwork, claim tons of money but stay put in his or her own house. After all who would really know a per diem claim had been made and a travel scheduled? In most cases these claims were approved by the secretary of the Managing Director; the MD had been widely quoted as saying he was too busy to deal with traveling claims of junior staff.

From the desk of William Wilberforce K’Owade Korguok, this submission would start its long, arduous journey to the Managing Director. Each officer would dutifully write against his title, Recommended some of them would go even further to be noticed by the MD by writing, Highly Recommended This was followed by a signature and a date—probably to create the impression that they were hardworking and efficient, which was ridiculous because all they needed to do was write, Recommended sign and date. Most of these managers never even read these kinds of standard submissions.

I was therefore not surprised by the speed with which the Managing Director approved this overseas training case but I am not sure if he or people in similar positions in this country appreciate the possible consequences of such actions. He used his usual thick, red fountain pen to write a screaming, Approved

After his approval, the paper started it descent through the normal chain of command, except now the officers were writing, Deal, signature and date. After a few days the paper found its way to my desk. My job was to implement the Approved. I am the one who was actually going to Deal: I would write to this university to confirm that this young man was being sponsored by the corporation; I would process payments, a passport, air tickets and everything else, including money for his winter clothing. This was one of the most boring jobs I ever did.

It appeared to me that things would probably be faster if I were to directly ‘deal’ with the Managing Director without going through all these middlemen and charlatans. These people spent the whole day in the office writing Recommended and Please Deal There was no thinking involved in their efforts, they added no value to the paper they wrote on; if anything, they had made the paper dirty!

Unfortunately, I was the only one thinking along these lines; if anybody else held similar views, I never heard them say it. Why would they want changes anyway? They were benefiting from a corrupt, bureaucratic system which rewarded thieves, tribal goons, and boot-lickers.

This organization was choking from bureaucracy and corruption. It was a poorly kept secret that the Managing Director had illegally sold out most of the corporation’s houses and land. The local press was full of stories about corruption in our organization. The often reliable Paradigm Daily Newspaper estimated that the KTL Managing Director and his extended family could live lavishly on his current wealth for the next 246.5 years without going to work.

Chapter 4

I had met our MD a number of times but I did know him very well at a personal level. However, I have friends in the corporation who knew him quite well. Accounts from various sources reveal a man suffering from an inferiority complex because of his relatively low education and inexperience. He was literally fished out of nowhere by the President and put in charge of an organization with a total establishment of about thirty two thousand people, the overwhelming majority of whom had at least a first university degree. He was leading highly qualified Engineers, Accountants and Economists. Many of these professionals had been trained in the US, Canada and Europe. Mr. Birgen arap Thogongony, the MD, had acquired his BA in Sociology at the University of Nairobi, which was a prestigious university those days.

On leaving campus, arap Thogongony had started his career in teaching at a high school in the Rift Valley Province. He rose to the position of a Headmaster. When the current President took office, there was a high demand for Kalenjins with university degrees to head positions in government ministries, parastatals like ours, embassies abroad and civil administration. Having employed all Kalenjins with descent education, the President now ran out of options. There is a joke doing the rounds in Nairobi that when the President ran out of Kalenjin university graduates, he now turned his attention to cattle and goat herders. No wonder all government corporations and anything else which was controlled by the government during this man’s presidency collapsed.

Birgen arap Thogongony, just like President Ben arap Kemkem, was always feeling insecure because of the circumstances under which he got this job. And just like the President, Thogongony was ruthless in dealing with real and imaginary opposition in the Board Room and with the senior management. His word was law unto itself; he tolerated no alternative views. In management meetings, Thogongony spoke, the Company Secretary took down minutes, and other managers nodded all the time and said: I agree with you totally even before the MD finished his sentences.

With time he became so powerful that even government ministers now feared him. He was on the government owned TV every other week; he had direct access to the President because our corporation was the major source of the President’s financial clout. It is widely rumored that he and his personal drivers and body guards one time went behind payment counters and stuffed cash in bags, telling the tellers to hurry up, and Don’t you know the President is waiting for us. He has a major fund raising event in Othoch Rakuom, South Nyanza in just over 5 hours! He added in Swahili, Fanyeni chap chap which means, hurry up" I would not be surprised by this.

A close friend of Mr. arap Thogongony confirmed to me that one time the president gave this man (arap Thogongony) a letter of introduction to the General Manager of National Merchant Bank of Kenya (NMBK). NMBK was a fully owned government bank. Attached to the letter of introduction was a list of ten or so names (including his Birgen’s own name) and the amount of loan each person was to be advanced by the bank. Since the list was not closed, Mr. Thogongony did what he thought was the most logical thing to do in Kenya those days: he added the names of his three wives, three brothers, six children, his sister, auntie, two of his concubines and a couple of others whom I have now forgotten. Birgen arap Thogongony added a total of eighteen names to the original list and at 20 million shillings each; his people received a cool 360 million shillings (4.5 million Dollars) which is a considerable amount given that Kenya is one of the poorest countries in the world. This money would not be repaid. There was no collateral, no agreement: you just signed against your name and off you went, smiling like a hyena which has eaten steak.

Chapter 5

We organized many courses and seminars for KTL managers and other cadres of staff to improve their managerial skills but the impact was not showing; training these people was like wasting money. They were deeply rooted in a certain way of doing things, a certain corporate culture. Over the years since the country attained political independence, a corporate paradigm had been created here by the African leaders who had taken over from colonial managers. To try to change this corporation without first changing the government would have been an effort in futility.

With our miserable salaries, it would be next to impossible to put food on the table every day. The salary was low and we received our pay checks once a month like all working Kenyans. So, knowing that senior managers were absolutely corrupt, the rank and file joined in the looting. It became a standard operating procedure for any wise new employee to look for any loopholes which would enhance his chances for stealing from the employer without being caught. It was like a jungle where animals live without laws and without regards to others’ welfare. In this corporation if you wanted to survive, you played within the written and unwritten rules. The situation in the civil service proper was even worse.

Ordinary workers, supervisors and junior managers were trapped in this paradigm which defined their beliefs, tastes, morals, inter-personal relationships, ethos and values. Sometimes I imagine myself being a Jew living in Jerusalem during the days of Jesus Christ and I am ashamed to think that, like the majority of Jews around that time, I would also have screamed, Crucify Him! I cannot pass a harsh judgment on these people, they were living within a certain paradigm of their times, anybody who challenged this way of doing things, like Jesus Christ, was risking his own life. Thus, thinking outside the box was extremely dangerous. During Christ’s time, it was the gurus, rabbis, wise men and prophets who shaped the paradigm within which all citizens of that Holy land were living. This paradigm shaped peoples’ way of life: how they reacted to and perceived the truth was informed by the paradigm in place.

Sometimes I like to think of a corporate culture in terms of a house and its foundation: a house will react to environmental disasters in accordance with the strength of its foundation. If it is weak, it will fall immediately; if it is not too strong, it may resist the hurricane for a few hours then collapse; however if it is strong, it will whither the storm.

Our company was in the first category, and it was falling, fast. Already word was out that there was not even a dime in the workers’ pensions fund: Thogongony and his friends had cleaned the account and since his immunity was guaranteed by the president himself he did not even bother countering the stories in the press besides saying, these are works of disgruntled elements who are out to tarnish my name and to finish the Kamatusa race

A manager friend of mine who was in charge of the North Eastern Region once told me he got concerned when so much money was being paid to staff and local doctors so he decided to verify some medical claims. He therefore asked to see one woman who was claiming reimbursement for the extraction of about 16 teeth. Reimbursement in this case was based on the number of teeth taken out. So the more teeth an employee lost, the more she would get. When the woman came in, she was accompanied by her husband who was also a member of staff. The manager asked to see the mouth of the woman to confirm that sixteen teeth had been removed the same day by the same doctor. She refused to open her mouth saying she is a Muslim and their religion bars them from showing their mouths to men, other than their husbands. Besides, the husband who was a Somali, was fondling with an object in his jacket pocket as he chewed miraa (Khat) violently. It was no longer a secret that most Somalis in these parts of Kenya had easy access to guns. The manager, being not too naive, decided to send them to another doctor who later confirmed that Amina had lost only one tooth and it seemed that it had been removed ten years previously.

Otherwise, most workers depended on running their personal small-scale businesses during office hours using company’s stationery and telephone. They would report to office at the required time, remove their jackets and hang them on their seats to give the impression that they were around somewhere within the building. We were famous for not only harassing our customers but extorting money from them. Before a simple service like getting a telephone line was rendered to a customer, he had to part with cash and if he was mean, we would just ask him to come back the next month and the next month if they still came back with the same ‘bad’ attitude, we would book for him another appointment the ‘next month’—until he learnt lugha ya wazee a Swahili saying for "the old men’s language, but which in fact means corruption.

It is around this time that I started to take up part time teaching jobs at private universities and junior colleges around Nairobi. I was also running management seminars for companies and other government corporations during the weekends. I was also contributing articles to a leading regional newspaper on a weekly basis for almost two years.

I decided to chase my car loan, as the process for following up applications for loan was popularly known here. The first step in this process took me to my supervisor’s secretary, Rose to confirm that Korguok had in fact signed it. One big advantage in working at this firm was that a very junior supervisory role was enough to earn you a big office, a personal secretary, a company car, a driver and a messenger—someone who did nothing but ferrying memos between offices. There were no computers then (I suspect majority of employees of KTL do not have computers up to now). Sometimes messengers opened confidential memos or letters, read them and shared the contents with their colleagues in bars. On many occasions managers used these messengers to perform their personal errands. Drivers were known to change number plates and turn these vehicles into taxis in between official trips; this was easy especially before the advent of the mobile phones—drivers would justify these unusual delays on mechanical breakdowns in the middle of nowhere.

Anyway, Rose confirmed that her boss had signed my application about two weeks ago and she wondered aloud why I was not driving my car already. I then proceeded to the Loans Manager’s office. In this company the number of managers was almost equivalent to that of workers. Because of pressure from politicians, the Managing Director created divisions, departments, branches and sections for individuals who were relatives of powerful politicians. We ended up with ridiculous positions like the manager for loans, manager for volley ball, manager for athletics, manager for football, manager for security, manager for investigations, manager for staff funerals, and so on.

The loans manager’s office was in a separate building, located