The day I came face to face with Mama Lucy fury

Rarely does a hard-nosed journalist get wracked by doubt over how to cover a dramatic breaking story involving a public personality.

But every once in a while comes that occasion when even the coldest hack has to weigh the journalistic instinct to go for the jugular, against empathy for the news subject.

My moment came one fateful night in early May, 2005, when mercurial First Lady Lucy Kibaki staged her own “Occupy Nation” protest at the imposing Nation Media Group twin towers headquarters on Nairobi’s Kimathi Street.

Shortly after getting into bed, on the night of May 3, 2005, I received an urgent late night telephone call. It was Nation late reporter Richard Chesos and he was rather frantic: “The First Lady is here”. 

“What? Here where? Do you know what time it is? It’s going on to midnight!” I snapped.

I knew that the greenhorn reporter still learning his way around the newsroom had earlier in the day been trying to reach the First Lady, without success, for her comments on a developing story around her interruption of a party at the house of her neighbour.

Now she had presented herself in the late hours? I assumed that after a long day and night, Mr Chesos might have popped out for a fortifying spirit, and maybe had had one too many.

No, he assured me, he was still on the newsdesk, and a furious Mrs Kibaki was breathing down his neck, demanding to talk to “somebody.’”

With that I needed no second prompting. I jumped out of bed, dressed quickly and ran out with a hurried “be back soon” for an editor’s wife long accustomed to late night summonses, but never quite sure which were kosher.

It took only a few minutes to get to Nation Centre, where on arrival I noted a fleet of Mercedes Benz limousines double-parked on Kimathi Street.

FIRST LADY'S TIRADE

I went straight up to the newsroom on the Third Floor and immediately spotted Mrs Kibaki, standing with her arms crossed as Mr Chesos trembled by the newsdesk. I was a bit apprehensive, but I walked up to her and tentatively introduced myself. “Are you (CEO Wilfred) Kiboro?” she asked.

No, I told her, but I was the editor on duty and fully able to handle her concerns.

Mrs Kibaki was in a furious mood, but I managed to shepherd her from the newsroom to one of the adjacent offices, where she launched into an angry tirade about an article published the previous day.

It was about her storming the home of World Bank Country Director Makhtar Diop the previous Friday night to disrupt his farewell party.

She had invaded the residence demanding that the loud music be turned down, reportedly trying to yank out power cables as Kenyan music stars Mercy Myra, Eric Wainaina and Suzanne Kibukosya performed on stage.

The house happened to be adjacent to the private Kibaki residence in Muthaiga, with Mr Diop actually their tenant.

Now Mrs Kibaki was demanding that Mr Chesos, who had innocently welcomed her into the newsroom with information that he’d tried to reach her for comments earlier in the day, be arrested.

She also wanted the two young entertainment reporters who had filed the story — Philip Mwaniki and John Muchiri — locked up.

Incidentally, Mr Diop had himself the previous day tried hard to kill the story of the events at his residence.

He had called the newsroom and pleaded with me not to publish the account, saying he was in concurrence with State House on the matter.

I firmly pointed out that it was a matter of great public importance, and the least we could do was include his comments and version of events.

He had evidently panicked on seeing the early reports on the NTV evening news, and then called the chief executive, Mr Wilfred Kiboro, to try and get the story pulled from TV and the next day’s papers.

Mr Kiboro had listened politely and called to appraise me on the World Bank Boss’s concerns. He, however, left it up to me to make the professional editorial call, and it was obvious Page 1 material.

Back in the newsroom, matters were growing increasingly volatile as Mrs Kibaki violently objected to any photographs or videos being taken.

When she spotted photographer Joseph Mathenge surreptitiously trying to shoot some pictures, she chased him around the newsroom and grabbed his camera.

Parliamentary Editor Njeri Rugene also beat a hasty flight when the First Lady advanced on her, but later managed to calm her down and even took her on a tour of the newsroom in the company of Nation’s then Managing Editor Bernard Nderitu.

I recognised an ugly situation, and first advised Mr Kiboro and then Editorial Director Wangethi Mwangi not to show their faces in the office.

My journalist’s instinct was first to thank my good fortune that such a hot story had landed on me.

The First Lady is a public figure and whatever she does, positive or negative, is news fodder.

PLACATING MAMA LUCY

However, I also recognised that this was a unique situation, because we were dealing with not just a news subject, but a vulnerable individual in need of sympathy and care.

So even as I was detailing reporters to go off somewhere safe to complete stories on the ongoing drama, I was also trying to manage and contain the situation before it got out of hand.

One of the first things I did was to engage the head of her security detail and convince him that we needed to work together to save an ugly situation. He was agreeable, but clearly had no clue how to proceed.

Then I called the head of President Kibaki’s Press Unit, Mr Isaya Kabira, and told him quick intervention was needed before things got completely out of hand.

With her bodyguards clearly unable to manage her, I suggested State House send some people who had the First Lady’s respect and who might be able to calm her down.

Mr Kabira’s response suggested somebody who’d seen it all and didn’t quite see what all the fuss was about.

His suggestion was that we placate her by letting Mr Chesos be temporarily arrested; assuring me that he’d be released as soon as he got to Central Police Station. That, I rejected outright.

The security detail also tried the same one on me, saying they’d take away the reporter, which would calm down the First Lady, and then they’d free him round the corner. 

When I said a firm no to that, they tried to order Mr Chesos to accompany them outside, but I firmly instructed the reporter to stay put, and stood by the door to physically block them.

Meanwhile, all hell broke loose when teams from other media houses arrived.

Mrs Kibaki went ballistic when KTN cameraman Clifford Derrick aimed his camera at her.

She went straight for him and landed a hefty slap on his face as he retreated.

It was becoming a free-for-all as her minders waded in, trying to pull away the First Lady, while at the same time trying to stop the growing army of newsmen from taking pictures.

But they were soon overwhelmed and called in reinforcements. Central Police station boss Julius Ndegwa appeared on the scene but could only be a bystander.

So did Nairobi Police boss Mwangi King’ori, who apparently came in straight from a social joint and tried to take charge of the situation. 

But the still angry First Lady would not listen to the pleas of her security chiefs or to the reinforcements of senior officers.

It then became a long waiting game as Mrs Kibaki walked around the newsroom, complaining about the media but hardly in the mood for conversation.

It was the longest night, but suddenly towards dawn, she relented and volunteered to make a statement.

The journalists who had been keeping their distance gathered round and with camera’s rolling, the First Lady delivered one of the most remarkable soliloquys ever seen on Kenyan television.

It was at once an intemperate, plaintive and near-tearful cry for help.

It was for many of us also a lesson on how to handle a distressed individual, irrespective of his or her station in life.

The following day, the media were still milking the unexpected windfall, which had generated international coverage, when a small group of Nation editors and board members gathered for an extremely rare meeting on how to handle the breaking news story.

After a long discussion, there was concurrence that while Mrs Kibaki was a public persona, who by that status surrenders the right to privacy, she was also a vulnerable and distressed individual, who probably needed sympathy and help.

After that meeting, the Nation, though it was theatre of that drama, scaled down its coverage of the incident, and in coming months and years covered the First Lady with caution and sensitivity, yet still without covering-up or concealing her excesses and outbursts.