Sheila Stacey: My life as Mboya's private secretary

By: Sheila Stacey

[ Posted On: 2009-07-14 ]

As Tom Mboya's secretary, Sheila Stacey was a first hand witness to history, working with the brilliant Planning minister in the heady days following independence. From her home in New Zealand, Stacey, 62, speaks for the first time on her memories of the man regarded as the most gifted politician of his generation

I will never forget the first time I met Tom Mboya, one of the most talented, charming and gracious politicians Kenya has had.

My mum and I had gone to watch a film at 20th Century Cinema. During the interval, I popped out to buy something, and saw the Mboyas climbing the stairs.

I had always admired Mr Mboya, and smiled and greeted him with a "hello." He responded warmly and we proceeded back to the movie hall. Little did I know that our lives would intermingle fatefully in the following few years.

Although I only gained an average pass mark in the Cambridge School Certificate Examination, I took to learning Pitman's shorthand and typing like a duck takes to water.

Mr Mboya was invited as a guest of honour during the prize-giving day for Reeswood College, where I was studying.

I had the honour of being presented with a Parker pen set by Mr Mboya as a reward for being one of the top five students.

All those who had passed their tests managed to find a job, but I was still trying to find something where I would feel comfortable when Tom telephoned the principal Ruth Hogan to inquire whether or not there were any students, who had graduated, and who were looking for an employment opportunity.

This resulted in Mrs Hogan sending me to the Ministry of Planning for an interview. I thought that the personnel officer would take me through the interview, and I was absolutely stunned when I was ushered into Mr Mboya's office.

He was pleased with my credentials and informed me that I could start work with one of his advisers – Mr Norbye – who had travelled from Norway to take up his appointment.

Two secretaries worked in the same room and that is when I met a very dear friend – Cynthia Miranda, with whom I am still in contact – who worked for another adviser; a Mr Savosnick.

After a few months, I was promoted to work for the Ministry's under-secretary, Mr Kibuchi. It soon became apparent that Mr Kibuchi looked upon me as just another mzungu. Little did he know that my mother had been very strict with her five children, raising us strictly and instilling in us progressive attitudes towards the subject of race.

Sheila Stacey (right), with friends in a recent picture.

We were warned against picking a fight with any of our servant's children. Mum never, ever disbelieved our househelp's children, and more often than not, I would get punished for fighting with her son, Gatundu.

None of us was allowed to issue instructions to the househelp or our shamba workers. In fact, they were permitted to tell us what to do. A very good lesson was taught.

I have always regarded people of all races to be equal. That is why I was very disappointed in the way in which I was being treated. It got so bad that when Mr Kibuchi buzzed me on the telephone 30 times in all of two hours (I kept note of the amount of buzzes), I had enough.

On the 30th buzz, and when I didn't go into his office, Mr Kibuchi came out to see me sitting in my chair, manual typewriter with cover on, and all my books, pencils etc., neatly stacked on my desk.

Mr Kibuchi immediately sent me to the man regarded as the "Headmaster" – Mr Mbathi, who was Mr Mboya's Permanent Secretary at that time. I was quite forthright in what I said to Mr Mbathi: "Either I go or he does."

As it happened, Mr Mboya's then secretary, Karen Mulima, had decided to go to Canada, her homeland. Another secretary — Gladys Ogola — was in the "pipeline" but it would be a month before she and her husband, Boaz, returned from the United States.

So I was appointed temporary secretary for Mr Mboya. I had a ball, but when Gladys arrived I would either be transferred within the ministry, or have to look for another appointment. Luckily, just in the nick of time, I was offered a position as secretary to Dr Ken Ross, who worked in the veterinary department for Pfizer Corporation, at the Aga Khan Hospital, opposite City Park.

A few months later, I got a call from the ministry telling me that there was a vacancy — personal secretary to the minister — which they thought I should apply for. Gladys had left the position due to a family situation.

It was a great experience working for Tom. Being naive at that time, and only concerned about what was happening in Kenya, I didn't even comprehend how important some of the people he corresponded with were.

The list of stars included Golda Meir (Israel's first female Prime Minister); Robert Kennedy (former US senator); Indira Gandhi (former Prime Minister of India) and Dr Martin Luther King (American civil rights icon), among others.

Although both I and those who were appointed to assist me — Philadelphia, Philomena and Prisca Auma — were constantly under pressure, Tom made life enjoyable. If he was unable to take up the offer of free tickets to athletics, piano recitals, sporting events etc., he was kind enough to pass them on to his staff so that they too could experience the life that VIPs enjoyed.

All of us would remain in his office till late as he was determined to see the last person sitting in the waiting room to keep an appointment.

Tom's private secretary, Mr Otieno Nundu, and I were the only trusted duo permitted to collect his personal mail. Life was full of hard work, but also hilarious.

On one occasion, both of Tom's cars were being used and he asked if I could drop him off at his home. I really could't blame him when he opened his newspaper to the fullest width so as not to be recognised on the road. The paper blocked my vision so I was forced to almost literally stick my head out of the driver's window to see where I was going. You could just imagine the headlines: "Government minister transported home by secretary in an old beat-up 1956 Volkswagen — KHR 780!"

My mother and I shared the same vehicle and she would invariably pick me up from the ministry.

One time, when I was meant to be at Msongari Convent to take part in the Kenya Womens' Hockey Associations training session, Tom required me to stay behind rather longer than expected. Mum went home, but just after 5 p.m. Tom ordered his chauffeur to drop me off at Msongari.

I felt embarrassed at that time as Seth — the chauffer — hurtled towards the grounds, with the ministerial flag flying — so all cars would give way — to get me to training on time.

I also remember once going along to see Tom play a game of football — Kenyan diplomats against foreign diplomats. Tom took a corner kick, and I could not help laughing as the ball went wide and landed out of the field of play.

In May 1968, I celebrated my 21st birthday. Mr and Mrs Mboya, as well as Mr Phillip Ndegwa (then a Permanent Secretary) didn't take into consideration that our family lived in a humble home on the Muthaiga-Limuru road; they attended the celebrations.

Pamela and Tom presented me with the most wonderful gift, a lion-claw jewellery. Two brooches, a pair of earrings, a bracelet with five claws and a pendant with two claws forming a heart on top of which was an Alexarndrite. Phillip and his wife gave me a wonderful tray — all presents I still have.

Early one morning, my flat-mate, Jo, awoke feeling traumatised. Her then husband had taken her two children over for the weekend. When she got up, she had this terrible feeling that something was wrong. She shook me awake, and asked me to accompany her to John's house at the University of Nairobi.

When we arrived at midnight, the lights were on, but when we rang the bell to the apartment there was no answer. Jo then insisted that we drive to Embakasi Airport where we learnt that John, Guy and Kim had left Kenya for the UK.

I spoke to Tom and said that it was incumbent upon me, as a friend, to travel to England to help Jo find her children. With this in mind, Tom and I sat down to organise his itinerary. It was agreed I would only be out of his office for two days whilst I was in the UK.

To cut to the chase. John lost his appeal to take custody of his two children, and was instructed by the judge to return them to his ex-wife. When I boarded a train to travel back to Reading, where I was staying with my eldest brother, Alistair, and his wife Doreen, as I entered the sitting-room, I turned on the TV to watch the Wimbledon tennis tournament.

Assassination

During one of the matches, Tom's face appeared on the screen. I heard "assassination." I prayed that I had heard incorrectly and that it was an "attempted assassination." It turned out that I was wrong. I walked around to the police station but was unable to connect a line to speak to Pamela.

After several attempts, the Reading police came to see me and told me that I was still booked on the flight to return to Nairobi — a few days after the murder. When we arrived at Embakasi, there were several Special Branch (intelligence) agents there to greet me, and they whisked me off to take me to Tom and Pamela's home. When I arrived, those clan members who recognised me, were pushing me towards Tom's coffin.

That is when I was rescued by a colleague, Jenny Liversidge, who told me that I should remember Tom as he was, but not what he looked like (now).

When a security member knocked on the bedroom door, Pam opened the door, and fell into my arms and sobbed and sobbed. Pam asked me whether the VW keys found in Tom's Black Box belonged to me. They did not. Pamela began to tell me a story.

The first was that she had heard an owl hooting outside her bedroom – to her this was a bad omen. Pamela then continued to say that she had a dream of her adopted daughter experiencing a miscarriage. This, to her, meant that somebody was to meet with a violent death.

So many happy memories of one of the most wonderful politicians on this earth. I still feel so very guilty that I was not there for Tom. Tom was scheduled to chair an African Union meeting in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, at the time he was killed.

Great sadness

This was a time of great sadness for everyone. A month after the funeral I was invited to attend a memorial ceremony for Tom. His successor, Joseph Odero-Jowi, arranged for me to make the trip to Rusinga and we eventually arrived after several mishaps along the way.

The house in which I spent several nights on Rusinga Island had no running water or electricity. Since I was unable to bathe, I was forced to take a bath in Lake Victoria. That is when young Peter Mboya ran to his mother and said: "Mummy I saw a bright light in the Lake!" That was me!

Bright I was, white also. I will never, ever forget my trip to Rusinga. I was treated with great warmth by everyone who embraced me as part of the family.

Article Source: http://www.afroarticles.com/article-dashboard

About The Author: Ms Sheila Stacey, who was born in Kenya in May 1947, currently lives with her husband, Peter, in New Zealand.

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