The Gentle Moran

Keriako Tobiko almost never made it through primary school, as he wanted to be a Moran. When he finally concentrated on his studies, his potential begun to show. He spoke to PETER MUIRURI

Keriako Tobiko has the hallmarks of a polished attorney. He speaks in an unhurried, deliberate, low tone depicting the very picture of calmness. But the new Director of Public Prosecutions (DPP) is always taken aback whenever the term ‘calm’ is applied to him.

Keriako Tobiko

For a start, many will be surprised to learn that Keriako, who holds impeccable academic records including a Masters degree in Law from the prestigious Cambridge University in the UK and a First Class Honours in Law from the University of Nairobi, almost never made it to Class Seven. He was as delinquent as boys come.

Born in a polygamous family with 18 children in Mashuru, Kajiado County on December 12, 1964, Keriako hated school and would use any opportunity to indulge on the carefree lifestyle of moranism.

"I was not the brightest kid in Mashuru Primary School and I sneaked out frequently to engage in other vices. I felt constrained by the rigid discipline in school as opposed to life in the bush where there was more fun eating meat and chasing girls," says Keriako.

But his illiterate father’s newfound love for education would prove stronger than the young man’s persuasions.

Says Keriako: "Whenever my father got word that I had sneaked out of school, he would take hold of me, drag me back to school and cane my bare bottoms in front of the entire school. The humiliation would work for some time."

Certificate of Primary Education (CPE) exam results at the end of Class Seven proved the obvious: Tobiko Ole Paloshe’s son had failed miserably, scoring 19 out of 36 points.

Repeating class

His father wanted him to repeat the class but his teachers in Mashuru would hardly entertain such a plea from a boy who used his time in school to bully other children.

"In fact, the teachers seemed to celebrate my failure," recalls Keriako.

Through the intervention of his uncle, former influential Olkejuado County Council Chairman Daniel Ole Muyaa, the radical landed a place at Athi River Secondary School, commuting daily from his uncle’s home.

But in Form Two, Keriako again ran away from school, missing two terms in the process, much to his father’s disappointment.

"Moranism was too high a calling to be interrupted by books," Keriako reminisces.

And a Moran he did become, braiding his hair and applying red ochre, living in the forest and joining his age mates in the legendary ritual of spearing a lion and taking away the mane. But Keriako would not complete the seven-year period of initiation into moranism — not with his father’s ire hovering over him.

He recalls: "My father could not stomach the idea that I had quit school to join moranism. An argument with him turned physical. I could believe I was actually fighting my father. It took the intervention of elders to cool tempers down."

Calm restored, Keriako heeded the counsel of his seniors and returned to school, catching up with his peers in Form Three.

"Interestingly," says Tobiko, "my grades started to improve from here onwards to a point where I was the top scorer in my school for the O-level exams in 1982."

He then proceeded to Kanyakine High School in Meru for his A-levels, becoming an avid debater and a prefect in charge of the school library.

Wonder of wonders, the Moran-turned-avid reader emerged among the top students in the country during the 1984 Kenya Advanced Certificate of Education (KACE) exams by scoring the required 19 points with straight As in Geography, History and Religious Studies.

Teasing

The intriguing daily proceedings of the Njonjo Commission of Inquiry that were being aired daily on national radio were what inspired Keriako to study Law at the University of Nairobi. However, he almost quit the faculty due to constant teasing from other students.

"The faculty was populated by sharp minds from Alliance schools and such other prestigious schools. Students would ask me which school I attended and upon hearing the strange sounding name ‘Kanyakine’, they would all burst into laughter asking me to point out the school’s location on a map," says Keriako.

His break came in 1989, just before he could complete his final year, when one Amos Wako, then working for top notch law firm Kaplan and Stratton, came to the university to search for pupilage students. They settled on Keriako and his roommate, Kioko Kilukumi.

"We were a bit surprised as we did not have any big names, family or otherwise, behind us," says Keriako.

During the early 1990s, Keriako set up a law firm in Kajiado with a branch in Nairobi and jokingly says it was unique "having a head office of a law firm in the bush with a branch in a capital city."

A staunch champion of minority land rights, Keriako did a lot of pro bono work for the people of Kajiado.

But it was through the recent vetting process for his current post that Keriako underwent a baptism of fire. The once firebrand boy from Mashuru found himself in unfamiliar waters as politicians and other Kenyans questioned his ability to head the newly created constitutional office.

"The proceedings caused a strain in my family, more so for my first born son Mike, a student at Kabarak High School. However, I was mentally and psychologically prepared for the onslaught. Like gold which has to be refined by fire, I have come out stronger," says the father of three boys, including two-year old twins, Lema and Leki.

He underscores the importance of surrounding one with the right circle of friends who can offer emotional support in times of trial.

"I was surprised at how ‘friends’ deserted me during the confirmation proceedings. Better to have a few quality friends rather than a multitude that will desert you at the slightest hint of trouble," he advises.

Jane Jepchirchir, his wife, has been the strongest pillar during such turbulent times.

"I met Jane while looking for insurance cover at a company where she worked. I’m glad I also got the proper life insurance partner," says Keriako.

He still derives what he terms as therapeutic benefits from herding cattle whenever he is in Kajiado. In fact, he lists ‘herding’ among his interests in his official rÈsumÈ.

"And after looking after cows, nothing beats sitting around a bonfire with a cold drink gazing at the stars," concludes Keriako.