By TONY MOCHAMA
The first time I almost met the late Senator Mutula Kilonzo was in the mid-90s. I had not yet joined campus, and I had just been introduced to Smirnoff by a man called Clem — the same fellow who was ‘threatening’ to introduce me to Mutula.
“We are good buddies,” Clem boasted, “and I am gonna take you for a bash at his ranch soon.” That ‘soon’ never happened, but he did take me to a rather nifty party at his own old man’s ranch spread in Ukambani.
In Parklands, though, pursuing Law, I did get to meet the daughter, Diana, nowadays known as Keithi. We became friends from First Year because I was in hot pursuit of her friend Julianna M, whom a lot of us had the hots for.
Julianna belonged to a posse of campus beauties I dabbed ‘Faith and the Sausages’ because Faith was the sorority gang leader, and if you saw one of them, the others were not far behind — Annabelle, Connie, Tabitha, Julianna — just like pulling a string of sausages, the others tumbling after.
I remember a night Diana, Julianna, myself and some others went partying at ‘Three Barrels’ then on Ngong’ Road, and ended up in a large but decrepit house nearby where Di’s Mom lived, estranged from Mutula Senior.
Funeral service
In Diana’s third year, she went to intern at her old man’s firm — and returned more sombre and sober to campus, turning to class work with a vengeance as we continued working on glasswork (and not of the Venetian type).
In the mid-oh-ohs, I regularly dropped in on (now) Keithi at their law firm, then in Corner House, and got to know her bro Mutula Kilonzo Junior. I got to glimpse the old lion Senior once or twice.
Keithi would tell me “It is good you have followed your literary and journalistic dreams.” “It is good you are literally doing what you have to do,” I would quip back. “You’re very good at it.” The last time I ever visited Russia, it was Keithi who gave me a novel titled Vodka, smilingly and saying, “ Read this on the plane, just so you know the kind of animal you’re dealing with…” (I was denied entry to Petersburg).
It has been two and a half years since I last saw Keithi in person (weirdly, as I type this, she is on TV, at her dad’s funeral service, talking about him, how he loved the good things of life) … My then fiancée had dropped me off at the Carnivore for rock, almost a year to the date we got married (hmm, weird how women are totally cool with your hard party habits, until after you are hitched, heh heh, then it’s “3am is late!”).
Keithi was there, with Julianna. And Julianna’s hubby.
As we three grooved out, Keithi watched our drinks with a little smile on her face (just so we aren’t ‘Spiked, Lee.’). When they left, Keithi hugged me, in spite of the perspiration dripping down my vest.
Last year, at the Family Court in Milimani, I did run into Mutula K Junior.
“The wild oats caught up with you?” He joked.
Actually, I had gone there to collect a book, Korda (not Vodka) from a magistrate buddy.
But my unforgettable moment involving Keithi is back in campus. We are sitting at a little pub called “Joe’s”. It is sunset and there is a Law student called Kilonzi with us.
Kilonzi: You should marry me, Di.
Keithi: Why?
Kilonzi: Because then, one day when you take over your dad’s law firm, we will only have to change the last letter on the door!
As one lion goes to rest, do join our Bonnie Mwangi on Tuesday, 10am and ‘Occupy Parliament,’ and leave our August House bastards agape and aghast! If you’re man enough.
