Prof Davy Koech: From acclaimed scientist to prisoner and short-lived freedom

 

Prof Davy Kiprotich Koech. [File, Standard]

I held his hand in mine and we prayed together. His teary sunken eyes were bloodshot. His lips were dry, cracked and bleeding. His wrinkled forehead stood pronounced above his shrivelled cheeks. After the prayer we hugged. I was hugging him for the third time. It is then that he whispered into my ear and said: “Keep praying for me my brother because as you see me here, I am a dying man.” He burst into tears. For close to five minutes, we held each other and cried together.

As I wiped my face, I glanced at a prison warden who was looking at us intently. “You will be OK Sir. You shall live and not die.” I said as I rose to leave. I handed over to him a Canteen Receipt, to help him buy essentials. I burst into tears as I watched him stagger away, frail.    

My friend Prof Davy Koech was a traumatised man in serious pain. At 70, he had suffered a heart attack. He had endured abject poverty, calamity and sorrow in childhood. The respectable Harvard-educated scientist and researcher extraordinaire was now a convict serving a six-year prison sentence over corruption. He was unable to pay the Sh19.6 million fine imposed on him by a Magistrate’s court.

During my one-hour visit, we shared my own experiences at the Nairobi Remand Prison. I had been hauled there earlier in 2021 for a crime I knew nothing about. I told him what he needed to do to stay alive, physically fit, and mentally stable.  I even introduced him to a few wardens and inmates who would help him manage prison life.

After a seven-decade journey through life, Koech thought he had mastered the art of survival. He knew he was made of steel. As an acclaimed scientist and researcher, he had served his country diligently. But when he was relieved off his duties as the Chief Executive Officer of the Kenya Medical Research Institute (KEMRI), he suddenly turned from a national hero into a villain. He became an enemy of the state. Koech had no idea that his mental and physical faculties were crumbling until the morning he suffered a heart attack.   

Heart attack

He reeled and staggered. He had just woken up and was trying to walk to the bathroom. Something had gone horribly wrong. He couldn’t stand straight. A terrible pain gripped his chest as he gasped for air. With one last effort, he managed to shout for help. His two daughters rushed to the bedroom just as their dad collapsed onto the floor. They helped him to his feet but realised he couldn’t walk. In panic, they quickly dressed him up. He was struggling to breathe: “Take me to hospital. I think I have suffered a heart attack,” were the last words he uttered before his speech failed him. As the girls dressed him up, his son turned on the car engine. At the Nairobi Hospital, he was ushered into the Intensive Care Unit (ICU).

For 24 hours, the family prayed that God would spare his life.  They prayed that God would enable him realise the dreams and desires he had. For even in old age, he passionately pursued his research with the hope of finding a drug to manage the numerous diseases that afflict Africa. As they watched him lie lifeless under the life support machine, they remembered what he always told them: “I shall live and not die. I remain confident of this; I will see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living.”

Prof Koech refused to die. “I woke up the following day. My speech was completely gone and I couldn’t use my left hand. I told God, ‘You are not yet finished with me. I have a lot to accomplish. After two days I was transferred to the HDU”

Within one week he was back home but in a wheelchair. He quietly swore to reject the confinement of the wheelchair. After a week of struggle, he was eventually back on his feet.  

Public humiliation

Koech had previously suffered two major disasters in his life. The death of his son, a pilot, and the public humiliation of being charged with corruption for decisions he made when he served as the CEO of KEMRI.    

His son died in the US aged 26: “I received a phone call telling me he was in hospital. I asked if he had crash-landed. I was told he had acute and severe pancreas problems. Being a doctor, I found myself telling them what to do. I called a friend of mine in the US and asked him to check on him. At 5.30am the following day, he passed on.”  Koech never recovered from that phone call of Tuesday, January 15, 2002. He was devastated.

Then came the arrest. He thought he was watching a movie when detectives raided his home. They came in big numbers, armed and fierce-looking. It was as if they were raiding the home of a dangerous terror suspect or drug lord. What did they want? His laptop. Six months later, they asked him to visit the Ethics and Anti-Corruption Commission (EACC), offices to collect the laptop.   

He arrived at the Integrity Centre offices at 8am. He sat at the reception until 11am. No one attended to him. He then asked one of the officers, “What is going on?”  The officer replied, “We are detaining you. We are putting you under arrest so that you will go to court tomorrow.” I told him, “Is this what you called me for? If you are actually putting me under arrest, can you please take me to court now, not to a police station.” 

It is when he was being led out of the building that he realised what was actually unravelling. There was a battery of journalists outside the Integrity Centre. Cameras and microphones were all aimed at him. He never uttered a word to the press. He wondered why they had to create drama out of his arrest.

“They did not handcuff me. I walked out with my laptop. I was put into a small unmarked car. I was not armed but I was placed between two officers. Other officers sat in the front. I was treated like some dangerous criminal.”

READ: Dr Davy Koech: Medical genius with many firsts in research rests

He was taken to Kilimani Police Station where his fingerprints were taken. Then an officer shouted: “Take care of this criminal until further notice. If we don’t come to collect him, continue keeping him.”

Some officers at the police station recognized him. They were thoroughly embarrassed and didn’t know how to handle him or where to place him. Both the male and female cells were full. There was, however, some open space with a 7-year-old boy whose identity was unknown. Koech was asked to share the space with the boy.

He appeared in court the following day and was slapped with a cash bail of Sh1 million. His family managed to raise the money and he was released at 3pm. He escaped the journey to the dreaded Industrial Area Remand Prison. This was in 2009. In January 2010, he was once again charged together with some of his former senior colleagues.

After years of lengthy court proceedings, Prof. Koech eventually appeared before Senior Principal Magistrate Victor Wakumile for sentencing. Silence enveloped the court. Koech sat pensively waiting for the magistrate to pronounce his sentence. The punches and kicks that life had hit him with had turned him into a fighter. He was ready for anything; however, he wasn’t prepared for the kind words that the magistrate had for him.

The magistrate, who invoked Article 29 of the Constitution, said that Koech could not be subjected to “cruel treatment” by being hauled into prison: “Because of the current Covid-19 pandemic, this court takes judicial notice of the difficult economic times people are going through. I find it fit to exercise my discretion and show mercy to Koech now 70.”

The professor was handed a fine of Sh19.6 million or to serve six years in prison for corruptly acquiring public funds. Koech had been charged that on August 17, 2006, in Nairobi, he fraudulently acquired Sh800,000, the property of KEMRI. A second charge read that on December 12, 2006, he irregularly acquired Sh6 million and another Sh12.5 million from KEMRI.

The magistrate noted that Prof. Koech had returned with interest, the malaria research money he had acquired corruptly and therefore no loss was suffered. He even allowed Koech to pay the fine in two instalments, a ruling that caused an uproar in some quarters.

However, after retirement, reeling in debt, Prof. Koech had endured many dates with auctioneers. He lost his properties and had to financially cater for countless court proceedings. He was even forced to return the money he believed he had utilised for the public good to enhance medical research in Kenya. The sentence found him financially on the rocks and battling ill health.  

It was late afternoon when Prof. Davy Koech arrived at the Nairobi Industrial Area Remand Prison. He gently scratched his bony hands to ease the pain as the handcuffs were removed. He joined a lengthy queue of convicts as they weaved their way to the Quarantine Block B part of the prison.

Now, a shadow of his former self—sickly, old, and partially incapacitated, he found himself at the mercy of an illiterate former street boy.

“Mzee, hapa ni njera na lazima uta kabaa. Wazee wako nyumbani hapa ni kwa macriminal pekee yake” the tall, dark muscular captain of B3 cell shouted at the Professor. He was about to unleash a slap when a stout, short man in thick glasses stepped in to save him from further torture. Jitu, was his nickname.

The street boy wanted to force Koech to Kabaa; a prison command that requires one to urgently squirm and crouch whenever a ‘superior being’ is addressing you. All prisoners fall into Kabaa position during all prison body counts and whenever an afande is addressing them. Failure to do so attracts brutal beatings.

“Within a short time, Koech became an enigma within prison walls. He was a man full of life, humor, and wisdom. His health might have deteriorated, but his mind remained sharp, his spirit unbroken.” Jitu, with whom I had shared the prison cell at the height of COVID-19 earlier in 2021, told me later.

Koech’s frail condition necessitated constant care. He was assigned a group of young men to assist him. These boys became his lifeline, ensuring he was clean, well-groomed, and presentable. Among the boys, Kevin stood out. Kevin had been introduced to Koech by Jitu; a fellow inmate known for his resourcefulness. Koech grew fond of Kevin, affectionately nicknaming him “Kitten.” Kevin was more than an assistant; he became a confidant and a source of comfort for the ailing professor.

Kevin’s duties ranged from washing Koech’s prison uniform and beddings, to ensuring his sandals—gifted by Jitu—were always polished. These sandals, simple yet comfortable, became a treasured possession, and Koech would often joke that they were his “freedom shoes,” ready for the day he would walk out of prison.

Jitu Empire was no ordinary inmate. Known for his cunning and charisma, he quickly formed a bond with Koech. The two would sit for hours, telling stories.

Koech would recount his international travels, his groundbreaking discoveries at KEMRI, and the bitter betrayal by Ochieng, a former colleague who stole his money. Jitu, in turn, regaled Koech with tales of his exploits and misadventures.

Koech’s cell, C2, became an informal lecture hall. Young inmates would gather outside, listening intently as he shared scientific knowledge and discussed Kenya’s politics. His ability to simplify complex ideas endeared him to many, and his humor lightened the somber atmosphere of prison life.

ALSO READ: Convicted in old age, Prof Davy Koech never says die

Prison life didn’t dull Koech’s sense of humor or love for theatrics. During court appearances, he would feign madness, calling the magistrate absurd names and making exaggerated gestures. Back in his cell, he’d dance to TV music shows, delighting his fellow inmates. His energy was infectious, and even the guards couldn’t help but laugh at his antics.

One guard, Daisy, held a special place in the Professor’s heart. On days when she visited his cell, his ailments seemed to vanish. He’d sit upright, comb his hair, and even attempt a smile—much to the amusement of his cellmates.

Koech often spoke about his achievements with pride. He had played a pivotal role in advancing Kenya’s medical research, discovering treatments that saved countless lives. But these accomplishments were overshadowed by his bitterness over the loss of his property and his failed attempts to groom his son for politics. “The boy,” he lamented, “chose love over legacy—a white lady, no less!”

Koech had tasked me with the assignment of seeking funds for the Sh19.6 Million fine. It was proving a tough test. As I scrounged around, the surprise pardon by President William Ruto came. Koech walked out of prison, a changed man—physically weaker but mentally resilient. As he bade farewell to his prison family, Koech’s parting words were a mix of humor and wisdom. “Don’t let the system break you,” he told Kevin, slipping him a small gift. “And always remember, science is the key to the future.”

When I later met him at his Lavington home, Koech reflected on his time in prison as a period of growth and introspection. He had navigated the harsh realities of incarceration with grace, humor, and an unwavering belief in his ability to overcome adversity. I looked at him as we took tea on the patio. In him, I saw the indomitable human spirit—a reminder that even in the darkest of places, light can shine.

“Prof,” I said “As I pen your book, I’m also writing mine documenting our shared prison experience. It’s called Kabaa; A Prisoner Cry” he smiled.

I never knew I was looking at his smile for the last time.