When a police chief slapped Moi and other battles from the past

As former president Daniel Toroitich arap Moi turns 90 today, details have emerged regarding how he suffered embarrassing treatment that is way unimaginable in today’s political scene. FILE | NATION MEDIA GROUP

What you need to know:

  • As retired President Moi turns 90 today, his closest allies dissect the man who was loved and hated in equal measure
  • Some people felt that the presidency was theirs by right, says the retired president’s press secretary Lee Njiru. That kind of feeling was not only inter-ethnic but intra-ethnic too, with some leaders declaring that the presidential motorcade should never cross River Chania towards Nyeri and beyond.

Kenya’s second president Daniel Toroitich arap Moi escaped an assassination attempt following the death of Mzee Jomo Kenyatta in what was supposed to be the final bullying act by those who were determined that he would never become Head of State, according to the recollections of those close to him.

His taking up the presidency was a tense affair preceded by ill treatment by some of Mzee Kenyatta’s brutal insiders, who were determined to keep him from the big office.

Fiercely protected by those who respected, loved or supported him and constantly fought by those who believed he was oppressive and incapable of properly managing the country, Moi’s presidency generated controversy and debate at every turn.

The assassination attempt is captured in the authorised biography The Making of an African Statesman and is swept to the feet of a provincial police chief and an amorphous militia called the Ngoroko.

Even though the plans never materialised, the police chief enjoyed good company in his disdain of the man who would become president, particularly that of former Cabinet Minister Njoroge Mungai — who passed on a fortnight ago, and who headed an informal axis of powerful individuals famed as the Change the Constitution Movement.

The movement, whose loudest mouthpiece was one-time Nakuru North MP Kihika Kimani, had been going around the country campaigning for an amendment to the Constitution that would bar the sitting Vice President from automatically ascending to the presidency upon the death of a president.

The group’s sole goal, however, was to block Vice President Moi from taking power, a political manoeuvre that Mzee Kenyatta halted personally.

Last week, in the run-up to Moi’s 90th birthday on Tuesday, Lee Njiru, the press secretary who has worked for the former Head of State for 36 years, shared with DN2 some of the dramatic moments that defined the Moi presidency.

“It may not have been written, but the motive was tribal,” said Njiru. “Some people felt that the presidency was theirs by right. That kind of feeling was not only inter-ethnic but intra-ethnic too, with some leaders declaring that the presidential motorcade should never cross (River) Chania (towards Nyeri and beyond). Mzee Moi’s humility was mistaken for weakness. They did not realise that humility and belief and faith in God were his major strengths.”

The VP had borne embarrassments that are way unimaginable in today’s political scene. At one time, Andrew Morton writes, the then Rift Valley provincial police chief James Mungai had the audacity to slap the Vice President in Mzee Kenyatta’s presence.

Moi took it in his stride, but he had the last laugh as, on the day he was sworn in as the second president, about 12 hours after Mzee Kenyatta’s death, Mungai fled the country.

Njiru says the police boss took a tortuous and circuitous route out of the country, travelling northwards to Turkana, where he left his uniform before disappearing into what is now South Sudan and on into a two-year exile.

In one of the most stunning traits of the self-proclaimed “professor of politics”, Moi, whose government was famous for ruthlessly dealing with political dissidents, never raised a finger against Mungai when he quietly returned to the country.

On the political front, says Njiru, Moi’s detractors had grossly underestimated his influence and network. Given Mzee Kenyatta’s advanced age, it was the Vice President who was mandated to go around the country “consolidating national unity”, and it was also the VP who was often sent to represent the country in international meetings.

Working like the duck that is proverbially still at the bottom but busy below the surface, says his spokesman, Moi had built a vast political network that came to his aid when he got to the top perch.

“For instance, Kenyatta came up with the Harambee motto. He was the author of the Harambee spirit, but it was Moi who gave it practical expression,” says Njiru.

“You find Moi’s mark everywhere. The first Sh1 million that was raised in Kenya was at a Harambee in Embu the Saturday before Mzee Kenyatta passed on. It was raised by Mzee Moi and Njagi Mbarire, the father of Hon Cecily Mbarire.”

The Kenyatta succession struggles had borne two camps: one believed that Moi should never be allowed to become president at all, while the other believed that he should in fact become president, but only for a short period as they completed their own designs for power. As it turned out, both methods failed.

“They called him a passing cloud, mistaking his friendly mien for weakness. The passing cloud lasted 24 years, four months and eight days!” says Njiru.

As a result, barring any drastic constitutional changes that would extend the term of a president, Moi will go down history as the longest serving Kenyan Head of State ever.

Mzee Kenyatta before him served 15 years while all others after Moi are bound by a ten-year constitutional limit in office.

One of the things that baffled young Njiru when serving the last days of Mzee Kenyatta’s days at the Presidential Press Service was what he considers mistreatment by those who were supposed to take care of him.

Njiru says Mzee Kenyatta appeared visibly unwell on the morning preceding his death; so much so that he forgot his trade mark fly whisk on the way to an official function in Msambweni. At the Likoni ferry crossing, the motorcade had to be stopped for someone to be sent back to pick it up.

During the function, Mzee Kenyatta collapsed in the washroom.

“What baffles me to this day is why the Head of State was never taken to hospital,” says Njiru.

At 3am on August 22, Moi received a call from the then Coast Provincial Commissioner Eliud Mahihu that Mzee Kenyatta had passed on. A few minutes later, the head of Intelligence at the time, James Kanyotu, called.

The president-in-waiting, with threats — known and unknown — hanging all over him, was driven by his security escort to Nairobi at high speed. And at 3pm that afternoon he was sworn in, ushering in a new 24-year-era, whose effects continue to ripple through the life of Kenyans to date.

Moi’s detractors, says Njiru, never rested for long. When they realised he was stronger than they had estimated, they first started maligning his government through rumours that the free packets of milk offered to primary school children were laced with birth control drugs.

“It would later culminate in the aborted 1982 coup,” says Njiru. “It was all part of that scheme of tribal bigotry.”

After the abortive coup, President Moi changed in many ways and what was considered a friendly mien was replaced by a hawkish attention to security detail.

Njiru explains it thus: “Unless your crop has been attacked by monkeys, you don’t need to fight back. He had to reorganise his thinking. The threats were everywhere. The presidential security was enhanced by the government systems in place.”

The din of opposition to Moi’s presidency went several notches higher during the infamous 1988 General Elections at which the queue-voting system was used. There was widespread outrage at how the elections were handled and numerous claims of rigging.

And then, in 2002, a united opposition resoundingly swept Kanu out of power after 40 years at the helm, and with it President Moi’s preferred successor Uhuru Kenyatta.

Njiru waxes philosophical about that crushing loss:

“Kibaki did not defeat Moi, he defeated Uhuru. Moi has never lost since he was first elected to the Legislative Council in 1955.”