The House was all set for her impeachment, with 169 signatures collected. Then something changed and suddenly she was being asked to accept an apology publicly.
Former Cabinet Secretary Sicily Kariuki speaks to Pamella Sittoni about her experiences as a minister, and the battles she fought.
Q. The question I’m sure everybody is asking you is: Why politics when you had what many consider a dream job?
In life, it gets to a point where you interrogate the path you’ve taken, and you can decide to remain in your comfort zone. That’s how being a Cabinet secretary looks like. I interrogated, following a lot of consultation, what it meant for me to have had the chances that have moved me from an extremely humble spot, to sitting in the Cabinet with the President. And that alone tells me that I owe society something in return. And that is how I’ve reached this position.
Q. What did it take to make such a life-changing decision?
It’s been a journey. I’ve listened to a lot of different voices, wondering: When you’re done with your time in Cabinet and the President is retiring, what plans do you have? There were many options. For instance, I’m a patron of a family foundation, which we put together in honour of our late daughter Noni. We have children in school, and we do environmental conservation, and wanted to grow to be able to give livelihood support, by way of training the jobless young people to become employable, or self-employed. I would have chosen to run this alongside family business.
I’m also privileged to be in the adjunct faculty of Harvard University. Once in a while, I’ll be able to consult with them to be a guest speaker whenever there is a cohort of new ministers in Africa or in the Caribbean. I would have chosen to also develop that path.
Q. What has your journey been?
My career path, which is quite interesting, has given me opportunities to be mashinani (at the grassroots). When I was the CEO of the Fresh Produce Exporters Association in the ‘90s, my work was actually going to the farms to inspect practices, capacity-build farmers to deliver fresh produce that was acceptable in the international marketplace.
When I moved to Tea Board as a CEO, I spent a lot of time on tea farms, again interacting with farmers, and asking the question: Why do I find huge numbers of women doing the hard work? You hardly find a man doing the hard labour.
This woman is just a casual labourer, holds no title, no shares. I think that’s when my bias in terms of wearing gender lenses was provoked. How is it that the casual labourers are just the women? The managers, supervisors and decision makers are the other gender.
But it didn’t occur to me that it was that role until two occasions. When I was at Fresh Produce, I was expecting our last-born daughter, the late Noni. My board chair said to me: “Oh, you’re looking a little bit interesting. You didn’t tell me you were expecting? Who’s going to run this place?” Yes, chauvinist. And I said to him: You know what? The only other person who should know when I’m looking round, or otherwise, is one Mr Kariuki, since it’s not public news.
Then next, I went for the Tea Board interview. This was very competitive. You recall when President Mwai Kibaki came in, he was very determined to professionalise the public sector. That is when I applied for the job. I went for the interview and found a panel of about 20 people, all men. And I sit there and they say: “So being a lady, do you understand the tea market? International tea market?” I said: Yes, I do. And this is how you’re going to survive. It is… male-dominated… The gentleman who was the CEO ahead of me had passed on.
So again, I was the first lady and I had to confront this. And I said: You know what? It really depends. My background is marketing. That’s my training. I will figure it out. So give me the job. And, somehow, I got the job.
And then there was a change of government. I was in my ninth year. It gave me a chance to pick these adverts where they were calling for principal secretaries. I did apply. And I went through the interview processes. I was quite excited to be called to State House. The rest is history.
We worked hard with then-CS Felix Koskei. I enjoyed what I was doing, except for two things: We moved in when the financial year had started and there had only been one vote. I was privileged to be made the accounting officer for three departments. I had to work on Saturdays and Sundays to catch up. It created a lot of hatred and they called me Super PS.
But the most phenomenal one was when Minister Koskei had travelled and the President wanted him back. As I briefed him, he stood up and shook my hand. And he said: “You know what, when I leave this office, I want you to take over; I want you sitting here.” It was a prayer because soon after he left, I got promotion to the Cabinet.
Q. How did you get the appointment to the Cabinet?
It was November 24, 2015. I sat on the board of ICRAF as a government representative. I remember being called and told: “Are you out of town? If you aren’t, the boss asked you not to leave.” I just hung around after the board meeting was over, then I came to my office. Nobody was calling me, or telling me anything. I’ve been told not to go, so I’m wondering: Do I go home?
As I got home, on the news bulletin, one Sicily Karimi (my boss even forgets my name; Karimi is my daughter) promoted and posted to the Department of Public Service. And I’m all right with that. Public service is not much of a challenge. And so the following day, I am just trying to deal with myself; how do you just move to Cabinet like this? You didn’t lobby, you didn’t have godfathers. And so do I pack to leave? Do I go now to celebrate or do I call the boss to ask him what this means?
And then I go through the parliamentary approval process. At the turn of the new year, I get my briefing, and am told these should be the focus areas. But the following day, as I speak with my boss, it occurs to me that Public Service is the last segment. It is actually Youth, Gender and Public Service. And you know what was happening in the Gender and Youth space. So that Friday, I could hardly hack it. How do I start? This space is completely polluted. But I was assured of support.
We did a great job; we reorganised spaces; people had to move, but treading carefully, because you don’t know whether there are shells below your feet. I am forever grateful because that docket gave me a chance to focus on the youth agenda, and I was then privileged to set up Saccos under NYS everywhere and expand the NYS youth intake at Gilgil college threefold, from 4,000 per year to 12,000.
Nyandarua governor aspirant Sicily Kanini Kariuki.
I learned a lot; the gender space was quite phenomenal for me, as that is when we were trying to push the Two-Third Gender Bill through Parliament. But it just wasn’t moving. We set up a lot of things and everything started rolling. For the first time, the women’s fund was able to support a lot of women.
The youth space had a bit of drama. I remember people telling me not to touch the chairman (God rest his soul) because he was so connected. And I said I was not sure I was told about connections. Two years later, it was election time. I did make lemonade out of lemons given to me — mobilised the youth vote and the rest is history.
Q. What transpired after the election?
Come January 5, 2018, and the President is back after his ‘third’ election. Everybody is waiting anxiously as the boss is reorganising his Cabinet. Then there’s news on a Friday afternoon. And six men, we called them the Six Musketeers, are back in Cabinet.
Q. Why do you think he did it piecemeal and how did you deal with it?
I think the President needed to make other decisions. And he needed to have a team he could consult.
The women I was working with, including Maendeleo Ya Wanawake, started calling me: “This is very unfair. It cannot be. You worked hard. We are going to the streets…” Because of the pressure, the following day I call the Head of Public Service. How do you propose I behave? And he says: Oh, come on, you still have a job.
In the meantime, the headlines are saying a couple of guys, a few female colleagues and I are out, sacked!
On Monday, as usual, quite early, and I go to the office and call my PSs to a management meeting. After a week I’m hopeful that the President makes certain decisions on Fridays, but Friday comes and he does nothing. We do another week … we did three weeks. On January 26, my colleague Joe Mucheru calls and says: “Hi, how are you daktari? Congratulations… You’re the new minister for Health.” Just like that.
Q. What was the Health ministry like?
It was the first time I walked into the ministry since I was born. Dr Cleopas Mailu had to hand over and prepare to go out as an ambassador. I did three phenomenal things. It was for the first time that the boss travelled to Cuba. While he was there, he called and said: “I need these doctors.”
After one-and-a-half months or so, I found myself flying into Cuba for the first time. I signed the memorandum, looked at the whole team, the entire template and came back home a happier person, only to come home and find the level of understanding so low.
People were a bit disappointed. They failed to understand the life expectancy and the death rate due to disease is lowest in Cuba because of their health model. But my biggest challenge was moving the Universal Health Coverage concept to action. I quickly formed a team to advise me. I found a few deep thinkers, people interested in making a difference. We set up the UHC foundation and the pilot phase, which the World Bank was keen to support.
In the meantime, we were working out a more sustainable framework and template, looking at how to reform the NHIF. So I set up a taskforce headed by experts. If I may single out just one, and the President must have known her because every time I went to do a briefing in State House I went along with this young girl called Dr Mercy Mwangangi.
Q. How did you meet her?
She started off as somebody who did not have a job, not even a desk in the ministry. She was sharp and energetic. When I went to Cuba, on my way I was making a presentation in Washington. After my presentation, this young girl comes and says: “I’m Dr Mwangangi.” And she asks for an opportunity to see me when I come back home to share some ideas. I adopted her just like that. The rest is history.
Q. Is that how she became CAS?
She’s just a special person. She would work with me until midnight and she had to go all the way to Machakos. Then she was joined by another young girl, same age, same brilliance, called Dr Wangare. Fast forward, we do the pilot, we do the foundation thing, we did a lot of work in health within two years. And when it was time to move, I sensed it because what the governors did was to allow the Managed Equipment Service to become my thing. It was my burden.
I had walked in when the equipment had been distributed. But it was meant to look like from a point of burden, it was me in the wrong. The containers were made to look like they imported during my time. I had sensed that my time was out. I didn’t mind; I prayed about it. So on January 14, I am sitting with Dr Mwangangi, who has since grown into an advisor. And my secretary walks in and says: “The President is addressing the nation.”
Oh, it’s a Cabinet reshuffle, let’s watch: Sicily Kariuki: Moved. Named: Mutahi Kagwe. CAS: Mercy Mwangangi. The girl just drops on the seat. She says “You knew! You must have known.” She screams. Then I see Sicily Kariuki: Water. So I know I still have a job.
Q. What was your next station like?
It took about six weeks for CS Kagwe to be vetted. And so I happily handed over. Again, I found all these engineers around me. It was the first time I went to the Ministry of Water. And I learned quickly. There was so much to be done. We came up with a different template, workplan, and culture. I met with my top officials every so often, just to have a cup of tea, speak and be friends. I picked about 60 projects that had stalled because of tax exemptions.
Q. You resigned from the Water docket two weeks ago. What has changed for you?
It’s a little bit uncomfortable, of course. There’s the issue of resources, which keep a lot of women from coming into political spaces, because it’s very, very expensive. There are people out there who feel it is harvest time. So you must have a lot of money, and you need to go dishing it out. I don’t do that, it’s not how to do it. You have to be extremely careful, because there is no pay check next week. I’m also putting in very long and very unstructured hours.
It’s unstructured to that extent and because you want to optimise every moment to speak to people, share your vision and listen to them. I have found, very disappointingly, that goons are being invited to my meetings. That’s very unsettling. And I understand it’s one of the tactics used to intimidate, particularly female candidates. I have been exposed to that enough times, including yesterday. I’ve also experienced the abuse on social media. You have decoys and people you can’t identify introducing propaganda day by day.
I have not had a chance of setting up structures. Because only until and unless my resignation was accepted, would I then start putting the structures in place as it’s very expensive. So I’m chewing gum and walking at the same time.
On the positive side, I have found very many willing partners in the church, among women, youth, professionals and village elders.
Q. What are their issues?
They form themselves into groups and say: “We want to meet with you. We’re going to vote for you because we’ve seen what you’ve done. We have seen the mess in the county, particularly the fighting that has been there. We’ve seen the level of service delivery, which is still wanting.”
This afternoon, I had a very interesting encounter in a village with this elderly man who said: “We know that you’re being intimidated, but we are your army. Those men better hear it from me. I’m a Mukorino but I’m giving you authority to go and wear jeans, in particular, and boots and fight with those men.”
Q. Your detractors say you’re an outsider in Nyandarua because you were not born there. What do you say?
Propaganda is what it is. The conversation around where I was born and where I belong has become almost irrelevant; there’s no news about that. It is true I was born in Embu. I didn’t choose and don’t deny that. But I have been a daughter of this place for over 32 years. I’ve spent most of my life here.
I tell them that is what it is. What does it matter? Are you looking for somebody to lead you because of where they were born or are you looking for a leader who will make a difference?
Q. A lot is known about your career life, but who really is Sicily? What kind of childhood did you have?
I want to be involved at the community level because I come from an extremely humble background. My mother, who is now 95, was a peasant. My home, where I was born in Embu, bordered the late Minister Jeremiah Nyaga’s homestead, fence to fence. And when I say humble, I mean humble. If we wanted to see what a TV looked like, you went to the minister’s home. My father, God rest his soul, was a small-scale businessman in Thika. I spent limited time in Embu because I joined my father in Standard Four and went to school in Thika.
Nyandarua governor aspirant Sicily Kanini Kariuki.
I thank God because my parents instilled in us good values, to work hard to earn. That pushed me to where I am. They also taught us that you can’t limit yourself, and my father believed, although we were four girls and three boys, that all seven of us were equal. I’m the second-last-born, and I come after two boys. I grew up being told: “You’re the same”. At that age it means a lot. I think it started helping me to hone gender equality in a very subtle way.
Growing up with boys, there was a lot of cheekiness and I enjoyed just being funny. I still do. If I wasn’t getting a lot of money to do what I do, I would be a stand-up comedian or a musician. Anyway, I did well in primary school and went to Mary Hill Girls’ School. And I was privileged to join the University of Nairobi where I studied a Bachelor of Commerce, majoring in Marketing.
Q. In Cabinet, you had many challenges, when your career was threatened. How did you manage to get out?
I didn’t need to get out of it at all, I found a situation having already occurred. If you recall, NYS One had already happened by the time I went to the ministry. My role then was working on systems and rebranding the space.
Anytime I sat with my management team, I told them about the conversation I had had with the boss when he was assigning me the Youth Service docket. He told me: “You’re going to go into a ministry where you will find resources, a lot of resources because I want to serve the youth. I want to deliver on the commitment I made to the youth, when they gave me a chance to be their president. So when you find a lot of money, please, remind yourself every morning that it’s not your money. Okay? Because if you make it your money, you’re going to be in trouble.”
I’m a good student because that is the same thing my parents told me: That which is not yours, forget about it. So, I made it a song. To my surprise, when I started hearing a bit of concerns about NYS II on my watch, despite all the hard work we put in and the restructuring, I must say I was very disappointed.
Q. Should you have taken responsibility?
The work of a minister is not to stop money moving from one pocket to the other. It is to set policy, to approve the budget and work plan. The implementers of these two, where money gets lost, are the other teams. People would ask a question, how is it that you are not involved at all? I had no business being involved. I don’t approve tenders.
Of course, if you meddle as a minister, that is in your individual capacity, not because of your mandate, because the law clear. I had nothing to get away with. But some of the people who wanted to settle scores made it a conversation about me.
I fully knew it was politics, and so did the boss. I was being used as a decoy. Issues became clear much later on. When I moved to NYS, there were a few things I detected. Na nikaanza kuifungia (I started blocking them). Those are what you call cartels. So, the conversation was coming because of that.
Q. What was it like for you at this time?
It was a tough time for my family, so tough that my husband would ask me: “Is there something that I need to know?” In the meantime, my boss is asking: “Am I okay with you?” People around you begin doubting you, even my own children. But I was to establish later that a huge budget was set aside to do that propaganda. My colleagues felt like “why is she sacred? She was a minister; she should come down with us.”
At one time I was tempted to get off the seat. When my two girls go to a shopping mall, and somebody comes up and says “are you Sicily’s daughter” and they take off because they don’t know whether they’re going to be kidnapped. You know, or they don’t know what this means. It’s real trauma. It was tough.
Q. How about the scandals in the Health Ministry?
So, when my colleague calls me and says “hi daktari” what am I supposed to do? Because this is where there’s what they call mafia. There had been a lot of noise around some containers. I had no idea what these containers were all about. And you’re going there, looking courageous. You don’t know what you’re going to step on. There was no scandal while I was there. What was happening was a carryover because of what was viewed to be a bad project—the Managed Equipment Service. There was nothing wrong with that project.
Q. How did you get entangled in this?
When I came in, I found a new proposal to do an ICT configuration of merging this equipment so that you can have your radiology readings from Kenyatta hospital, and you’re interpreting the results to somebody sitting in Ol-Kalau. But when I interrogated that — it was at the tender stage — I felt like it wasn’t a very good thing for me to deal with as I had questions. So I cancelled and was quickly summoned by the Senate.
Q. What was the value of the contract?
It was Sh4 billion. I ended up appearing before the Senate committee for 13 meetings.
Q. What interest did the Senate committee have in the tender?
The Senate has the responsibility of overseeing performance of the counties. That is the argument they were using. And that the Senate was not involved in the decision of the national government to procure equipment for counties.
Q. But why did the Senate have an interest in this new ICT project? Did people in Senate have tentacles in Afya House?
Without any evidence, that is what I would tend to imagine, because you don’t have an interest in a subject which does not concern you. And you don’t make it a real issue. I remember one of them sending a text message and saying: “You know, she will come to committee room, until she sees me in my office.”
Q. How did the committee eventually give up?
They actually didn’t give up. Politically speaking, they must have been told this was counterproductive.
Q. In your life in Cabinet, what is the one thing that kept you awake most?
The UHC caused me many sleepless nights. I was trying to understand a very technical space, where professionals are inward-looking. They don’t want change. If the President has given me a second chance to be in his Cabinet, he expects I will deliver. He has some level of trust. I can’t afford to be the one failing. I put a notebook next to my bed so that if an idea pops up in the middle of the night, I would jot it down.
Q. How about the Kenyatta National Hospital saga, when doctors even operated on the wrong person’s brain, and you sent the CEO home?
Two CEOs had to vacate. Lily Koros was the first one, then there was Geoffrey Mwangi of NHIF. They just had to give way. It was very sad because I really don’t like a woman being a victim in the first instance. There was, of course, a lot of mess around the delivery systems at Kenyatta, the facility not just being dirty, but even bodies disappearing. It became the big story.
Q. And how did you survive the impeachment?
They didn’t have good grounds. If you saw the grounds, you would laugh — I’m arrogant; I make people leave their phones outside when coming into my meetings.
The day they were to debate, some politicians came to inform me, proposing to save me. “Let’s call a press conference with the guys who are making most noise, and the person moving the motion will not be there. You issue a joint statement, they apologise and you accept.”
I said “no”. Why should I? I didn’t request them to impeach me. They should proceed. I’m ready. I’ve even packed. I guess somebody may have said it wasn’t going to work. It’s possible even the Speaker was not going to steward the final decision-making.
And so when they called off, I felt nothing. When you take on some of these positions, you have to be prepared that one day you’re a Cabinet minister, the next you’re in the trenches. BY DAILY NATION