Githongo thought his ties with the President were special

It may have been a case of the ultimate idealist meeting the ultimate pragmatist, but John did not recognise the gulf in perspectives. Bonding with Kibaki came disconcertingly easily.

A politician with none of Moi’s instinctive understanding for the ordinary wananchi, Kibaki was an unrepentant intellectual snob. Whereas Moi, the former headmaster, was regarded as a leader who ‘knew how to talk to Kenyans with mud between their toes’, Kibaki was more likely to hail them as ‘pumbavu’ – fools.

He recognised and respected the rigorous quality of thought in the young man, who had strayed into State House at more or less the same age Kibaki himself had ventured into politics. There was also a certain inbuilt familiarity to the relationship.

The same faith

John’s accountant father had campaigned on behalf of Kibaki’s Democratic Party, and while the Kibaki and Githongo families were not exactly intimate, their children had gone to the same schools, they shared the same faith, they belonged to the same patrician milieu. In any case, affability came naturally to Kibaki, who possessed none of Moi’s gruff abrasiveness.

‘He’s a very unstuffy guy, very laid back and easy to shoot the breeze with,’ John remembers. The two regularly breakfasted together, and there were also many dinners, just the two of them tete-a-tete. Kibaki felt relaxed enough in John’s company to sit with him in the presidential bedroom, discussing politics, the price of oil, world affairs – never anything personal.

In John’s slightly star-struck eyes – who, after all, could spend quite so much time near the nation’s most important man without feeling a little giddy? – the President came to assume the role of alternative father figure, favourite uncle.

If John used the respectful ‘Mzee’ (Elder) when addressing the President, Kibaki addressed his anti-corruption chief as ‘Kijana’ – ‘young man’, a term that almost always comes tinged with paternal affection.

‘I used to think that relationship was very special. I had a huge amount of affection for Kibaki. Then I realised Kibaki was like that with everyone.’ Looking back, John would come to realise that he had allowed himself – as the overly cerebral often do – to be beguiled as much by a symbol as an individual. ‘At that time, everyone was dancing. Everyone was right to dance.’

Political players

Encapsulating the hope of a jubilant post-Moi nation, what Kibaki represented was more important than who he actually was.

John had the goodwill of the head of State, the envy of many veteran political players, his own staff and budget. It seemed, on the face of it, a great set-up from which to take on the forces of darkness.