Donald Kipkorir is an oxymoron. On any other day, he’s a famed online braggadocio, the jet-set life, a prodigal and an exhibitionist of all things shiny and dear. Then there is the Donald Kipkorir who I sat before in his office; lithe, subdued, reflective, soft-spoken, disciplined, sharp and with so little eye-contact.
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That he is a successful lawyer does not require a jury to decide. His law firm represents close to 16 banks, 20 State corporations among other clients in energy, telecoms, agriculture, education and health sectors.
To illustrate this (and maybe his work ethic) I found him buried, to his nose, in legal files.
With the possible exception of the President, there isn’t anyone I have chased for an interview for two years like I have you. Why did you finally say yes, and why now?
[Laughs] You know at my age (48 years) I need people to understand my story, but the problem is the media will always give you a life that’s completely different from who you are and what you are. That’s why I’ve been avoiding the media. But then there comes a time maybe when you give a chance to the media to know you. So this is my first and last interview. [Chuckles].
So who are you? Take me to the beginning, before the Range Rovers and chartered planes.
I come from a small village in Marakwet called Cheptongei which has never seen a tarmac road or running water. Our schools were mud-walled and life was basically subsistence. We grew up poor, a family of nine.
But then my mum gave me a chance by moving me from the village school to a better village school. It had better facilities—of course better comparatively by village standards. That changed my life completely.
Are you the first, middle or last child?
I’m the third born in a family of eight, but I have a step brother. All my childhood I lived in a mud-thatched hut until I came to university in Nairobi. In the village, poverty was normal, none of us had shoes. I never wore shoes my entire primary school, but I didn’t feel deprived until I came to Nairobi, then I became aware of our poverty. In my village were only two cars; one for the priest and one for a man who ran what I was told was a bakery, but now I know it was not a bakery, because I think he was baking 10 loaves of bread a week.
So you come to university and you realise you are poor, did that light a fire in you?
It changed my world view. Growing up, I wanted to be a priest, actually I went to a seminary. But when I was admitted to do law, things changed. The realisation of being poor made me want to succeed.
So your motivation to do law was driven more by success rather than justice?
It’s a combination. Growing up in a deprived environment, you basically develop a sense of justice. You want fairness, equality in society and that’s why I wanted to be a priest because that’s basically the priest’s role in society—creating fairness . Law is the same thing; it’s actually a priestly calling, if you’re a true lawyer.
Admittedly, I also wanted financial success, to change the fortune of my family.
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