Mayor who was swept in and out of City Hall

John King’ori (second left) with his supporters outside the High Court in 1994. [File, Courtesy]

John King’ori Mwangi, colourful former Nairobi mayor, died last week. For years, King’ori was the epitome of what defined leadership in the capital.

At the height of his powers, King’ori believed his tenure was divine, ordained by God. He heard a calling to save the city and restore its fading glory, and he answered it with gusto.

The year was 1994. City residents were suffocating in the stench of garbage that choked every alley. Chronic water problems necessitated the birth of water bowser cartels that continue to dominate some neighborhoods. Rolling blackouts were the norm and neighbourhoods would go 12 hours during the day or night without power.

Nairobi was broken and in need of a saviour.

When he took office, King’ori called on the Almighty to step in and help him provide these much-needed services to the people.

He ruled over City Hall at a time the capital’s seat of authority was in the grip of powerful councillors who were not averse to meting out violence to win and retain their seats.

Mayor John King'ori at national event August 1999. [File, Courtesy]

To King’ori, the chaos and confusion was par for the course. He was a grassroots politician who had single-handedly orchestrated the fall of his predecessor, Steve Mwangi, through unconventional methods.

At the height of his quest for power, King’ori organised a group of sitting councillors under the audacious name of ‘Club 45’. The only mandate of this group, which also included City Hall insiders, was to make Nairobi ungovernable.

They orchestrated unofficial go-slows that stalled service delivery; garbage was not collected, bushes remained uncleared and manual work ground to a halt.

King’ori even managed to set the town clerk’s office and the powerful city inspectorate against the mayor. After months of this sabotage, Mwangi threw in the towel.

“The city inspectorate officers were so rich and powerful that the council could not discipline them since they gave handouts to councillors in order to stop discussions on how they could be disciplined,” Mwangi told the now defunct Weekly Review.

Much of the councillors’ wealth was accumulated through the appropriation of public land and other resources such as water.

“Nairobi has become ungovernable,” Mwangi finally said after King’ori was done with him. His hasty resignation set King’ori up for the role of a lifetime–one that he relished and played with unmatched zeal.

Rough and tumble politic

King’ori revelled in disruptive politics and the rough and tumble world of City Hall; you were either a friend or an enemy. But when he donned the mayoral robes and golden chain, he instantly became enemy number one.

The very people who had helped catapult him to power immediately started plotting his downfall by organising cabals similar to those that had brought down Mwangi.

Raila odinga (left) addresses city hall leaders including John Mwangi King'ori at city hall January 1995. [File, Courtesy]

His downfall, when it came, was not because he had ideological differences with those he once broke bread with. It also had little to do with his broken English that once caused him to sputter angrily at reporters: “I is Mayor!”

His fall from grace started with a conversation about a toilet.

In 1995, a land-grabbing scandal swept through City Hall. It was revealed that King’ori and many others were behind a series of well-choreographed land grabs that targeted council land across the city.

Prime plots in Westlands, the sprawling plains of Eastlands and even within the central business district were annexed from public land and transferred to private hands.

In those days it was rumoured that the first order of business for any council was to analyse a survey map of the city and allocate themselves parcels of land at no cost. In 1995, at least 3,000 plots had been divided among councillors and other influential personalities.

“I am not a Mr Clean myself,” a candid King’ori told The Standard. “I am far from being impeccable and that is why I have come out in the open to declare the plot I had obtained illegally in 1992.”

A public toilet stood on the plot in question, which he said he was willing to give back to the State. A day after his recorded confession, King’ori was told off by fellow councillors, who had benefited from the loot. He quickly took back his words, arguing that the reporter who had interviewed him for the story was drunk at the time of the conversation.

But the damage was already done. The councillors, many of whom had been in Club 45, saw the threat that he posed to the well-established cartels. With the mayor’s chain around his neck, King’ori felt invincible and seldom thought of the consequences of his utterances. But the equally corrupt people around him were left exposed.

King’ori had to go. And he left the same way he came to power–through an unofficial go-slow that saw Nairobi grind to a halt for the second time in a matter of years. Filth layered the streets, rolling blackouts were the order of the day, and taps gathered dust from a lack of running water.

Mayor John King'ori (left) with councillor Joe Aketch at city hall sept 1995. [File, Courtesy]

Two years after taking over the city, King’ori exited in a calamitous way that included an assassination attempt.

On October 28, 1995, at about 10.30am, the mayor was outside his house minding his own business when a young man armed with a pistol approached him and fired a shot towards him at point-blank range. Luckily, for the mayor, the young man missed. He fired two more times but hit two other men seated next to King’ori.

King’ori was to later say that the two bodyguards assigned to him that day were not armed. Following the incident, he started walking around with three bodyguards during the day and five at night. It is not clear whether another attempt was made at his life.

After retiring from the rough, bare-knuckle politics of City Hall, King’ori would often be spotted at the balcony of his Accra Hotel along Nairobi’s Accra Road. Here he would be surrounded by longtime friends and former foes as they watched the busy city below them.

Often, one or two patrons who shared a table with him would have a tumbler of muratina in hand, perhaps remembering the days when councillors and his lordship the mayor wielded near-absolute power.

King’ori will be laid to rest at his Kamiti home this weekend, the family has said.