Kiriani businessmen & women are the true spirit of Muranga & behind Equity Bank, where this great institution had its humble beginnings. If you are man and want to be rich, I will tell you this for free “marry a Kiriani woman but don’t go for the sophisticated feisty born rich types who will be dependent as they have indeed lost some grit”. Go for the mettle Kiriani girl cut out of the rough & tough. They are workhorses, live frugal, think, dream money. And by the way don’t “lord” her, just give her capital and let her indeed do her thing, after all its already streamed in her DNA.
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Stolen From Dan Okwiri
February 4 at 10:30 PM
He is said to be one of Kenya’s most notorious criminals but Rasta was a friend, & boy he loved my fish, till today the people of Muranga specifically “Kiriani” awe me.
Penning my Journal memoirs, Never in this life discount anybody you meet, it is people that open keys to opportunities. As a person have intermingled with everyone across the divide, I dont care for your religion, tribe, race, sexual orientation, education, custom, gender or political ideologies. People are people, that’s my mantra, my Dad taught me that and I follow it.
I believe in one commandment which is common thread amongst all the great religions in this world “Do to others as you would like done to yourself”. I am no seeker for congruence in matters religion, people are and will think differently.
In the mid 80s’ I bought my first car. It was a Datsun 120Y. Whether it was a wise decision, is a debate but thinking now it shouldn’t have been a priority.
Well the car gave me on thing, that’s mobility. There’s nothing as a dangerous as a young Luo man with a car. Dan Okwiri, “Wuod Baba” indeed was in the rampage painting Nairobi red, my social networks expounded exponentially so did my issues. With car came costs of maintenance and repairs.
One day when my car broke down in the notorious River Road beer belt I met a street mechanic who would change my life. He was 5:8 ft, slim, brown and scruffy. He repaired my car in jiffy and charged me reasonably. His eyes were blood shot red, didnt talk much and was more coherent or is it proficient in Kikuyu and Swahili. I was probably his first Luo client and we struck a rapport that would last decades for life.
His street name was “Wasiwasi”, real name was Njogu, I learnt his real name 10 years after I had already knew him, nobody knew by that name anyway. Strangely life Wasiwasi lived in Kibera, this is uncommon with the Kikuyu lower class, they prefer Mathari. I visited him in the Kibera slums and was shocked to find that he had an extremely beautiful, tidy, polite wife from Kabete. Talk of being contrarian this is it.
Wasiwasi hailed from a place in Muranga called Kiriani. All people from Kiriani would bring their vehicles to him to fix. He never had any fixed aboard and would change his street work site every week. Every back street was his work site. There were no mobiles in the day so I would search for him in all the back alleys of River Road and Kamkunji which at the time was nothing short of dangerous.
I was working in Kenya Airways and always dressed elegantly in power suits with designer labels. Many of my girlfriends were air hostesses and they showered me with clothing, shoes and my heart desire. Those were the days. Talk of reminiscing life, nothing can replace those times.
All the hoods knew “Wasiwasi”, he was of their Kiriani kin and if I was his friend I became their friend, they would look at me with awe and ask what is this uptown man doing downtown?
After he repaired my car we would often have a beer in the Kikuyu bars downtown. They were juke boxes at the time (I wonder if this generation understand this contraption?) and would slot in a coin to hear a mugithi song. Overtime I begun to interact with Wasiwasi friends and customers and I got to learn that they all came from one locality called “Kiriani” in Muranga.
In the kamkunji area where Wasiwasi repaired cars on the streets were massive godowns, many of them were scrap metal dealers. They would get scrap metal by all means, by hook but mostly by crook, (most phone booths, electrical pylon copper wire, you name it all disappeared & landed in Kamukunji) sort it out by metal types and value then ship it to China. One of the biggest scrap metals dealers was a Kiriani woman, Mama Njoki.
She was walking business machine, plump, didn’t speak any English but extremely shrewd. Mama Njoki was a second wife, and a go getter. Her husband was a withdrawn introvert and left all the business to her. They were secret real multi millionaires but even with their millions they lived inside this huge Godown in 2 tiny rooms that was spewing in scrap metal. They were frugal, simple and seriously monied. If you have ever wondered why Kikuyu women kill their men for money this is it. Mama Njoki had several multi rise apartments and genuinely loved her husband. He looked frail and she prepared him mukimo on a slow fire jiko everyday. Once Mzee passes on it is obvious who will inherit his massive fortune.
I often wondered why one would have so much money in this world and live in a cage? This is what I call misery. Spend it, for you live once.
Mama Njoki was hawk eyed and studied me carefully every time I came to Kamkunji to fix my car, I looked odd with my designer suits am sure. Overtime she began to chat me up. Jaluo she said “I have 3 children they are all good for nothing, all of them have failed their O levels flat and the best they can do is to look at an inheritance.
My eldest daughter has given birth, dont even know the father, they are all squeezed in my little room in the godown and its all a strain. I want my daughter to wear a power suit the way you Jaluos do, I want her to speak English the way you do, and I want her to meet a husband who is exquisite like you and this cant happen here in Kamkunji. This all needs her to be in a corporate office”.
I was really baffled, why would Mama Njoki want her daughter to be an employee yet she could place her in her business, which was in her family’s DNA? On asking further, she said once she becomes an employee she will earn a salary and understand how hard it is to raise capital, it would also broaden her mind too.
Thinking in retrospect, Mama Njoki was brilliant.
I spoke to my mum who worked at the Railways in the HR and viola she got her into the Railways. Mama Njoki was shocked, Dan I am touched “you got my daughter a job yet we are of different tribes, Kikuyus and Luos do not get along yet you helped. From today you are my adopted Kiriani son. What would you like me to do for you. Kikuyus believe a favor must be reciprocated?”
I pondered then said to her “My wife doesn’t work, how about getting me a shop?”. She said to me to see her tomorrow, and guess what? The next she gave me a premises, in Kamkunji, which is known as “little Muranga”.
I happened to be the second Luo to own a shop in the whole of little Muranga belt that stretches from Kamkunji down to almost Ngara. The first one was an old man from Ugenya who had settled in Nairobi in the 50s’. He spoke Kikuyu flawlessly and was married in Kiriani and also had two wives from Luo Nyanza. He was close with Mzee Njoki and started off life pushing mkotenis (carts) of scrap. He too lived behind his shop in Kamukunji.
Almost 95% of the shop owners are from Muranga and more so from a place known as Kiriani. Kamkunji is a place I encountered a different world. It is a place that operates in its own code and to be there you have to observe and be inducted to the “omertà”, otherwise you will not operate. There is no thuggery in the area, if you are a resident of the area, everyone is a thug so who would dare try? Theres a Police station in the precinct, Kamkunji Police Station. The area is extremely busy with all sorts of trading. Plastic products, Chinese counterfeits, alcohol, scrap metal, hardware, second hand spares and other businesses I can’t discuss…
I started a restaurant and named it “Brokers Cafe”. It was regally British colonially & woody rustic, a reflection of my personae, they loved it. Muthungu Jaruo they indeed called me. I had noticed that there were many brokers so I saw the name as benefitting my clientele. My main signature dish was fish. It was the 80s’ and many of the Kikuyu people hadnt quite caught on to eating fish, I introduced them to it and believe me they loved it. The restaurant was a hit !
Doing business and being employed at the same time was a strain. In Nairobi you have to do several hustles to survive. At night I gave my car out as a taxi, it was stationed in Westlands as there were many nightclubs, and the revelers needed transport. My taxi driver would pick up me at 4am at home and I would head to Gikomba to buy fish for the restaurant. I was a Senior Sales Executive at Kenya Airways Marketing Dept in Barclays Plaza Town Office and I had to report to work at 8am. My Italian suits had a fishy smell and my colleagues never understood where I picked the stench. This was my side hustle, I hardly slept for 5 hours.
My business at the time picked up well. All the thugs of Nairobi’s third world, underworld ate in Brokers Cafe, my client was 100% Kikuyu. They loved the place, it’s British rustic decor in the middle of the back streets, and they knew that I had no interest in their business. The police too frequented Brokers Cafe. There were always intense intimate discussions between senior policemen and the underworld, these worlds are the same.
There was a scrap metal yard that was near the restaurant and I did observe that once a car checked in, it would never return. They sold second spare parts, and had them in heaps.
On my study I realized that these cars were stolen & dismantled for spares. Nobody would be allowed into the yard, the proprietor was a short man from Kiriani. He was my frequent customer and his brother dreaded deadlocks and often met policemen, Little did I know that he was a famous figure in the underworld known as “Rasta”. Both brothers were introverts and loved fish, Rasta was a gentleman and kind hearted and loved, frequented Brokers Cafe and doled out big tips. I would later learn that he was Kenya’s most wanted criminal and he would die in a violent shootout in Kiriani.
Kiriani people are interesting, most of them frugal, they hardly spent on themselves even if they were sick. One of my clients, also a scrap metal dealer was ailing. His leg was rotting for some reason beyond my comprehension. Despite this he refused to go to hospital. He was measly in his spending. I remember he passed on one Saturday afternoon at his scrap metal yard.
On his person was a Kes 50,000 hard cash, in the year 1998, which i can assure you at the time was a colossal amount of cash. This is the true epitome of a man from Kiriani. What is the use of money if you can’t use it to make enrich your well being & work for you? I was pained when I saw him die yet he had all the money to treat himself.
After sometime the pressure of running two different businesses and being employed simultaneously was all becoming unbearable. Something had to given and I sadly decided to sell off Brokers Cafe. Mama Njoki was distraught when I informed her of my decision to sell off, “Dan, what is wrong? Have insured that the whole of the Kiriani community patronizes “Brokers Cafe. Please Reconsider? Nobody can cook fish like a Jaluo, and we will miss your presence. You are part of Kiriani fraternity and fitted in so well”. “Mama Njoki, I have to focus on my job and I urgently need a buyer please help?”.
The next day at 7 pm as I was busy closing the restaurant for the day Mama Njoki walked in with a buyer. He was introduced as man of Kiriani and he was the buyer of my business. The gentleman doled out Kes 200,000 in old tattered Kes 100 notes (you may not appreciate the bulk of this but it was 2000 notes in denominations of Kes 100 & it was tattered money that had been buried for safety somewhere). It was in a paperbag one Kes 100 note weighs one gram and since I had 2000 of them a talking of 2 kilos. It was brown & pretty late at night 9pm and I was excited as I had sold my business at a profit. What he wanted was just the premises so he left all my furniture and utensils to me.
I said to Mama Njoki, “I don’t have a car today, how do you expect me to carry so much money at the dead of the night? She looked at me straight in the eye and with a twinkle said “Dan don’t worry, just walk with it and don’t worry, nobody will touch you, haven’t you learnt you are one of our own and if anything happens just come back to me. I will deal with it. I am really sad to see you go”.
I walked late at night up through river road and boarded a matatu 118 to Kabete and nothing happened just as she said. Kiriani people are one of the most interesting folk I have encountered and breaking into their circle is not easy.
Never discount anyone you meet. “Wasiwasi” opened up a whole new world to me. Twenty two years on a lot of water has passed under the bridge. Many of the people I encountered from Kiriani are no more but their spirit sure lives on, they in-calculated me values I live by.
Wasiwasi still struggles in River Road/ Kamkunji area, a pale shadow of his yesteryears… Times have changed and a new generation rules the streets of what is Beirut Nairobi.The infrastructure is a lot better and many new shops have popped up.
The rough & tough pubs with shrill Mugithi juke box music are no more and even the young do not know the exploits of the famed or is it infamous Rasta. Few even know of Brokers Cafe that had the best fish that Rasta loved. This is how life is for we come and we go, for yesterday is already a dream and today well lived makes every yesterday a dream full of happiness and every tomorrow a vision of hope.
Muranga is a land of giants Rubia, Kanja, Wanjigi, Michuki, Matiba, Rasta…the heart of Njoguini business group who owned most of downtown Nairobi…and many more. Muranga is rural town where multi story apartments dot the skies. Nowhere in Kenya do you have such a great entrepreneurial spirit.
Kiriani businessmen & women are the true spirit of Muranga & behind Equity Bank, where this great institution had its humble beginnings. If you are man and want to be rich, I will tell you this for free “marry a Kiriani woman but don’t go for the sophisticated feisty born rich types who will be dependent as they have indeed lost some grit”. Go for the mettle Kiriani girl cut out of the rough & tough.
They are workhorses, live frugal, think, dream money. And by the way don’t “lord” her, just give her capital and let her indeed do her thing, after all its already streamed in her DNA.
The Gods are kind…and Wuod Baba still struts the Earth.
#okwirimy Journal, my memoirs, my walk…