Prison took the best years of my life, but I came out a better man

Philip Koskei arap Soi was an ambitious Kenya Air Force soldier when hell broke out on August 1, 1982 as a group of disgruntled servicemen attempted to overthrow President Daniel arap Moi.

When the guns finally fell silent, he was accused of, among others, fighting from the wrong trenches and abandoning his pledge to the State, and was jailed for 32 years.

On the 33rd anniversary of the aborted coup, DN2 traced him to his rural home in Njoro, Nakuru, where he maintained his innocence while explaining how he was coping, one year after his release from prison.

It is that time of the year again when newspapers and television sets are awash with memories from one of the darkest days of Kenya’s history: the August 1, 1982 attempted coup again President Daniel arap Moi.

Most of the stories I have read have relied a lot on third-party or witness accounts.

Few have tried to present the motivations of the coup plotters to the public, while many have chronicled how the day changed Moi for the worse.

This story, I must say from the outset, is none of the above. It will not pretend to bring to the fore perspectives that might or might not have been overlooked by previous accounts of the day, and neither will it bother you with the whys and wherefores of the coup. This, dear reader, is my simple recollection of how the events of August 1, 1982 changed my life, like Moi’s, for the worse.

I was 44 at the time, a career soldier who had sworn allegiance to the State and its head. Forty-four is not exactly spring-chicken age, but when I look back, I think that I was probably the strongest, the sharpest, at that age. I am now 77, and I think I know what I am talking about.

I am aged now. I am a spent man. Prison has taken the best years of my life — 32 of them — but now I am a free man. I did not know how I would cope once they set me free. In a way, I had become an institutional man, because when you spend so much time in jail, you sort of get used to it, get used to the routine, the calls, the drills... everything.

But, on May 24 last year, they handed me back my freedom. I was 76 at the time. The system swallowed me at 44 and spit me out at 76. I am not complaining though, because I have watched many of my colleagues die horrible, excruciating deaths in prison. At least I made it out.

This is how it all started: I joined Kenya Air Force after completing my military training at Lanet Barracks in 1965. Life in the military was good and I was a happy soldier.

I was among the team deployed to quell the Shifta menace in the north-east, and by the time a group of my colleagues plotted to overthrow Moi, I had spent 17 colourful years serving my nation.

I cannot tell you how they plotted it, because, honestly, I do not know. That might not be reassuring, especially because it is coming from an ex-convict, and convicts are not famous for their honesty, but I swear I do not know anything about the coup plotting.

What I know, though, is that I woke up to a tense atmosphere at Moi Air Base in Eastleigh, where I was based at the time. I could see that I was still at the base, but somehow the surroundings, the mood, seemed awkward.

And foreign.

Awkward and foreign.

BIGGEST TEXT OF ALLEGIANCE

Soldiers were running helter-skelter. Everyone seemed to be in a hurry. I scampered around, heading nowhere, and when I learnt that a coup was underway, I knew immediately that this would be the biggest test of my allegiance to the State. And so I joined the loyal forces on the streets.

When it all died down, though, my allegiance was questioned, and I was immediately arrested, court-martialled and sentenced to 20 years in prison for “attempting to overthrow the government”.

I was shocked, but the man reading the charges said I had also committed another wrong, and so would I please remain attentive as he read my sentence?

I had raped a woman in Kibera, the man informed me. I told him I did not know what he was talking about, that at 44 I did not have the motivations to go molesting women. He told me he had a witness who would prove to the court that I was lying, that I was a dirty, old soldier.

I thought he was kidding, but, to my surprise, a witness was called. The man looked at me in the eye, told the court that he knew me, even called me by my name, and said he had seen me rape a woman in Kibera.

I told him I had not even stepped into Kibera on the alleged date, but he insisted he had seen me. It was my word against his, and the court chose to believe him.

“I am adding 12 more years to your sentence,” the judge informed me, and that was how I found myself whiling away 32 years in jail.

Time in jail proved quite tough, even for a career soldier. Of all the prisons I have spent time in, five stand out for their notoriety. These are Kodiaga in Kisumu, King’ong’o in Nyeri, Naivasha Maximum Security in Naivasha, Manyani just before Voi on your way to Mombasa, and Shimo La Tewa, just before Mtwapa Bridge on the road from Mombasa to Kilifi.

My last prison was Athi River, and I pray to God that I will never step foot inside a prison cell again. Ever.

Kodiaga stands out for me, because this is where I lost a bit of my eyesight. When they put the words “hard labour” in your sentence, they really mean it, and prison warders like to follow these things to the letter.

At Kodiaga, that hard labour involved quarrying stones, and it was while sweating it out in the field one day in 2003 that a small bit of stone I was breaking flew right into my eyes, partially blinding me.

I have never regained complete eyesight since then, and even today, as a free man, one of the things I regret most about prison life is that it robbed me of the ability to see well. I have gone to hospital to have that corrected, but I have been told it is tricky for surgeons to work on me because of my advance sight.

Life, really, has been one hell of a journey for me. I am not bitter, though, because, as they say, I “found God” while in prison. As a born-again Christian, I have learnt to forgive my tormentors, even though the scars on my body are constant reminders of the cruelty of man.

I am not exaggerating these things, but if you doubt me, I encourage you to look for an ex-serviceman, any ex-serviceman, who was jailed as a result of the abortive coup. Once you find one, as him to allow you to inspect his body for any torture scars. If he will have no life-long injuries, chances are that he will look as if he survived Armageddon.

Prison life, especially for us low-life scum of the air force, was a nightmare. We ate cold food, slept on cold floors and shared tattered blankets. That kind of life can break any man, no matter how strong he thinks he is.

I think it is also such mistreatment of inmates that leads to the scandals and outright corruption within prison walls.

The warders, themselves badly remunerated and mistreated by the system, do not mind turning a blind eye to a misadventure. And that is how mobile phones and drugs are smuggled into cell blocks.

Trade privileges

Prison warders have also learnt how to trade privileges for cash. The drug lords of Kenya’s prisons, I can authoritatively report, live like kings, enjoying the small luxuries of mobile phones and hot showers.

NOT EXACTLY A ROLE MODEL

As a free man now, I am working hard to regain my footing. I am not sure the society accepts me as I am, and whether it will re-integrate me without any friction and dart-eyed disapprovals.

Should it not, I would understand it, because a man who has spent 32 years in jail is not exactly a role model in any part of the world.

I have, however, found love the most unexpected way. When I stepped out of the giant gate at Athi River GK Prison into the busy, frenzied place that the other Kenya has become, I did not know where to start. My wife and children had moved on with their lives, and so I was an old man with no family to go to.

Luckily though, the good people at the Seventh Day Adventist Church in Mauche, Njoro, had my back covered, and so immediately I arrived home they introduced me to a pretty 23-year-old girl, who said she would love to be my wife.

I have lived with Mercy Chepkoech for a year now, and everything is as I expected it to be.

I WISH THEM WELL

I must admit that I still have hangovers from my previous marriage before I was jailed, but I think I would be deceiving myself if I said I expected my wife to be waiting for me with open arms outside the gates at Athi River Prison on the day they freed me.

I hear my two sons from my first marriage are doing well in life, and I wish them well. For now, my wife and family is the young girl who is 54 years my junior, and who is aptly named Mercy, and I couldn’t ask for more.

Yes, life has been a roller-coaster ride for me. I joined the military in 1965 with the hope of serving my country and retiring with honour, but the gods had other plans for me.

Yes, it is that time of the year again when acres of newspaper space are dedicated to stories from the 1981 coup attempt, but for me it is that time of the year to remember when somebody yanked the pen from my hands and started rewriting my story.

Unfortunately, I cannot tell you what really transpired at Moi Air Base in the days leading to that cursed morning, because, sincerely, I do not know.

I wish I did.

I wish you believed me.

Mr Philip Koskei arap Soi spoke to Daily Nation’s Francis Mureithi ([email protected]). Send your comments to [email protected].

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He is 54 years older, but he is still the man I want. I have no regrets

My name is Mercy Chepkoech, and I must start by telling you that I have no regrets for marrying a man who is 54 years older than me. So let’s put that small matter of age aside.

A lot of people keep asking me how I, being 23, find it so easy to live with a man aged 77, and my answer to them is always the same: Yes, I am aware of the concerns you are raising. And no, I do not think it should worry you that much because it worries me the least.

Were my husband rich, it would probably be easy for most people to understand why I married him. But he is not, and I am still happy with him, and that befuddles many people.

You know what the sages said about age being just a number? Take it from me, they were right. Also, experience is the best teacher, and I once dated a young man who was not all that when it came to matters of the heart and commitment. I have two children from that relationship, and I remember waking up one day and realising that I was alone in a difficult world with two children to raise and no man to support me.

So, a young husband? No, thank you very much.

What matters to me now, what is of utmost importance to me at this stage of my life, is that I have found a new man who loves me, who has taken me as I am, who is ready to fulfill his duties as a husband, and who has brought some sunshine into my life. In a nutshell, I am a happy woman, and that’s all that matters to me. And (I think) to any right-thinking woman.

I have been married to him for 14 months now. It’s not really a long time, but it’s been long enough for me to know he respects and loves me. As a woman, all I sought was love, warmth, understanding, respect, companionship, and commitment in marriage, and I grabbed it when I saw it.

Yes, I’m fine. Thanks for asking.