Kibaki’s failing health put on hold all pledges he had made

The group’s influence was swiftly felt in a vital area. A new constitution had been one of the key promises NARC had made to an electorate exasperated at the way in which Kenya’s colonial-era document had been repeatedly amended to place ever greater power in the President’s hands.

Kibaki had also, it emerged, secretly signed a memorandum of understanding with his NARC partners promising, amongst other things, that Raila Odinga would be given the post of executive prime minister under a future dispensation.

But now, with Kibaki looking like the weak old man he was, all promises were off. The Mount Kenya Mafia felt too vulnerable for magnanimity. The very same men who had, as members of the opposition, tirelessly denounced a document that skewed the playing field in Moi’s favour, suddenly found there was much to be said for this tilted arrangement.

A national conference convened to hammer out the modern arrangement Kenya needed ground to a halt, as Kibaki’s key ministers proposed changes that would, if anything, concentrate even more power in their man’s hands. The Kibaki delegation would eventually storm out of the talks at the Bomas of Kenya and unveil a draft constitution which bore little relation to what had originally been proposed.

No sooner had the Mount Kenya Mafia climbed the ladder than they were kicking frantically away at it to ensure no one came up behind.
In State House, the process of ethnic polarisation was palpable. Since starting his new job, John had made a conscious effort during working hours to use Kiswahili – the national language – not Gikuyu, as would feel natural with tribal kinsmen. He knew how easily non-Kikuyu colleagues could be made to feel boxed out.

Some of the Mount Kenya Mafia showed no such restraint, finding his self-discipline quaintly amusing. ‘We know you have a problem with this, John,’ they would laugh, lapsing into a throaty barrage of Gikuyu. John would shake his head at the message conveyed. ‘I used to warn them: “This talk will fix us”.

He noticed how mono-ethnic State House had become. ‘When meetings took place, they would all be people from the same area. All the key jobs were held by home boys.’ The old tribal rivalry had returned – or rather, John realised, it had never actually gone away.

At a formal dinner in London several years later, I found myself discussing with John and a British peer of the realm, in light-hearted vein, what were the little signs that betrayed the fact that once reformist African governments had lost their way.

‘My measure is the time a person who’s agreed to an appointment keeps you waiting,’ said the Lord. ‘If it’s half an hour or under, things are still on track; more than half an hour and the place is in trouble.’

I quoted a journalist friend who maintained that the give-away was the moment a president added an extra segment to his name – ‘Yoweri Kaguta Museveni’ ‘Daniel Torotich arap Moi’ – but added that I regarded the size of the presidential motorcade as the tell-tale indication that the rot had set in.

John had been silent till then. Now he suddenly spoke up. ‘How about the time it takes for the man in charge to get a gold Rolex?’ ‘But surely Kibaki already had a gold Rolex?’ I asked, surprised.

‘Yes, but this was a brand-new one. Very slim, with a black face and diamonds round the edge. It was so new it hadn’t yet been measured to size, and it dangled off his wrist. That’s why I noticed it, because it didn’t fit.’

‘So, then, how long did it take?’ ‘Just three months,’ John said, with a grim shake of the head. ‘Just three months.’