Why I carry the weight of Wanjiru's death

Kenneth Mwige
I have blood on my hands - the blood of Samuel Kamau Wanjiru. I am to blame for his death, whatever the reasons and whatever the cause, at the tender age of 24.
I am to blame because Sammy was, and will forever be, a national icon, a veritable national treasure.
In winning the Beijing Olympic Marathon, the London Marathon, the Chicago and Fukuoka marathons, and various global half-marathons, Sammy singlehandedly branded Kenya globally more effectively than the entire Ministry of Tourism and Wildlife, the Kenya Tourist Board and Brand Kenya can ever do.
Now he is gone, and Kenya is the worse for it. I am to blame because when I first heard that he was having problems with his wife Triza Njeri, I thought: "Someone should counsel that young couple on how to handle fame and tons of money at a very young age. Someone should warn the couple about the dangers of hangers-on, gold-diggers and shameless opportunists.
"Someone should teach and mentor them, in love, care and understanding, on how to support each other in living an extraordinary life others only dream about."
I thought: "Someone should tell Triza Njeri she needs to be an extraordinary woman to support her extraordinary husband, to help him to defeat the forces of evil and keep him healthy and mentally relaxed enough to continue running, winning marathons, setting records, making history, and become the greatest marathoner of all time, as time was on his side.
"Someone should point out the challenges of marrying early, and the effect this has on the relationship when mind-blowing material and social success, on a global scale, is thrown into the works."
But someone didn’t. I am that ‘someone’. Having met Wanjiru only once in my life, other than all the virtual time I have spent with him, cheering him breathlessly as he runs various big city marathons, I should have sought out the senior citizens of marathon running to help out. I should have looked for Paul Tergat, a fine gentleman who has climbed the highest mountains of sporting success, raised a family, managed his fortune quietly and with dignity, and now retired from competitive marathon running and is, in every way and inch, a role model and senior sporting global statesman. I should have sought Haile Gebreselassie out, on the Internet. I should have raised the alarm, banged the drums about the heads of the dozing and sleeping minions at the Ministry of Tourism and Wildlife, Kenya Tourist Board and Brand Kenya, and forced them to call emergency meetings to assist one of Kenya’s top icons to mature and work through his problems.
But I didn’t. I waited for ‘someone’ to do it. Our sporting heroes are the real, true ambassadors of this country. They should all, without exception, be awarded the highest possible National Honour, for they deserve it, by blood, sweat, pain and tears, more than 99 per cent of those who proudly wear National Honours on their sleeves, yet nobody appreciates all they did for their country. It is impossible to list all these heroes, yet I wonder if Kenya has abandoned them to wily foreign coaches whose interests, beyond their percentage share of winnings and spoils, is debatable.
Sammy was but a mortal; talented, yet flawed, hence his philandering ways, susceptibility to the forked tongues of false friends and shady bosoms, and his ‘money-induced arrogance’. Yet, Paul Tergat ended his career without being an Olympic Champion, and even the other occupant of the pantheon of marathon greats, Haile Gebreselassie, has a snowball’s chance in hell of winning the Olympic marathon title next year in London.
Sammy did it at 21 years of age. Enough said! So, I will not send a message of condolence to his family. That is, to me, crocodile tears. Instead, I take responsibility for Samuel Wanjiru’s death.
I should have done something, but did not, because I was hoping that someone else would, but they didn’t. It is sad beyond belief.
Because I love running, and because I think running is the purest, most undiluted sport in the world, I will remember Samuel Wanjiru as I pound the pavements in Nairobi, preparing for my next half-marathon five months away in October, where I hope to better my current best time of one hour 45 minutes over 21km. In my mind, I am a world record holder. I will remember Sammy’s achievements, his greatness and the fact that raw talent, without nurture, though it leads to fame and fortune, can also lead to an early grave.
And I will never again fail to take action, waiting for someone else to do so. Are you also to blame, or is it just I?
The writer is an Advocate of the High Court of Kenya and Executive Director, Ombudsman’s Office.