On May 30, 2013, Tony sat squeezed inside a matatu near a window and reflecting, Nakuru dust still clinging to his shoes, but now rushing to Nairobi.
Then the phone rang.
“Hello Tony… please, can you come home?”
The Minister’s wife spoke softly, the way she always does politely.
Tony hesitated briefly.For some time now, he and the Minister’s wife had been conducting a private rebellion against vows, God, and common sense. A romance stitched together by secrecy, boredom, and the intoxicating thrill of stealing what did not belong to them. They had never been caught. Tony believed he was untouchable he knew his boss well he was a gentleman and busy
So when the matatu finally coughed him into Nairobi, he rushed toward Karen, unfortunately his 40th day as a honey-pot thief had arrived. The Minister’s home received him warmly.
Then men in black arrived. They spoke no English. No Kiswahili. Only kicks and blows.
They educated him thoroughly, postgraduate course in pain and A doctorate in consequences. By the time they were done, Tony understood another man’s wife is poison.
Then they handed him to the police alive, broken, warned.But love, unfortunately, is stupid and deaf. And what you eat while stealing is addictive. Tony did not listen.
Two months later, he was found dead.
Mysteriously, they said. So how did it get here?
Tony first walked into the Tuju’s household in 2008 as a GSU officer assigned to guard the home after Tuju was appointed Special Legal Advisor to the President on Ethnic Relations and Media.
Power always attracts uniforms.
Stationed at the gate, Tony became part of the furniture. He was Reliable, Silent and Observant. And from that gate, he first saw Mrs. Ruth and she saw him too, Their eyes met often, Mathematically, carefully and dangerously.
Tuju, meanwhile, was busy becoming important. At first, nothing happened. Tony still had discipline. He was married to Esther, his childhood sweetheart and they had a son.
Also, Tony was young and Ruth was not. She appeared to have everything..a powerful husband, three beautiful children, a polished public marriage. To the public eye, that love could survive politics.
They had married in 1986, in church, when Tuju was still a charming young TV presenter and the future had not yet learned how to disappoint.
But the internet lies, tv lies, Magazines lie and homes lie best.Behind the Karen gates lived a quieter enemy of loneliness.
Tujus job kept him away. Then in 2011, he announced his presidential bid, and home became a hotel he rarely checked into. While he crossed the country hunting votes, Ruth stayed behind hunting comfort.
She needed a shoulder to cry on, she needed a chest to lie on. So she looked closer to home.She looked at the gate. Tony understood the assignment immediately.he had to make her happy, keep quiet and ask no questions.
He executed the mission with excellence.
Ruth rewarded him generously cash, outings, affection. Eventually, a deluxe apartment on Ngong Road. That apartment became their undoing because comfort makes men reckless.
Tony abandoned Esther in Eastlands like a forgotten file. No explanation. No decency. But betrayed wives investigate.
Esther followed the trail.And when she discovered that her husband had moved in with his boss’s wife, she did what broken women do best in this country,,told the truth. She texted Tuju.
When Tuju finally heard about the affair, he was angry.But anger did not make him loud. Tuju, tragically for everyone involved, was a certified gentleman.
So instead of fists or fireworks, he chose dialogue. He summoned both offenders to his Karen home for what history would later record as The Meeting That Changed Nothing.
There, seated and embarrassed, Tony and Ruth promised solemnly, convincingly, theatrically to end the affair. They lied the affair evolved. Tony grew bold, public and Reckless. He touched her openly and Claimed her loudly.
At his most audacious, he even texted Tuju’s own children, casually asking about their mother’s whereabouts.This shamelessness did not grow in a vacuum.was fertilized by desperation. By then, Tony had been fired from the GSU, implicated in an extortion scandal that stripped him of uniform, income, and dignity. Ruth became his oxygen.
Dependency turned him into a nocturnal visitor showing up at Tuju’s home at ungodly hours, behaving less like a lover and more like a squatter with entitlement issues.
Tuju snapped with paperwork. He obtained a restraining order and simultaneously filed for divorce.
The order was clear….Tony was barred from approaching any of Tuju’s people or properties. A reasonable demand that was completely impossible because addiction does not respect court orders.
So when Ruth extended yet another ungodly invitation to the Karen home in May 2013, Tony obeyed fully aware of the consequences.
He was arrested for trespass.But not before receiving what witnesses politely described as education with pain.After his release, the affair continued, quietly and desperately.
In July 2013, just two months later, Tony was found dead mysteriously inside an apartment owned by Tuju, who at the time was conveniently out of the country.
Kenyans nodded, shrugged and moved on.
Three months after that, Ruth was spotted selling chapati and beans at a modest new hotel after Tuju successfully evicted her from the Karen palace she once ruled.
Love, had finished eating and left the table. SAD!
MARRIAGE, sometimes is a beautiful lie administered legally. It is the only institution where one is issued a certificate before the exam, applauded before the performance, and judged forever after. The Tujus had perfected the art of appearing to have passed with distinction.
