Boss Takes All (43 page)

BOOK: Boss Takes All

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âYou will probably know that the proposed trial of Abel Rubai will not be taking place today. Paul has something to read to you.'

âI have here a letter written last night by a member of this chamber, Simon Nyache, the representative for Nakuru South. It is addressed to Mister Abel Rubai, whom I note is not a member of this parliament.

âDear Abel, we have known each other for many years now, most of that time as good friends. You are a man of intelligence and energy. When you became financial adviser to our late president, I considered that this country was fortunate. You guided our country through many difficult times. You grew more powerful and, in time, in my humble opinion, too powerful. I fear that you became more and more estranged from the interests of our country to the point where you, with your small army of paid men, have seen it as satisfactory to run Kenya as your personal fiefdom. Rubai's interests took priority over the interests of the state.

âThat is why you are facing trial tomorrow. For the sake of our people, I hope you will be found guilty. Abel, you have misused your gifts. What a great leader you could have been!

âOn a personal level, I know that I have displeased you and you have seen fit to punish me by taking from me my beloved wife, Margaret, and my granddaughters. Please, God, they are still alive! So, in hope I beg of you, once more, to restore them to the family. I solemnly offer my own life in their place. Take this worthless thing from me in any way you choose. Take it now!'

There was a pause. When Daniel judged the moment to be right he looked âround the chamber very slowly and went on.

âThis evening, make sure that you are near a television set that shows CNN news. Let me explain. Four hours ago, Simon Nyache stood in front of Abel Rubai. He reached into his pocket to take this letter out. As you will see, before he could do so, Abel Rubai, in front of millions of witnesses, drew a gun and fired two bullets into the old man's frail body.'

The chamber erupted. The shouts of anger and outrage drowned each other into a chaotic roar of noise. All over the chamber fights broke out between doubters and believers. Order was only restored by unusual but effective action by the speaker. He fired one shot into the floor and another into the ceiling. While the members took refuge behind their desks, Paul moved forward with his arms outstretched in a gesture of supplication.

âMy fellow Kenyans, I have one more piece of news, one more important thing to say. Abel Rubai will not face a court today, nor on any other day. He, too, is dead. Abel Rubai is dead.'

A moment of silence and a collective gasp of shock were followed by a wide range of personally instinctive reactions. Most KANU members were on their feet hollering, jumping up and down and waving their arms about. Others sat quietly grieving, but Daniel and Paul were taken aback that not one member was pressing them to explain how the great man had died and by whose hand. Perhaps they were preoccupied with working on how the cataclysmic event would affect their own lives. They seemed to have lost interest in the messenger. Paul turned to Daniel and shrugged.

âWhy were we so worried? The king is dead. Long live self-interest!'

In the confusion, Paul and Daniel slipped out by a back door and were hurried away from the city centre by Hosea Kabari.

Next morning there were thousands of wananchi on the streets, but what took place out there could not be described as riots set off by the death of a beloved leader. Long rows of young men and women stomped down Uhuru Highway and into Kenyatta Avenue, smiling and chanting rhythmic war cries. But there was no fire, no passion. No cars were turned over, no shops looted. Most of the marchers had watched the evening broadcast on CNN news. As they sat in front of their screens, any anger they felt had been directed at Rubai. In the morning, when they had read the list of charges against him as republished in The Nation, there was a ring of truth about them that they had not acknowledged when they had read them before.

Three short weeks later and the country had settled into a kind of peace. The people of Naivasha had returned to work, many of them on the lakeside flower farms. It had become a custom for families to take evening strolls to the edge of town to check on the progress in the build of their new hospital.

Sally Rubai had taken her family back to their home in Karen. She grieved at the loss of Abel. Every day, visitors came to offer their sympathy, many of them giving well-intentioned advice on how she might cope with the shock of her loss. Most were surprised with the new widow's composure which they saw as some kind of reward for her life of prayer.

Sally herself hardly dared to admit to herself that with Abel's passing, some tensions in her life were lifted. She no longer had to pretend about certain aspects of her married life. Abel's secretiveness, particularly in the last year, had troubled her. She had been afraid to bring her suspicions out into the open. It was becoming more difficult to play the role of the innocent, trusting wife. She looked forward with a kind of hope, surprised that she felt no guilty feelings about this readiness to let herself be changed. She thought many times about her up-country friends. Perhaps one day she might be able to visit Londiani. She sent a very large cheque to her much loved Rebecca for her new hospital.

The hospital fund administered by Barney Miller was drawing money from all over the world. His daughter, Debbie, took a year off from her studies in Boston to supervise the build of her design. On a short visit home she had taken Lydia Smith and helped her with the formalities of beginning her nursing training in the hospital on the university campus. Jim Sawyer had helped his three Welsh friends to build a chapel next to the new hospital, Capel Dewi Sant.

The first baby born in the new maternity wing was later baptised Stephen Alexander McCall.

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