Martha Koome, a well-known activist, struggled with the decision of whether to accept an offer to become a High Court judge as President Mwai Kibaki’s starry-eyed Narc administration’s reforms went full steam ahead.
She took up the role in 2003, got promoted to the Court of Appeal in 2012 and later made history as Kenya’s first female Chief Justice in 2021.
In the final instalment of our exclusive three-part serialisation of Courting Courage , her autobiography by Moran Publishers, she writes about the transition to the Bench that changed her world in ways she never imagined and the controversy surrounding a court case on the 2017 repeat presidential elections
Courting Courage, the autobiography of Martha Koome Kenya’s first female Chief Justice. Bonface Bogita | Nation
Photo credit: Bonface Bogita | Nation
In the last week of May, 2003, I received a call from William Ouko, the Registrar of the High Court. There was nothing unusual about Ouko calling me. He was my classmate at the UoN (University of Nairobi) and the Kenya School of Law. Over the years, whenever time allowed, as I was attending to my court matters, I would pass by his office for a chat and a cup of tea.
In any case, I was attending Governance, Justice, Law and Order Sector (GJLOS) meetings with him because he was the accounting officer of the Judiciary. We talked casually, cracking jokes that only classmates could understand or appreciate.
Ouko is always a joy to talk to, with a knack for awesome stories. When I thought we were done, he informed me that the Chief Justice Evan Gicheru wished to consult me on a matter he was looking at.
“It must be about the GJLOS Programme,” I told the Registrar as I offered to go and see the Chief Justice immediately. “I am first and foremost an officer of the court. I can’t keep the Honourable Chief Justice waiting,” I informed my former classmate.
Ouko took me to the office of the Chief Justice who received us warmly. “Counsel, your name has been forwarded to me for appointment as a High Court judge,” Chief Justice (Evan) Gicheru told me, looking keenly at some papers. “Do you accept the appointment?” he asked, without lifting his eyes from what I assumed was a list with the nominees’ names.
I was tongue-tied. When I walked in, I was primed to discuss the GJLOS Programme with the Chief Justice, not an appointment as a judge. I looked at Ouko for assistance. My chatty ex-classmate maintained a studious silence. I composed myself and thanked the Chief Justice for the consideration. I pleaded for time to think about it, noting that my hands and mind were already full with various engagements, both personal and public.
“There is no time. We are forwarding the names tomorrow and the swearing-in ceremony is on Monday,” the Chief Justice informed me as he lifted his eyes from the papers and looked at me straight in the face. The message sank. I had a day to make up my mind whether or not I was turning my professional life around in a completely different trajectory.
I had practised law for 15 years and it was a calling I thoroughly enjoyed. I had various engagements as an activist and women’s leader. I was also in the middle of the constitutional review process. I was left at the Chief Justice’s reception as Ouko rushed back to his office to attend to some urgent matter.
Jacinta Gitau, the Chief Justice’s Secretary, gave me a glass of cold water after seeing the anguish on my face. I sat there, sipping the water and thinking about the matter. While I was there, the Chief Justice walked out of his office. It was evident he was leaving. On inquiry, I informed him that I would give him an answer the following day after consulting with my family. My request, as he left, was to consider posting me to the Family Division of the High Court in Nairobi should I take up the offer. He said he would look into the request.
I went back to Ouko’s office and asked him about the terms and conditions of service. The salary was nothing to write home about. I informed him as much. He encouraged me to take up the appointment even though the remuneration, compared with my earnings as a lawyer in private practice, was considerably low.
He appealed to my sense of public service, promising that the reward would be in job satisfaction. “There is a more personal reason why you should take this offer. You will be the first member of our class to be appointed a judge. These matters require a trailblazer. This will make way for us,” he said as he summed up his persuasion.
I had not seen it that way. It was a solemn drive home that day. I reflected on my life and wondered whether there was any sense and purpose in it at all. I saw myself in Kithiu Village (my place of birth in Meru) with Gaake (my mother), recalling her diligent efforts and prayers for me to get an education and a good job.
I was sure if I accepted the offer, she would be happy for me. I thought about my legal practice and the over a dozen employees and their families who depended on it. If I closed the firm, I would render them jobless and perhaps destitute. Then there were my many women clients. Who would give those vulnerable women and children, who looked up to me to defend their legal rights and restore their dignity, a shoulder to cry on? My mission as a human rights activist had now taken me to the epicentre of all legal reforms, the constitutional review.
Activism, for better or for worse, had become my all-consuming purpose in life. Whenever my mind had veered off into the possibility of public service, I saw myself as a good fit for the newly established Kenya National Commission on Human Rights (KNCHR). This was the area of my core competence. The NARC government had come to power (in 2003) on a reform agenda. The much criticised and perpetually loathed (Daniel) Moi regime had been toppled in the polls.
All my erstwhile compatriots in the struggle had big positions in government, and were calling the shots. There was a new dawn and the expectation that the new government would do things differently from the Moi regime. During President Moi’s 24-year rule, public officers were appointed or fired without consultation. We would learn about it through the 1pm news bulletin on the national broadcaster. This resulted in many square pegs in round holes in the public service.
Former Liberian President Ellen Johnson Sirleaf joins Chief Justice Martha Koome (centre) and her family members during the launch of her book "Courting Courage" on February 20, 2026, at the Safari Park Hotel, Nairobi.
Photo credit: Francis Nderitu | Nation Media Group
The new government had surprised me when, out of the blue, I was appointed a council member of Egerton University in a public announcement. I declined the appointment in a public rejoinder for reasons that I did not have any competence for the job and I was not consulted.
I gratuitously advised the appointing authority to consider the many eminent educationalists in Kenya for such a position. This sent shock waves to my friends in government. To some members of the public, this was the hallmark of a vintage and incorrigible activist.
I had to contend with the more mundane issues of bread and butter. The package Ouko had shared with me could hardly sustain a comfortable lifestyle. My husband (Koome Kiragu) had quit formal employment to try his hand in the real estate business. While he was not struggling financially, my law practice was increasingly putting in more money into the family kitty than his real estate ventures.
Money, however, did not define our marriage and was not likely to be a source of discord like in the numerous family cases I was handling. Koome had trusted me to run his bank account, which received his salary, his only source of income, when we were newly married. I was a student with no income of my own.
I got home heavily weighed down by these considerations. Fortunately, Koome was home. He flashed that smile, the one I first experienced in that rickety matatu from Kamukara to Meru Town.
“We need to sit down and discuss a serious matter,” my husband said unexpectedly.
“Not when my mind is in a whirlwind. I am overwhelmed,” I protested. “Precisely. Let us discuss whatever is troubling you. I can see it written all over your face. I can feel it,” he said.
I narrated my predicament arising from my brief meeting with the Chief Justice. He listened keenly. My mind became clearer as he looked at every scenario; the pros and cons. Koome has never been intimidated by my success; we have lived a life of mutual respect and support. I had early on learnt the importance of consultation and communication.
I would be leaving the independent and lucrative legal practice at a time when the possibilities were unlimited, he admitted. My compatriots in the struggle were squarely in government and I could, if I was minded, leverage on the connections to mint tonnes and tonnes of money. Money was an enabler, a means to a meaningful life, Koome reasoned.
It was not an end in itself. He reminded me that at the outset we had survived on a single pay slip of a junior government employee yet, with hindsight, we never lacked.
My activist life would come to an abrupt end. It was common ground that activists were viewed, especially by the government, as the free radicals we had learnt about in chemistry classes. They were good-for-nothing, know-it-all loudmouths who approached every issue under the sun with open mouths and closed minds.
I was an activist, he conceded, but a corrigible and collegial one! The reserved life of a judge required more introspection of thoughts and circumspection of action. The activist role, he had noticed, was having a toll on me. He had seen my struggles with my vulnerable women clients who needed psychosocial support.
He cited the example of the lady in distress who had camped by my hospital bed when I was on maternity leave. The demand for my time when I was recuperating after the Busia aircraft accident, in his view, had interfered with my quick recovery. “Change is like rest,” Koome said.
Courting Courage, the autobiography of Martha Koome Kenya’s first female Chief Justice pictured at the Nation Centre on February 18, 2026.
Photo credit: Bonface Bogita | Nation Media Group
On 2nd May, 2003, a notice was published in the official Gazette under the hand and seal of the President, appointing me and seven others as Judges of the High Court. The previous government leaders, from the top echelons to the rank and file in KANU, were displeased by the choice of four of us.
There was my fellow activist from private practice, Mohammed Ibrahim, a one-time political detainee. G.B.M. Kariuki was a known dissident who had led the LSK when the organisation was one of the few voices of dissent.
The quiet Joyce Khaminwa had practised law at Khaminwa & Khaminwa with her more famous and daredevil lawyer husband, Dr John Khaminwa, a former political detainee. The inclusion of Martha Koome, the activist, in this mix made it worse.
First, it was Parliament where the majority of elected members had an axe to grind with KANU. Second, it was the Executive where cabinet ministers and their assistants included former detainees, activists and public-spirited reformers.
Finally, it was the Judiciary, which had appointed outright activists as judges. To critics, activists had taken over the country. The other four judges appointed in our group were considered moderate and balanced. They were Hannah Okwengu, a no-nonsense long-serving magistrate and one-time assistant director of the Kenya Anti-Corruption Authority, Benjamin Kubo, a former Solicitor General, Prof. Onesmus K. Mutungi, who was the Principal of the UoN College of Humanities and finally, my favourite teacher, Leonard Njagi.
The swearing-in ceremony took place at State House, Nairobi, on 4th June, 2003. We found a number of professional colleagues and former activists, veterans of the “trenches,” then working as cabinet ministers, waiting for us. They included Kiraitu Murungi, Charity Ngilu and Prof. Anyang Ny’ong’o.
A wedding and a promotion
I was serving in the Environment and Land Court when vacancies in the Court of Appeal arose. The process entailed the advertisement of the positions in the media. I applied and was shortlisted. I had prepared for the interview, which was open, transparent and broadcast live in the media. I went through a rigorous question-and-answer session by the JSC. The panel focused on my ability to work in a collegial court.
The commissioners also tested my ability to interpret the provisions of the Constitution and the laws in general. It was during this interview that my poor performance at the university was raised. A commissioner wanted to know why I had attained a pass at the university. This caused me a lot of distress. I told them about my background: I went to the university as a nursing mother and a wife.
I explained that I had to balance my family responsibilities with my studies. I also mentioned that I went on to obtain an LLM in International Law, in addition to other academic qualifications and numerous short courses.
Fortunately, Chief Justice Willy Mutunga, the Chairperson of the JSC, came to my rescue. He said that I should be judged on the basis of my overall academic performance, social and professional achievements and not on the basis of one undergraduate degree. He quipped that even C.B. Madan, the most celebrated judge in Kenya who served as the Chief Justice between 1985 and 1986, never went to a university to study law.
The JSC did not indicate when the results of the interview would be announced. Shortly after the interview, I found myself very busy in a family activity that I was playing a key role. I was involved in wedding preparations and was elated when the much-anticipated day finally arrived. We sang for the bride in the traditional Meru way.
It was a solemn day, a no-phone day for me. My niece, Nerida Nkatha, was getting married. The groom was a bright Ethiopian national, Brooke Yetaferi.
We settled for dinner, enjoying the laughter and good-natured banter with friends, family and in-laws when the master of ceremonies congratulated me over the public address system. I could not immediately understand the reason for the congratulations. Then one of the guests came to me.
“Congratulations. You have made us proud. You have been appointed Judge of Appeal. You deserve the appointment,” he said. It was double blessing for me, careerwise and socially. The JSC had elevated me to the second-highest court in the country. My niece and her husband had promoted me to the enviable community position of an aunt-in-law
Then Court of Appeal JudgeJustice Martha Koome when she appeared before the Judicial Service Commission at the Supreme Court buildings on April 14, 2021 for the Chief Justice interview.
Photo credit: Jeff Angote | Nation Media Group
The 2017 presidential election was held in Kenya on 8th August. The Supreme Court, by a majority decision, nullified the election on 1st September, 2017. It was the first time in Africa for a court to overturn a presidential vote. The Supreme Court ordered the Independent Electoral and Boundaries Commission (IEBC) to conduct a fresh presidential election.
In compliance with the Supreme Court decision, the IEBC made preparations for the repeat election, which was scheduled for 26th October, 2017. They went ahead and gazetted poll returning officers and their deputies. In the run-up to the repeat election, some petitioners went to the High Court to challenge the legality of the gazetted returning officers.
The matter, as expected, was hotly contested. The High Court delivered a decision on the eve of the repeat election, which by a twist of fate had been declared a public holiday. The Court found that the gazettement of the poll officials was null and void, because the IEBC had failed to adhere to the electoral regulations.
The decision was delivered a few hours before the opening of the repeat polls. The decision alarmed IEBC as it created uncertainty on the legality of the repeat election. The IEBC filed an application before the Court of Appeal under certificate of urgency, seeking a suspension or stay of the High Court decision.
I had taken my elder sister, Charity, to Nairobi Hospital for medical tests as she had been ailing. While at the hospital, I received a call from the Registrar of the Court of Appeal. He informed me that the President of the Court had included me in a three-judge bench to hear an urgent application. The President had directed that we urgently convene at the Court to hear the matter, he added. There was nothing unusual about the call. It comes with the territory. The Registrar did not mention the nature of the matter or the other judges on the bench.
My sister was still undergoing medical procedures at the hospital, but we had to abandon them midway. I drove her home and proceeded to the Supreme Court building, where I found the other two judges —Erastus Githinji and Fatuma Sichale — waiting for me. Justice Githinji, being the senior-most among us, was the Presiding Judge. He directed that we robe because the hearing was a formal court process. We familiarised ourselves with the application that we were about to hear and read.
That was the time I knew the application involved the repeat presidential election. We formally convened in open court at 4pm. We heard counsel for IEBC. We then retreated to Judge Githinji’s chamber for deliberation.
We concluded that the application had merit and suspended the High Court order. We communicated the decision before close of normal court working hours to counsel for the IEBC and left the court building shortly thereafter. By the time the proceedings and orders were typed and authenticated by the Deputy Registrar and formally released, it was past working hours.
“A lie can travel halfway around the world while the truth is putting on its shoes,” is a saying attributed to the great American writer Mark Twain. When the orders went public, fake news and propaganda went into overdrive on social media. The versions of what had transpired were many and constantly mutating.
When we woke up the following morning, the fake news had travelled several times all over the world, where the repeat election was keenly awaited and monitored. One version went that we had not sat at all because we were in different towns at the time of the alleged court hearing.
Another popular version was that we had sat deep in the night to issue the orders. The supposed motive for the orders was also stated: we had been bribed. Huge sums of money in different currencies were quoted as having been used to grease our palms.
The distortion of the court proceedings did not stop with social media. Rumours spread widely, and the “bush telegraph” was rife with sensational stories. The misinformation soon found its way into the mainstream media. The purveyors of the falsehoods applied for and were supplied with certified court proceedings and orders.
Chief Justice Martha Karambu Koome making her address at the Supreme Court on May 21, 2021 soon after being sworn-in at State House, Nairobi.
Photo credit: Jeff Angote | Nation Media Group
Our decision was later confirmed by the Supreme Court when some petitioners sought to invalidate the subsequent repeat presidential election. The allegations were given credence when a complaint against the three of us was lodged with the JSC, alleging misconduct on account of holding a night court.
The Commission scrutinised the record and heard the complainant. The Registrar of the Court of Appeal testified that he had called us without disclosing the nature of the matter we were about to hear, on instructions of the President of the Court of Appeal.
He confirmed that we robed, sat and heard the matter and deliberated before we issued the orders. The court assistants, who were on duty, also confirmed that we held a regular and normal session. The JSC dismissed the complaint.
The allegations were tested in a subsequent civil suit for defamation where some media houses conceded that the story was fabricated. All these factors did not vindicate us in the eyes of the propagandists. They believed that a repeated lie can gain some truth over time. The allegations continued to be made for political purposes by people who knew or ought to have known better. The justice system depends on public trust for the legitimacy of its processes and outcomes.
The courts in Kenya have been mandated to determine whether elections are free and fair and conducted in accordance with the law. The courts have become easy targets of politicians seeking to advance narratives that suit their interests.
Unfortunately, this involves misinformation and disinformation intended to portray judges as either incompetent, corrupt or captured by rival political formations. This is more so in the high[1]stakes political contestations involving presidential and gubernatorial elections. It was Mark Twain who also remarked: “Never tell the truth to people who are not worthy of it.”
