Lawyer⚖️|•|A committed Citizen with belief in proactive politics|•|Entrepreneur |•|Mp Lamu West 2027|•| @TurungaKimani_F
Lamu,Kenya
Joined April 2017
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I joined the United Opposition principals — H.E. Kalonzo Musyoka, H.E. Rigathi Gachagua, Hon. Martha Karua, Dr. Fred Matiang’i, Hon. JB Muturi, and Hon. Eugene Wamalwa — for the Wiper Patriotic Front NDC and the public acclamation at the historic Uhuru Park, where Kalonzo Musyoka was endorsed as the Party’s flag bearer.
Uhuru Park is more than just a venue — it is a symbol of our nation’s struggle for freedom, justice, and democracy. Standing there today reminded us that Kenya’s story is still being written, and it’s our duty to ensure it ends in victory for the people.
As the United Opposition, we are united by one mission: to liberate this country from corruption, impunity, and poor leadership. We are building a Kenya of integrity, equality, and opportunity for all.
How British Spies Engineered Kenya's Destiny.
When the British were laying their exit plans for Kenya, their spy networks had already identified their man. In the Rift Valley, where British settlers had their most entrenched interests, a quiet politician named Daniel caught their attention. He believed in the "empire" and was Anglicised.
Sir Michael Blundell , the man British intelligence picked to orchestrate the machinations understood the assignment perfectly. The first move was simple have Kenyatta help dismantle the opposition party, KADU (where Daniel was), and merge it into Kenyatta's KANU. And so it began. In 1963, Jomo Kenyatta looked upon his political enemies and saw insects:
"Self-conceited grasshopper politicians trapped in their cramped and warped party." He insulted them openly.
Jomo Kenyatta needed numbers. He wanted the two-thirds majority that would let him rewrite the rules of the game while everyone was still cheering his name. The man tasked with luring these grasshoppers into the flame was Jaramogi Oginga Odinga, the very man who would become the first casualty.
"I had not foreseen that," Odinga later confessed. "I worked hard to have KADU absorbed into KANU; I hoped that an augmentation of strength would ginger up the party... I must admit that I calculated falsely."
The merger only sharpened the knives hidden in the shadows. "Far from strengthening the party," Odinga mourned, "it introduced dangerous, divisive policies and forces into KANU and made the dilution of KANU policies from within possible."
And so, by November 1964, the entire KADU leadership had been brought on board. Having campaigned tirelessly and lured legislators across the floor with promises of unity and purpose, Odinga watched as the newly strengthened KANU turned on him with the loyalty of a snake--just like the Americans wanted. (Story for another day.)
Moi became the greatest beneficiary. The man who had been underestimated and dismissed was handed the Ministry of Home Affairs, the very docket Odinga had once held. Odinga, meanwhile, was made Vice-President with all the power of a paperweight. Ronald Ngala fared even worse. His reward for surrendering his party was the chairmanship of the Maize Marketing Board, overseeing the distribution of maize. He wouldn't see a Cabinet seat until 1966, by which time Moi had politically eclipsed him like the moon blocking the sun. The Americans, watching from across the ocean, took notes.
In May 1966, Joseph Zuzarte Murumbi was sworn in as Vice President. The occasion was technically a promotion, though the circumstances were like an invitation to a party where everyone visibly wishes you hadn't come. His predecessor, Jaramogi Oginga Odinga had left a vacancy that needed to be filled by someone who wouldn't cause immediate trouble. The trouble was that Murumbi possessed the fatal combination of competence and integrity, which rarely ends well in any government anywhere. But even more offensively, he was the wrong kind of Kenyan. The President's mono-ethnic cabal regarded him as an "outsider."
By July 1966, a mere two months into his tenure, Murumbi had already drafted his first resignation letter. The gentleman had bought a fire extinguisher immediately after moving into a new house. He had assessed the situation accurately. Officially, he cited concerns regarding his health. But anyone observing the politics understood he had decided he would rather eat glass than continue working with those people.
First, the assassination of Pio Gama Pinto in February 1965 had shaken Murumbi's faith in the government and in Kenyatta. Pinto was shot dead in his driveway. Murumbi had planned to write a book examining this, but wisely "stayed alive" by refraining from speaking negatively about Kenyatta.
For best History and Investigative stories follow @timothyturunga.
Second, the Settler Transfer Fund (STF) which had been proudly proclaimed in the KANU manifesto as a mechanism to benefit millions of landless Africans had been hijacked by a few Kenyan elites. They were loaning themselves money meant for the landless and acquiring huge tracts at the expense of the impoverished majority. Murumbi watched with each passing day as more land, more businesses, and more opportunities for financial advancement were funneled through "one-tribe traffic." As he watched, his fears for his own safety grew proportionally.
Third, there were the direct and indirect threats from the Kikuyu inner circle around Kenyatta, who treated him like a pest. One minister "joked" that Murumbi shouldn't "get too comfortable in that seat." Another helpfully informed him not to think he would become President if anything happened to Mzee Kenyatta. Just in case the message wasn't clear, someone in government made sure he knew he was not welcome and should get out.
When Murumbi finally presented his resignation letter in November 1966, Kenyatta turned his back on him, it suggested either that Kenyatta genuinely didn't want to lose Murumbi, or that he was annoyed at having to find another vice president who was both competent and willing to ignore all the corruption. Murumbi, however, got into a car, drove away from State House, and never looked back.
For four months, Kenya had no vice president. Mzee Kenyatta agonized, weighing his options like a man choosing between poisons. The President's first cousin and personal physician, Dr. Njoroge Mungai, watched the vacancy with barely concealed hunger. He had already constructed a palatial home along the Nairobi-Nakuru highway, complete with a jukwaa la rais . When his dreams overwhelmed him, he would take champagne to the Parliament members' bar and ask bewildered MPs to toast to his coming presidency.
In the darkroom of political lobbying, secret meetings were taking place at the Muthaiga home of Sir Marlin Sorsbie, chairman of the East African Association. These were chaired by Bruce McKenzie, a British member of Kenyatta's cabinet who years later would be uncovered as an agent for British and Israeli spy agencies. The Muthaiga group encompassing American, British, and Israeli interests agreed that all stops must be pulled out to ensure Moi's appointment.
Just before Christmas, Mzee Kenyatta went for a "working holiday" in the central Rift Valley, spending a night at the Kericho Tea Hotel. On the drive back to Nairobi, he told Attorney-General Charles Njonjo, who was riding with him in the presidential limousine:
"I have decided we give the job to Moi."
On arrival at State House, the President asked for Moi to be put on the line. "You're now Mr. Vice-President. Come to State House tomorrow morning to be sworn in." And it was done.
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2027 is a chance to reset our country. Liberate our country from Ruto or we will perish.
Somali Elders Accuse Kenya of Allegedly Hosting Senior Al-Shabaab Leaders
read.kenyans.co.ke/vBTJa
Today, I had the honour of visiting my Party Leader H.E. Rigathi Gachagua at his Karen residence to convey my heartfelt condolences together with those of the people of Lamu County following the passing of his beloved sister.
I extend my deepest sympathies to the entire Gachagua family during this difficult moment.May God grant them strength, comfort and courage as they navigate this period of grief. May the soul of Eunice Nyangari Gachagua rest in eternal peace.
True friendship and solidarity are not only demonstrated in moments of joy and celebration,but also in moments of sorrow and grief. We stand together in happiness and we stand even closer in sadness.
Leadership is also about standing with one another through life's difficult moments. Today, we stand with our Party Leader and his family in prayer, compassion and solidarity.
May God comfort the family.
Yesterday Al shabab militia carried out an attack which led to the death of 8 people. Governor of Mandera once revealed around 60% of Mandera County is controlled by Al shabaab.
Al shabaab attacked Mpeketoni in Lamu county in 2014,twelve years Later Lamu county has never recovered economically.
24 hours later not even a single statement from the ministry of interior. This is what happens when the president and Cabinet secretary of interior are pre occupied on Opposition leaders and sending donations to Uganda.
For the sanctity of our country we should send Ruto home come next year. Not only are goons harassing Kenyans in different parts of the country,even Al shabaab are now freely carrying out attacks within our borders.
“Muzee is dead "....that was the headline that crackled across radios and newsroom teleprinters. No one fainted from shock.
The old man had been running on borrowed heartbeats for years. For the last three years, insiders whispered that Mzee had mostly retired to the soft tasks of blinking, breathing, and occasionally scolding ministers for imaginary sins.
But the real drama, the one Kenyans were not reading in newspapers, was the succession orchestra playing behind the curtains.
Kenyatta had refused to name a crown prince. The constitution, meanwhile, was sitting there like a stubborn referee insisting that the vice president, one Daniel Toroitich arap Moi, would take over even if the players did not like the rules. And yes, they did not like the rules.
Because Moi was a Kalenjin, and some 'Kikuyu mafia' (old guards) feared that letting him near the steering wheel would reduce their decades-old dominance to the political equivalent of a footnote. So they hatched a plan... a constitutional amendment that would conjure up an executive prime minister the way magicians pull rabbits from empty hats.
The message was clear:
“Moi can keep his title; we will keep the power.”
But power has a strange way of choosing its own servants. And on this chessboard stood one man from within the Kikuyu fortress who refused to play along ... the sharply dressed, Shakespeare-quoting Attorney General, Charles Njonjo. He guarded the presidency’s constitutional purity with the zeal of a British butler defending the Queen’s tea set.
The drama had begun long before dawn on 22 August. Kenyatta had been found unconscious at State House, Mombasa, around 3:30 a.m. Dr. Eric Mngola, his personal physician, was nowhere to be found, possibly enjoying the kind of deep sleep only men who have paid dowary can afford.
Dr. Joel Pinto and Dr. J. Wasunna were yanked from their beds and hurled into the desperate quiet of State House corridors.
They tried everything ,, everything ,oxygen tanks, frantic resuscitation, whispered “please God” but Kenyatta had already crossed the river. And in the timeless fashion of African statecraft, the doctors were immediately detained.
Not arrested, no. Just gently stored away out of public view like classified documents. Their families had no idea where they had vanished to.
One hundred miles north in Kabarak, the vice president was being serenaded by a phone that had developed a personality. For weeks the line had been misbehaving, ringing randomly, offering silence or static like a shy ghost. But this time, a voice emerged ,,a nervous, trembling voice belonging to Eliud Mahihu, Coast Provincial Commissioner and Moi’s political ally.
Mahihu uttered the coded phrase that history remembers with a chill: “The eyes of Kenyatta have closed.”
In Kiswahili it was translated to mean:
“Run. Now. Before the wolves wake up.”
It was advice that likely saved Moi’s life. Because for months, long before Kenyatta’s final breath, Moi had been a marked man , holding the home affairs docket, sitting a heartbeat away from the presidency, and carrying the misfortune of belonging to the wrong ethnic group for the ambitions of powerful men.
History moved quietly that morning. But beneath the quiet, the knives were sharpening.
To be continued….
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Rigathi Gachagua was in USA for 2 months.The opposition went into a coma when he was away and came back to life upon his return to the country.If Riggy G isn't the haemoglobin or the lifeblood of opposition then who is? He has numbers,energy,skills and experience.
This week, videos of Rigathi Gachagua during his time as an Mp have been going round the timeline .One thing is clear,Riggy G has always put Kenyans first.From foreign investors/contractors giving priority to Kenyans to leaders allowing Kenyans take a centre stage in their decision Making.The tribal narrative was a smear campaign sponsored by the government to paint Riggy G as a villain.
Save for Rigathi Gachagua,my generation finds nothing inspiring in these octogenarians gunning for top seats.Personally I will need a lot of convincing why I should vote for anyone else apart from @rigathi and @edwinsifuna as presidential ticket come 2027. Kama sio Riggy G ni Edwin Sifuna.The tumzee should go home and narrate war time stories to their grandchildren.
History has proven that love is terribly short-sighted, profoundly disobedient, and sometimes walks straight into danger.
Carolyn Ngumbu entered the world on 2nd July 1996 as Maryann Wairimu Ngumbu, born to David Ngumbu and Alice Nduruku in the subdued hills of Gachie, Kiambu County. Her elder sister, Jedidah, promptly upgraded her to “Carol,” a nickname that outlived her certificates.
She was that soft-spoken, cool, amiable, introverted girl, the kind raised under strict Christian values, where free time meant Church and carefully monitored friendships that would never tempt her into early vices. She did her primary schooling in Kiambu, her secondary at Uchekeini Secondary, and though her KCSE results refused to sparkle, her father took a loan and pushed her into KMTC Karen Campus for a medical course.
At KMTC, She devoured books with missionary zeal but still carved out time for her friends discussing girl stuff, crushes, perfumes, and the occasional campus gossip. She lived fully, grew steadily, completed her diploma, and awaited her December graduation with a quiet sense of victory.
When the three-month internship at Naivasha Sub-County Hospital in September 2016 came, she completed successfully and was confirmed by medics and the superintendent,
It was in Naivasha that she met him...Chris Msando the tall dashing Luo man with the voice of authority, the confidence, handsome, mature and the gaze that scaned her heart effortlessly. Chris was a Management & Information Systems Specialist at NACC, with previous stints at Swissport International Ltd at JKIA and Virgin Atlantic.
He was twice her age, married, and yet, in the mysterious mathematics of forbidden affection, exactly her type. Carol was not a girl of boys. Campus boys were too busy debating Gilbis and Manchester United with empty pockets and empty futures; Chris had money, presence, maturity and that magnetic danger women sense but ignore.
The pair fell in love quickly. They were inseparable, hopping through Naivasha joints like two fugitives from loneliness. The relationship was unofficial but steady wedding-vow energy without the priest. Carol confided in her sister, and Jedidah, after brief shock, offered the kind of reluctant approval that elder siblings give when they know their advice will be ignored anyway. Chris was married to Rosa, a woman of extraordinary beauty, but age, convenience, and the usual male “we are like that” instincts kept him juggling dual worlds.
By November 2016, Chris secured the coveted IEBC ICT Director job. He moved to Nairobi; Carol moved back to Gachie awaiting graduation in December 2017. The distance only made the affair easier. Nairobi was closer, the money better, and the outings more extravagant. Drinks after work. Relaxation. Diani trips on request. Carol saw him as the ladder to a good life, sent by God Himself... Hallelujah! Amen. No questions.
What she did not know was that ladders can also be lightning rods.
Chris had become the man with the keys to the IEBC servers in the volatile approach to the 2017 elections. He raised alarm about a suspicious tunnel built to illegally access and tamper with the system. Being incorruptible is a romantic idea and usually life-shortening. A mark appeared on his head. And love that was sweet and blind placed Carol right beside him as the storm gathered.
On the last Friday of her life, Carol had lunch with Jedidah. Later, around 7 PM, she called casually to say she was stepping out with Chris for drinks. He had promised to help her find a job. She assured her sister she would not be out long. Jedidah sensed nothing unusual until friends could not reach Carol, and news channels began whispering about a woman found with Msando.
Saturday morning ...
For best Investigative and History stories follow @timothyturunga
(Continuation in comments)
In Muguga Forest, Kikuyu Sub-County, Carol’s body lay a few meters from Chris’s naked except for underwear, no visible injuries, no struggle, no chance. She had vanished from Gachie the previous night; now a chilling photograph, later labeled in the morgue files, confirmed her identity. The killers wanted Chris. She was collateral because witnesses do not get spared in high-level political mathematics. She did not know the servers. She only knew love.
At home, Her mother, Alice described her as peaceful and calm, her voice cracking . Jedidah replayed their last lunch and the suffocating realization that her sister’s final moments had unfolded in terror she would never hear explained. The family watched the government promise justice for Msando, but not a word of protection or support was extended to them. They were spectators at their own tragedy.
And so ended the brief, bright life of 21-year-old Carol Ngumbu, born in Gachie, raised in faith, trained for healing and swept in love .Her story closed in a forest clearing, beside a man marked for elimination,... My people in the theater of power, innocence is often the cheapest casualty and love is the most dangerous witness.
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Apparently, Kenya's only self-declared nationalist has appointed another Kuria, a Luo and a Mijikenda to high-ranking government positions. What a patriot! usawa ni Sawa daah😂
When RiggyG says MAA (his people) top his 8Million to 12Million votes and bringing them into one basket, he means it.
Jana tulikuwa Kajiado County, and we worshipped at Isinya. One thing came out, the Maa community has enormous respect for H.E @rigathi Gachagua. They embrace him just as they do their own leaders, and the warmth extends beyond the ordinary political gatherings.
From the top Maa leadership to the respected Maa elders, RIGATHI Gachagua commands their respect and they want to work with him.
During his address, the leaders requested him to set aside more time for a series of consultations, saying they would soon be seeking his guidance as they organise their political leadership. Their desire is to build a united political structure, avoid unnecessary wrangles and establish leadership arrangements that allow them to consolidate their votes and work towards DCP's political ambitions and which will send Kasongo home.
Listening to them, I could not help noticing the similarity with what leaders back in Mt Kenya, RiggyG's home ground, would also want, guided leadership, unity, proper organisation and a political direction that will not bring back SHAME again to their community.
The Maa are seeking meaningful engagement, mentorship and a structured approach to leadership, they want to organise themselves, work together and have a voice in the wider national political conversation.
This is the kind of political engagement that goes beyond rallies.
Detectives moved to Tala Town in Mchakos looking for the undertaker. No address. No house. No phone. No sightings.Just a rumor floating stubbornly in dust.
How could a man so wanted be so invisible?
Phones were useless . Teddy was wiser now, no signals, no slips and no digital arrogance. One month passed, Nothing. Teddy remained a ghost.
So the police changed language. If technology couldn’t find him, feet would. Officers packed bags and moved into Tala quietly, undercover, unnoticed. They rented houses, became tenants, became nobodies.
Some became bodaboda riders, others turned hawkers. Some posed as job seekers, others sold njugu, others sold jaba ....idle men with idle days.
They walked, they listened and they watched. Slow work, dirty work but human work.
They mapped Tala inch by inch ,bars, kiosks, backrooms, gossip corridors where secrets leak faster than blood.
Weeks passed, then whispers aligned.
A name....... A corner. ......A pattern.....
The trail led to a modest area near Kathaana Market,not dramatic, not guarded. Just ordinary enough to hide danger. Intel was confirmed and the net tightened.
The detectives gathered quietly to plan. They knew one thing for certain..These men were armed, these men were desperate and desperation has no brakes.
On 2nd December 2017 at 6:00 AM when Kathaana was still yawning.The detectives arrived armed like men going after Osama not breakfast thieves. Rifles tight, nerves tighter, faces already convinced this morning would not end politely.
The ambush was surgical and early , the cruelest hour. Inside the rented house, the gang was doing the most ordinary thing criminals ever do between murders:
Preparing breakfast.
Tea was boiling, bread was waiting and of course Death was punctual.
Instinct kicked in before logic, One thug grabbed the boiling water meant for tea and hurled it at the first officer approaching the doorway. Flesh screamed and steam rose. A cop went down, scalded, writhing in pain.
Then guns answered.
The scalded officer was shot in the leg as he lay helpless. Bullets stitched walls, doors, morning itself. The quiet of Kathaana shattered.
Within minutes, two gangsters were neutralized, Mureithi and Muchiri.
Breakfast was cancelled permanently, When officers paused fire, a fraction of mercy that only professionals offer chaos slipped through the gap.
One thug bolted out, grabbed the fallen officer’s Česka pistol, and ran. Survival has no manners. At the same moment, Teddy Kasanga exploded out of the house holding Shadrack Cheruiyot, a young teacher, a tenant, an innocent man whose only crime was renting a room where evil hid.
A human shield. Police slowed fire. Teddy didn’t. As he sprayed bullets wildly, he killed the teacher. That single shot hardened every heart present. This was no longer a manhunt but a debt.
Teddy and Sammy fled toward Mwonyeni Market and The market woke to madness.
Traders dropped vegetables, overturned tables, abandoned livelihoods mid-step. People ran without knowing why because fear does not require explanations.
This sudden human stampede betrayed Teddy’s hiding attempt. He tried to blend into the chaos, camouflage himself among baskets and breathless bodies.
But fate had reached its appointment. Not today and so another shootout erupted. The ground betrayed him. Determined detectives closed in and neutralized Teddy Kasanga and Sammy.
Bullets ended what ambition had started.
The reign of terror stopped there, sprawled across the market floor.From their lifeless bodies, police recovered, One Jericho pistol, loaded with four rounds of 9mm One homemade firearm, crude but lethal. Mobile phones that had witnesses to many unfinished conversations
They had lived by the gun, They died by the gun
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teapaw.org/timothyturunga/status/….. part 1
After the death of Tomaso Gagula in August 2014, Kayole exhaled briefly and a new shadow rose to replace him.
Mwanee Sparta a thin, sharp, ambitious boy stepped forward to finish Tomaso’s unfinished sentence. The streets accepted him instantly. He assumed command of the Gaza Gang.
Mwanee needed a kingdom so he built one... brick by brick bullet by bullet. But a gang, like a government, must first have a cabinet.
And so he formed one.
The first appointment went to Teddy Kasanga childhood best friend, stone-hearted bully, second-in-command and deputy president of fear. No negotiation. Together they handpicked three more fearless men.
Their initiation was traditional: Mwanee shaved their heads himself, scraping away innocence. Then gave them the holy something from Maseno .. a smoke meant to burn away fear and conscience.
They smoked, coughed and they were reborn.
The gang waited for one more piece... Collo. A general, a loyal soldier, a guaranteed place in this criminal parliament ..once he walked out of Industrial Area Prison everything will be set
But even gangsters need romance.
That was when Mwanee met Cleah adi Vybz, a teenage beauty with fire in her eyes and recklessness in her pulse. The two collided like broken stars, and after seven shots of cheap honey, they became parents to a baby boy whose first breath instantly raised the stakes of his father’s madness.
Fatherhood did not calm Mwanee.
It fueled him.
He pushed harder, hunted bigger, robbed faster because Gaza’s Queen, Cleah, needed to be provided for.
Queen Cleah rose beside him and took charge of the Warembo Section, partnering with Marsha Minaj to lure unsuspecting club victims straight into traps where Mwanee and his brothers plucked their pockets clean.
When Collo was finally released in early 2015, the Gaza engine roared back to life. MPESA shops and small businesses around Eastlands were struck with increasing boldness. After a successful Kayole hit, Mwanee acquired his first gun, the first assault rifle Mwanee ever owned. A weapon that inflated his ego until it pressed against the sky.
With it, they upgraded from petty robberies to home invasions.
Then came the unforgiving dawn of February 14 2015 there in syokimau. Former Moyale MP, Phillip Godana, woke to a nightmare men in his home, appearing and disappearing like smoke, and Mwanee pulling the trigger that ended his life in front of his family. The thrill of it rewired Mwanee’s brain. He had tasted death, and it tasted sweet.
He wanted more guns but Not to buy .... to steal.
Their first target was AP Eston Muthini Ndwiga. November 2016, Mihang’o. They ambushed him, pumped bullets into his chest, only to discover the man had not carried his gun. It was murder without profit, wasteful even by gangster standards. They retreated, hid, smoked, and waited for the noise to die.
But while hiding Mwanee’s mind began sharpening its own knives. He was not afool
He convinced himself that Collo was was having extra-gangster activities with Cleah , the two liked each other’s pictures online. A crime worse than treason in gangster theology.
He summoned Collo to a quarry in Kayole.
A meeting disguised as reconciliation. Collo denied everything and Mwanee shot him anyway. His body tumbled into the quarry swallowed by still water and cold silence. No investigation followed. The city did not notice.
After killing his friend, Mwanee returned to his original mission. Another cop had to fall.
Friday night at Umoja Estate. Sergeant Asbel Kiplimo, fresh from dropping PS Margaret Mwariama at home, parked his Prado and began unloading groceries. Mwanee arrived on a motorcycle, shot him twice in the head, then used the sergeant’s own gun to finish him before carrying the trophy away. 1/3
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teapaw.org/timothyturunga/status/…... part 2
Gangs of Eastlando.
After the blood settled in Weteithie Kiambu on 20th August 2017 ending the reign of Mwanee Sparta, the police picked through the wreckage like accountants and recovered one trophy ,a Česka pistol traced back to an army man. They returned it to the nervous hands of the state.
This News was good. But it was incomplete news.
The real headache was the AK-47 flaunted online like a fashion accessory was missing. Still breathing, still wandering and still hungry. The men photographed with it it .... Teddy Kasanga, Kimondo, Kush and others had dissolved into the night like smoke.
In Kayole, Mwanee’s death landed like an earthquake. At first, disbelief. Then silence. Then fear.. Small-small thieves suddenly discovered morality overnight. They switched off their Phones, locked Doors early. The ground was hot.
One undertaker who escaped the swamp that night carried no fear in his bloodstream. While others hid under beds and prayers, He did what brave fools do best: he went online. He logged into Facebook, mourned his fallen boss publicly, promised to attend the funeral, and swore to keep the spirit of the Gang alive.
His courage was not personal. It was instructed. Because Kayole had a new centre of gravity.
Teddy Kasanga , childhood friend, stone-hearted deputy, former vice president of fear had quietly inherited the crown. No ceremony. No mercy . Just silence and obedience.
The threat to attend Mwanee’s burial died quickly because Intelligence whispered that undercover officers would flood the funeral like mourners with badges hidden under black jackets. Teddy chose patience over courage. The dead could wait. The living could not.
Mwanee was laid to rest at his family home. Only relatives came. And detectives seated politely among mourners, pretending to be grieving, with eyes doing overtime, fingers close to triggers. The grave was lonely. The guns were many. The gang stayed buried in untraceable hideouts choosing oxygen instead.
After being Denied the burial, Teddy decided to test the heat but not in Nairobi. Too obvious.
He ordered a hit out of town experiment, not a robbery. A way to confirm whether the state was still breathing down his neck.
The Test experiment destination was Mwea, Kirinyaga and the result was a confirmation. Flying Squad officers were already watching his shadow. When the goons moved, the police moved faster.At Makutano Junction, the experiment ended violently.
Seven gang members were killed on the spot and recovered from the bodies was One Česka pistol and two homemade guns, ugly but functional. The dead men also left behind rolls of weed for the officers to cool their nerves after such efficiency.
But the AK-47 remained missing.
That rifle mocked the police because somewhere, it was being cleaned, oiled, worshipped. By late October, the gang was boiling. They had missed Mwanee’s burial on the 29th and had lost men on 6th September.
They wanted blood, not sympathy.
On Saturday October 28th, 2017, at 3 a.m., Teddy Kasanga and his men returned to Nairobi’s bloodstream. They arrived quietly, riding in a peng like men who had rehearsed death. Two police officers were shot dead with the very AK-47 the state had been hunting like a rumor.
After the shooting, the gang stripped the fallen officers of their firearms , a Jericho and a Česka then scattered. Teddy split his army like spilled mercury.
One group vanished into Tala, Machakos County, Another group of three retreated to Kenol, Murang’a County, renting a bedsitter on the fourth floor. Height mattered now. From there, the entire area lay exposed every movement, every approaching stranger, every police mistake. High enough to see danger coming.
Kayole was left with children and amateurs. The real monsters had relocated.
For best Investigative and History stories follow @timothyturunga
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