By Machua Koinange
Kenya: Nduku Kilonzo says her late husband always remembered her birthday and treated her in a special way.
But besides the jewelry he bought her, she clings to one other monument of his affection; the house he built for her and her children in Gigiri. The mansion sitting on three acres has a six-car garage as well as a swimming pool and is valued at over Sh100 million by conservative realtor estimate.
Mutula iced it by having a water fountain built next to the pool as well as a barbecue centre. He loved charcoal-grilled chicken.
It was in this house that Nduku and Mutula shared their lives, dreams and raised their three sons.
Besides gardening, for which Mutula had a passion for, his time in the house was spent reading in the house library, which would occasionally echo to the peals of laughter. He loved John Grisham and never brought work from the law practice or government office home. He drew a dichotomy between his work and his home.
Says Nduku: “He loved watching cartoons, especially Tom and Jerry. He also loved Mr Bean. My son in London would come visiting and he would bring a collection of Mr Bean DVDs for him.”
Because of his love for the extraordinary, Nduku and his children nicknamed him the “King of the Remote Control.”
“His work at the office could be stressful and so at home, we allowed him to be himself. We gave him space to relax and let off steam. He filled the house with his loud and infectious laughter.”
His favourite travel destination was Israel. Mutula had visited the country just before the 2010 referendum on the proposed Constitution and fell in love with it. He unsuccessfully tried to get Nduku to come with him several times after that.
In September last year, Rachel Ruto, now the Deputy President’s wife, arranged a trip to Israel for women from her church and Nduku joined them on the tour.
Says recalls: “When I told Mutula I was going, he was so excited. He came home one evening and brought a cheque covering all the expenses. That’s how badly he wanted me to go.”
As his practice grew, his dalliance with retired President Moi marked the pinnacle of his career.
He was proud to be his lawyer and his performance was described in superlatives in legal corridors. He wore the scars of his legal battles like a badge of honour, and victory was rewarded with financial success.
A ranch in Maanzoni, a home in Mbooni, Runda, Mombasa and a farm in Nakuru, among other prized possessions, all attested to his success as an attorney.
Who’s who?
The list of his clients on the other hand read like Who’s Who? in Kenya’s power circles.
Nduku remembers an incident in Mutula’s early days of practice when he accompanied retired President Moi to view land that he wanted to purchase. “Mutula was in his car following the President to the site. His car broke down and he was thoroughly embarrassed.”
His typical day began at 3.30am with an early shower and breakfast consisting of a slice of pawpaw, fresh orange juice and black tea with no sugar. He would leave the house by 4.30am and head to the gymnasium at the Hilton Hotel. He usually would be in the office by 7am.
After a long day at work, he would be back home by 5.30pm.
“I always wanted to be at the door to welcome him when he returned. I never wanted him to knock on the door. I preferred to have it open when he drove into the compound.”
“When I was upstairs on the days he returned, I would tell my workers to alert me when he drove into the compound. He would walk in and declare: Kiveti kii no wisi kana muimiu niwukie (Woman, do you know your husband has come home?).”
Other days he would say: “Mwiitu wa aeombe, kiveti kya atangwa undue kyau? (Daughter of the clan, wife of atangwa , what have you cooked?”)
His favourite dish? Fish. He preferred it fried dry with tomatoes, ugali and vegetables. Dinner in the Mutula house was served at 6.30pm and Mutula preferred a unique tea mix without milk, with a drop of ginger and lemon for a nightcap.
The week before he passed on, Nduku had undergone a minor surgery on the neck at The Nairobi Hospital on April 11. Everything went well and Mutula, excited that the operation had been a success, had gone to pick Nduku and even personally cleared her out of the hospital before driving her home.
After his election to the Senate, Mutula figured his workload would be light compared to the brutal years as MP and Cabinet minister.
Finally, he would have time to get back to his passion — golf. To prepare for the task, Mutula purchased a new set of top-of-the-line golf clubs, a Titleist bag and balls and new size eight golf shoes.
He was ready to hit the fairways.
His favourite golf course was Royal. He renewed his expired memberships with Muthaiga, Karen, Railways and Royal golf clubs by dispatching his renewal cheques the Friday of April 19 in preparation for a momentous return to the tee box.
On Friday April 26, he left early in the morning.
“I was in bed when he left at his usual early morning time. I knew he was heading to Kya Kyelu Ranch,” Nduku remembers. The ranch had been named after the owner, who had sold the 1,500-acre land to Mutula.
It was here he would retreat to when he needed a moment away from the hustle and bustle of life to watch the evening sunset. It was here that he reflected on his victories and pain.
It was here that he whispered his secrets to the wind.
Says Nduku: “He called me in the evening at around 6.30pm to tell me he had arrived.”
Mutula told her: “How is mrembo? Have you taken your medication?”
Nduku affirmed she was fine and had indeed taken her medicine.
He continued: “This place is so green. I wish you were here. I am in paradise.”
Mutula later wished her a good night and promised to call her the following day. And that was to be the last time she would hear from him.
On Saturday April 27, Nduku had stayed up late in bed. She woke up at around 9.30am and had breakfast. Her phone rang. It was the accountant at Mutula’s law firm and he sounded worried.
“Mkubwa (the boss) is very sick. You need to go to the ranch,” he told her.
Nduku was still on medication from the neck surgery. She could not drive. She picked up the phone and called Rev Teresa Wairimu of Faith Evangelistic Ministries and told her she needed a ride to the ranch. The pastor told her she was on her way.
Meanwhile, events at the ranch were getting frenetic. She called Mutula Kilonzo Junior and he told her he was in Mlolongo driving towards the ranch. Nduku figured that if they could get Mutula to the Aga Khan clinic at Kitengela, there was a chance they could save his life.
When she called Mutula Junior again after a respectable interlude, he was already at the ranch – in his father’s room.
He sounded down. She sensed something was terribly wrong.
“How is he?” Nduku pressed him.
“Not good.”
Silence.
“That can mean a lot of things. Tell me the truth, is your father there or not?”
Silence. She waited for his response, her heart pounding.
“He is not.”
The worst had happened. The revelation hit her like a twister.
Nduku was hysterical. She let out a homeric scream that reverberated across the expansive mansion and attracted her workers.
“I was devastated. I could not imagine that this was possible. How could it be that I spoke to him last night and now he was gone?”
Rev Wairimu showed up later with other congregation members to give Nduku a ride to the ranch. She sat in the car dazed, struggling to make sense of everything that was rapidly unfolding.
“I kept asking myself, how can I talk to him?”
She needed to hear his voice, his laughter, just one last time.
The nightmare traffic through Nairobi and along Mombasa Road did not do much to assuage her grief. By the time their car drove into Kya Kyelu Ranch and entered the house that Mutula had christened Valhalla — the resting place of heroes — Nduku was emotionally brutalised.
According to Scandinavian mythology, Valhalla is “a majestic, enormous hall located in Asgard, ruled over by the god Odin. Half of those who die in combat travel to Valhalla upon death. It is here the dead join the masses of those who have died in combat known as Einherjar,”
It finally began to sink for Nduku that Mutula Kilonzo was gone — forever.
Mutula was laid to rest on Thursday May 9. He was buried next to his favourite grandmother, Susu, and his parents according to his wishes. “Susu was everything to Mutula; she was so sweet and close to Mutula and by extension me,” Nduku says.
Today, Nduku is struggling to pick up the pieces after her world was turned upside down one Saturday morning. “We want the investigations to be completed so that as a family, we can have closure. Mutula had no major health issues and rarely took medication. “
“I have heard about the poison theory but until the investigations are complete, we will never know what happened.”
How life changes.
On an evening when the sun is setting over Gigiri, Nduku would rush down the stairs at the sound of a vehicle driving in at around 5.30pm to meet her husband at the door.
All those are distant memories now. Although the passage of time has robbed the rose garden that Mutula had created spelling her name its beauty, Nduku could restore its shine with a little gardening.
It is the least she can do to keep alive the memories of the man who signed all his Valentine’s Day cards with one name: Kitutu.
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