“My father served as a Member of the Regional Assembly for Nyanza. He was vying for the Mbita parliamentary seat when he died in a boating accident two days after my seventh birthday. I had my initial glimpse of politics in the short time I knew him.

I remember our house was always full of people who slept in every available space, including the veranda. My father did not keep the same calendar and schedule as Mama kept in relation to her work.

Whereas Mama had a regular 8am to 5pm job, my father kept a fluid schedule and often had long night meetings. He hardly had any money for personal or family use since he was generous to a fault.

He regularly gave all he had, then asked the same people he had given money to lend him some to fuel his car!

People referred to him, even after he died, with a mark of awe. They often said, “Your dad was such a great politician or ‘Jasiasa!” With the same breath, though, they condemned politicians.

My impression, therefore, of politics, was that politics made one popular and unpopular at the same time.

Politics was intrusive and it took one away from his or her family and made one spend a lot of personal money on others to the point of depriving his own family. It confused my young mind.

After my father passed on, my next encounter with politics was when I was about 13 years old.

The indomitable Phoebe was vying for the Karachuonyo parliamentary seat.

This was the talk of town because, until then, only five women had been elected to the National Assembly of Kenya since independence with only one elected in the First Parliament and four in the Second.

She was also taking on a political powerhouse in the Moi administration, Hon Amayo, who was the Secretary General of KANU during the single-party era and when the state was equated to a deity.

I was intrigued by this woman and followed her politics keenly. I sneaked into places where people talked politics if only to hear more about this amazing woman. I wondered why she appeared different from other women. What made her do what she did?

On election day, my brother Dan and I sneaked into the Homa Bay County Hall, where the counting of votes from the greater South Nyanza was done. The greater South Nyanza comprised the current Homa Bay and Migori counties. I waited the whole night for Karachuonyo results.

Phoebe beat Amayo by a margin of about 2,000 votes. I witnessed the late Amayo shed tears and demand a recount after Phoebe was announced the winner. The only other time I had seen a man cry was when my father died. I knew this was serious.

Touched Phoebe’s hands

I stayed through the recount in the night and only went home at daybreak after Phoebe was declared the winner by an even wider margin. I was so amazed by this woman that when I finally met her, I was completely in awe.

Mama, thinking I did not know her, introduced Phoebe as a great woman who had achieved so much on behalf of women.

Mama urged me to work hard so that one day I would be like Phoebe. She did not understand the impact Phoebe had on me.

I greeted Phoebe! I touched Phoebe’s hands! That was revolutionary for me. I did not want to wash my hands. I felt I had exhaled.

I was an interesting child, perhaps too serious for my age. In Form I to Form III, I went through serious introspection on whether I would one day want to be MP for Mbita. I felt that if I wanted to be an MP, I needed to create social networks by visiting upcountry regularly and to take time to understand the geopolitics of the area.

After I considered the pros and cons – including the fact that Mama had instilled strong Christian principles in me, I decided, with a heavy heart, that I had no desire to be the MP for Mbita or even to be in politics at all.

I never thought of the gender dynamics in politics maybe because of Phoebe, maybe because of my socialization, or maybe because I was naive. Thereafter, I avoided politics like the plague.

We lived a life of struggle after my father died and left my mum with eight children. My mother invented novel ways of making us survive the hard times.

For instance, she often prepared a special meal that my brother dubbed Hungarian Goulash. It was maize meal sauce with Ugali- maize meal. The locals called it ndugu na ndugu or brother and brother since it is one and the same thing. It is a meal for the poor and everyone knows that.

Against this background, I started gravitating towards a desire to serve the public, and to pick up values which would help in this dream. This was the reason I specialized in Public Service Law at the University. In those days, public universities in Kenya were notorious for constant strikes. There was hardly a class that did not witness a strike.

Ours was the only unique year, even though we had more than enough ingredients for one. We were just like the other students who went on strike for the simplest reason: no chapattı, popularly referred to as dialogue, in the menu; students were not prepared for exams, a male colleague had brought in a collection from the infamous Koinange street for the night and was making other students jealous.

We were also among the few who underwent pre-university paramilitary training with the National Youth Service, NYS, which instead of making us disciplined, had the effect of hardening us and making us more prone to strikes since we had learnt better ways of dealing with the police.

Connected with us

Despite all these, it was curious that we never went on strike. The secret lay in the leadership of the university at that time, in the calm person of the Deputy Vice-Chancellor, Professor Mbithi. He connected with us, and inspired me to begin to treasure the power of connecting with the people.

A then-popular Minister for Foreign Affairs, Dr Robert Ouko, went missing under mysterious circumstances and his body was later found burnt beyond recognition in his rural home. This was after the government had withdrawn his security. This led to national unrest and angry university students threatened to go on strike.

There were demonstrations by different groups all over the country. If there was a moment we would have gone on strike, it was then, but we didn’t. We woke up each morning, gathered in groups, then went to demonstrate.

We noticed that the police followed us from a distance, but never interfered with us. At the point students got tired – which would often be far from the university – a bus suddenly appeared and took us back to college. It was a university bus, which meant someone understood us and our psyche, someone connected with us!

One day we got tired, after a long day of picketing, and started shouting and getting predictably agitated. Under ordinary circumstances this would have degenerated into street fights with the police.

However, out of the blues, a refined and well-built gentleman walked in our midst and said, “Hello guys, what would you like?”

Most students had no clue what they really wanted, so he quickly suggested to them: “Do you want to go to Hon. Ouko’s house in Loresho?” It sounded like an attractive idea. Noticing we didn’t mind, he said, “Go to the “airport” and board as many buses as you wish.” That “airport” was the university’s bus park. If the gentleman hadn’t intervened at that very moment, some students would have started stoning motorists since the level of agitation was already high. He succeeded because he had, at one time, been a student and understood our pulse. He felt us. He connected with us.
 After Law School, I worked as a state attorney. I hated the work. I preferred a job where I could contribute to society, especially the poor and the vulnerable like women, youth, persons with disabilities and poor children. It was the work Mama did all her life and I wanted to follow in her footsteps.

I consequently worked with the International Federation of Women Lawyers, Kenya, (FIDA), as a legal counsel representing women in court pro bono (for free). I then worked with the International Commission of Jurists, Kenya, (ICJ) on the Gender Justice Program and at the same time, was elected the Chairperson of the Coalition on Violence Against Women, (COVAW).

I later worked at the Africa regional level with Le’twal International as a program director on a pioneering program on the domestication of treaty-based rights of women and children in East and Southern Africa.

Meeting with former AG

At the height of agitation for reforms in the mid-90s, I experienced in many instances, the power of public officials connecting with the people, and meeting them at their level of need. At one point, there was a spate of extra-judicial killings of university students by the police.

Kenyatta University students demonstrated against this and one of them was yet again shot dead by the police. Irked by that reckless behavior, we decided to craft a memorandum demanding the immediate resignation of the Commissioner of Police and the Attorney General. The Commissioner refused to meet our team and only invited one or two of us who were public figures – for a private meeting.
 On the other hand, the then Attorney General, Amos Wako, who had previously worked in the human rights sector, invited all demonstrators into the State Law Office conference room, served us tea, greeted each of us by hand and called those he knew by name.

For instance, I had been working in his chambers before and he walked up to me and said, “I didn’t know you had left us, when did you join this noble cause?”

Hon Muite, noting the gentle manner of the AG, said, “Are you, by any chance, trying to compromise us?”
“Absolutely not!” He responded. “I am just being an African,” he said. “When you have guests, you welcome them and share over a meal, even if it is water.”

The atmosphere at the Attorney General’s office turned out to be remarkably different compared to that at the Police Headquarters. We held cordial discussions on the issues of concern to us and he acknowledged them as wrongs, then promised to take action after investigations.

When we left, our agitation for the dismissal of the Commissioner of Police in the public interest, continued. Agitation for the dismissal of the Attorney General ceased. He had connected with us. The Commissioner was fired within days of our demands.

I later founded The CRADLE – The Children Foundation, a not-for-profit organization that deals with children’s rights. While working in this sector, I became a very strong civil rights activist and was part of the group that agitated for constitutional and political reforms in the country during what has been dubbed the “Second Liberation”.

I was beaten and threatened severely by the police. There were times we had a coincidence of agenda with the political class, but I was always suspicious of them as their positions on pertinent issues often appeared to change to suit their interests.

For instance, we felt they betrayed us by signing on to minimal electoral and political reforms in the famous Inter Parties Parliamentary Group (IPPG) reforms of 1997 as we strongly felt that the better option could have been comprehensive reforms.

Even though I often engaged in training others on leadership skills, including political leadership skills, I never considered myself as a politician. In fact, I had even grown to hate politics.

I had at this point peaked in my career and was renowned nationally and internationally. I had received a number of nominations, awards and commendations, including a nomination for She Awards by Family TV.

I was twice a nominee and once a winner of the “Eve Woman of the Year Award” for gender and human rights work, and the winner of the International Young Women Christian Association Award for promoting human rights and gender. I had also received commendation by Barack Obama, for my outstanding work.”