"Three widows, one legacy: The private life of Cyrus Jirongo"

 Former Lugari MP Cyrus Jirongo's widows, Christine Nyokabi, Anne Kanini, and Anne Lanoi. [File, Standard]

By the time the cortege snaked its way into the homestead, grief had already settled like a heavy mist.

Not the loud, chaotic grief of public mourning, but the intimate kind—measured, restrained, and deeply personal.

This was the grief of women who had shared one man, one life, and one powerful surname, yet each held memories that were distinctly theirs.

The three widows—Christine Nyokabi, Anne Kanini, and Anne Lanoi—eulogised him as a lover.

The late Cyrus Jirongo, known for his flamboyant lifestyle, meteoric rise, and fiery political stances, saw his life tragically cut short on December 13, 2025, in a road accident along the Nairobi–Nakuru highway at Karai, in Naivasha.

“He loved us. And he never made us feel lesser,” Lanoi said softly, her voice steady despite the tears welling in her eyes.

In a society where polygamy often comes wrapped in rivalry and resentment, the late Jirongo’s household told a different story—one of surprising harmony, deliberate balance, and affection that was carefully distributed but deeply felt.

The widows, seated together under a white dorm tent away from the glare of cameras, spoke with one voice about a man who, despite his towering legal mind and public gravitas, was at home a devoted husband and father.

“If he traveled, he never came back empty-handed. Same bag, same brand, but different colors. He wanted everyone to feel seen,” recalled Kanini, with a faint smile.

It was a small detail, but one that spoke volumes about the man behind the title.

The late CJ, who argued complex constitutional questions by day, remembered by night who preferred brown leather, who liked black, and who favored navy blue.

At the heart of the CJ’s domestic world was a home that functioned more like a public square than a private residence.

His wives said that every lunchtime, the house was full, and you’d think it was a restaurant.

Children, relatives, friends, aides, and sometimes junior lawyers would troop in unannounced.
There was always food. Always laughter. Always room for one more chair at the table.

The CJ insisted on eating lunch at home whenever work allowed. And when he did, he wanted noise—conversation, arguments, jokes, stories from school and chambers alike.

“He picked our calls without fail. No matter how busy he was. You’d call him, and he’d say, ‘I am here, tell me.’”

For his children, he was not the intimidating judicial titan the country knew. He was a father who paid school fees on time, followed up on grades, and quietly arranged overseas education for those who showed promise.

“He took some of the children abroad himself. He wanted them to see the world, not just read about it. Others were settled, helped to start businesses, or supported through difficult moments,” recalled Nyokabi.

His wealth—often whispered about but rarely quantified—was not merely accumulated. It was actively deployed in the service of family.

Ironically, the man who spent his life interpreting the law may now find his own family turning to it to resolve what love alone cannot.

If the CJ’s biological family was expansive, so too was his other family: the lawyers.

His wives insist that whatever happens next, the foundation he laid was one of love.

“He loved us equally. That is the truth, and we will hold onto it.”