Four years ago, the late Governor Wahome Gakuru was scheduled to appear on a vernacular radio station and a TV morning show to discuss Mt Kenya development projects.
Key among them was the need to revive the Nanyuki railway line.
On the eve of the fateful day, the governor and his team deliberated on whether to travel to Nairobi the same night or wait until dawn. They settled for night travel.
However, at around 8pm, and 13km into their journey to Nairobi, the governor asked the driver to detour to his parents’ house for a cup of tea and a tete-a-tete.
Soon after, they retreated to the governor’s official residence, where he prepared ugali for supper. They would resume their journey at the break of dawn.
“It was raining heavily when they picked me up, and as a routine he would hand me his phone to go through messages and phone calls, notifying him what needed his immediate attention, what people wanted and whom he needed to meet,” said Albert Muchiri, the governor’s personal assistant.
“I got into putting together some talking points for him in readiness for the morning TV and radio show.”
On their way, Muchiri recalled, they listened to newspaper reviews on a radio station. Since that day, he has relived the moments through pictures and videos taken at the scene.
“At some point along the way, I fell asleep or was completely absent-minded… I do not remember the crash. I came to myself on a Thursday in a hospital bed,” he said.
“My head was bandaged. I could not move my legs and my left hand was tied to the rib. But the TV was on and there were people talking in the room I was in.”
After Muchiri regained consciousness, a doctor approached his bed, did the normal checks and notified him he was at Aga Khan Hospital and a relative was seated outside waiting to see him.
“My sister-in-law was always there, only leaving the hospital to freshen up. The accident was overwhelming for my wife. I learnt about the accident on TV and the demise of my boss that afternoon.”
That was on November 7, 2017. Muchiri later learnt that the wrist of his left hand had been tucked in his stomach under a pocket of tissues to give it time to heal and form a new blood supply.
“The doctors had to tear my belly open and tuck my hand inside before they began the surgeries to separate the fingers since after the accident, my fingers were squeezed into a fist… it stayed in there for a month.”
Muchiri had also suffered an injury in his right leg that left him immobile. He relied on other people to help him get by, clean up and feed.
Thousands of people came to see him at the hospital, including his mother. She travelled from Nyeri that very day of the accident after a false report aired on radio indicated that Muchiri had died in the accident.
“I was told my mother fainted when she heard the radio presenter affirm to listeners that I had died. I have never forgiven that presenter but I hope to do so one day. What if my mother had died of shock?”
Further, on social media, some individuals amplified the rumours that he was dead, causing panic among his friends and family.
“It took me months to forgive the pages behind those fake rumours. They tagged me in their posts so there are reminders to date on Facebook.”
On the other hand, his wife Elsie had believed he was dead as doctors had barred everyone from seeing him.
“I was in for my first surgery that took 11 hours. After a few days, I was released to go home and be taken to hospital every day. It was bad and emotional and the pain was unbearable.”
At home, everyone had to adjust their lives to accommodate me. They had to make a bed in the sitting room to make it easier for visitors to see me.
“My wife would look at me and cry. My then three-year-old son was stressed and depressed, I could tell.
“He would be ‘chased’ away from the sitting room for a while so that I could be cleaned. He could not leave the house to go play with other kids or watch his favourite cartoons. We opted to take him to school early to save him from the agony of seeing me writhe in pain every day.”
In retrospect, Muchiri figured that everybody around him had stalled their lives for the sake of his well-being.
One day, a few weeks after being discharged from hospital, he thought he was strong enough to take himself to his doctor’s appointment. He had barely walked 100 metres from his house when he got a muscle pull in the injured leg.
He had no phone on him and called on passers-by to help him get back to the house. This incident added to the emotional turmoil of his caregivers and made Muchiri realise that he needed to accept help.
As 2017 drew to an end, Muchiri had a euphoric feeling that the troublesome year that had taken much from him was ending. His resolution was: “New Year! New me! New opportunities! Different struggles.”
“The wound on my wrist used to be cleaned on a daily basis. On this day, the doctors said I had got an infection and I had to be admitted and undergo another surgery. My hopes were dashed. I crossed over to 2018 in the hospital.”
Normally, he would have spent the day at his rural home in Mukurweini, Nyeri County, with family and friends sipping traditional booze or muratina awaiting the celebrations at midnight.
“I am a workaholic to a point I cannot sleep with pending work. I have a lot of energy but here I was doing absolutely nothing other than sitting around, eating and waiting for things to be done for me. My life changed.”
As a habit, every year in the week of his birthday in March towards the Easter holiday he undertakes a project, anything monumental to celebrate. In 2018, he planned to take a new friend to his rural ACK church in Mukurweini to start a tiling and roofing project.
But in the week before his birthday on March 12, doctors said they were ready for another surgery to separate his fingers.
“The surgeries were unsuccessful as the doctors only managed to separate the thumb. They could not do more as there was a danger of over-bleeding.”
Determined to mark his birthday as he had previously done, he arranged to make his first appearance in church two days after the surgery. People in the village had not seen him and there was talk that he was either dead or incapacitated.
“This was the first time I was wearing trousers and shoes. I went to church in a vest. Everyone in church was happy. People from other churches came and it was full to the brim. It was an overwhelming feeling. I was home.”
At the time, Governor Mutahi Kahiga had taken over as the county chief as stipulated by the law.
“I was still an employee of the Nyeri County government but the governor’s office had not paid me from November to March, until I pleaded with them in the dailies. It was difficult to cater for my treatment as I had exhausted my insurance limits.”
Muchiri recalls it was during the thanksgiving ceremony at his rural home that it dawned on him that his services were no longer required at the county government offices.
“I failed to take the aloofness since my hospitalisation to recovery as clues I was unwanted at the county offices.”
After returning to work, Muchiri did not know in which capacity he was working but after a few days he was posted as an officer at the performance unit, a delivery hub that ensured synergy in all projects in the county.
“I underwent counselling and was reinstated in May. After a month I decided to leave Nyeri because my employer was cold towards me. I stayed away from the office and in August when I handed in my resignation letter, the county secretary gracefully stamped it and I officially resigned in August.”
By the time he was resigning, a friend had told him to apply for a position at the newly formed Presidential Delivery Unit (PDU) and he had been recruited in July before being officially hired on September 1.
Throughout the healing journey, he said, none of the people he started with were concerned about him.
“They abandoned me. They did not call. They wrote me off. In fact, I was the one calling them when I needed help with money for clinics. But when I was working with the governor, my phone was always buzzing.
“I have stopped using the term ‘must’ when I want something from people. I do not expect much from people as my outlook on life has changed. People who talked to me then and they talk with now will tell you I am different.”
For a while he had declined registering as a disabled person, arguing that other people have had it worse.
“I identify as a person living with a disability now. I cannot do much of what I used to do. Simple tasks like tying my shoelaces, the children will sit in darkness until their mom returns home to change the bulb, serving myself at a buffet. But I am blessed to have a great family and supportive friends.”
Since the accident, the father of three said, he has learnt to take one day at a time.
“It is good to invest in people. Your network is your net worth. I have very few friends now but they are resourceful.”
