Four enduring memories of former President Moi
I have four memories of President Daniel arap Moi that I cherish. The first is when he opened the Pan African Paper Mills in Webuye in 1979. I had just joined Form I in Kivaywa Secondary School.
Our teachers allowed us to go to Kaburengu junction, to wait for the President on his way to Webuye. We were all fascinated with the prospect of seeing the President as most of us had only heard him on radio.
However, for some reason which still puzzles me today, all I wanted out of the encounter with Moi was to see his shoes.
The vehicle in which Moi was being driven stopped where students were gathered. The roof of his car was opened and he came out and waved.
We excitedly waved back. I was disappointed, however, when he failed to step out of the vehicle.
But I was happy when the headmaster said those who wished to travel to Webuye to witness the opening of the mill could do so. That meant I had a second chance to see Moi’s shoes.
But that was not to be as there were so many people in the Pan Paper stadium which made it virtually impossible to see Moi, let alone see his shoes. I dejectedly walked back to school.
It was not until ten years later, in 1989, that I was able to see Moi’s shoes. That was during a graduation ceremony at the University of Nairobi.
I sat next to the red carpet put out for him. For me, the highlight of that day was not my graduating—important as it was—but getting an opportunity to indulge my childhood desire of seeing the President’s shoes.
The second enduring memory I have of Moi is of his voice on radio after the attempted August 1, 1982 coup d’état was crushed.
‘’The uprising by the air force has been crushed by our army and police,’’ the President said in a nationally broadcast statement. I found Moi’s voice reassuring.
To my mind, then and as now, the Presidency epitomised order, sanctity of life and property.
Remove that personification, in the words of the Irish poet William Butler Yeats famed poem: Things fall apart / the centre cannot hold/Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world.
The third outstanding incident I have about Moi was when then Finance Minister Musalia Mudavadi read the budget statement for the 1997–98 fiscal year to parliament on June 19, 1997, amid booing by opposition members calling for constitutional reforms. Some MPs tried to grab the mace, the symbol of parliamentary authority.
It was a constitutional requirement for the President, in his capacity as an MP for Baringo Central, to attend the sessions. I watched him. Although composed, he was pensive.
Another leader would probably have walked out in protest. But he didn’t. He displayed an emotional intelligence which citizens in a nation and subordinates in an institution would like see in their presidents and leaders.
The fourth incident I hold about Moi was when he formally handed over power to Mwai Kibaki in 2002 at Uhuru Park.
Like in the 1997 Budget reading, Moi braved the humiliation from a hostile crowd to hand over power.
Moi meant many things to many people. For me, Moi meant an enigmatic figure in my childhood worldview whose shoes I thought must be different from those worn by others. He also meant a symbol of the inviolability of the State or Nation.
Lastly I saw in Moi, a picture of grace under pressure, of courage or stoicism under intense provocation—virtues that US President JF Kennedy affirms in his book, Profiles in Courage.
I recommend the book to all men and women who hold positions of authority.
That is the picture I have of Daniel Toroitich arap Moi. Fare thee well. — The writer is the Communications officer, Ministry of Education
