Oburu Oginga: How my father smuggled me to Russia

Hardly a year had passed after the British Prime Minister Harold Macmillan delivered the Wind of Change address in Cape Town South Africa before European settlers in Kenya started feeling jittery.

They received the speech with withering scorn and palpable fury. In their mind and spirit, they believed Kenya was still a British dependency and would always be.

That was the case one morning when my childhood friend Ongong’a Achieng and I left my father’s house in Ofafa Jerusalem Estate in Nairobi to visit the Immigration Office at Gill House along Government Road. 

I cannot remember the exact date but I guess it was towards the end of 1961 because Christmas Day was a couple of weeks ahead. The British establishment in town marked my father as a trouble-maker and one colonial file even described him as an ‘irascible Africanist, determined to wreck the course of the colony’.

His frequent statements on the political destiny of free men angered these racists to no end but he was not about to stop. Ongong’a’s father, Achieng’ Oneko was also described in similar unflattering language, complete with an addendum that said he was a ‘staunch Odinga follower and committed Kenyatta associate.’

I was just a stripling who could barely understand complicated ideas of the prevailing world order around my head. I was not aware that my name was about to be included in the list of the enemies of Kenya, a British colony in East Africa.

The results of our passport applications came in after a few days. Ongong’a Achieng’ was issued with the precious travel document, but there was none for me. Initially, no explanation was given but upon hearing the bad news, my father seemed to figure out exactly where the problem was. Earlier, Jaramogi’s British passport had been impounded by the colonial government after his visit to China and the Soviet Union.

He, however, had two other passports issued to him specifically by his friend Kwame Nkrumah, the President of Ghana and another one issued by Egyptian leader Gamal Abdel Nasser. He immediately decided to call Governor Sir Patrick Renison. The colonial head feigned ignorance, explaining that he was not aware that my application had been declined. 

He, however, promised to call Mr Swan, the Minister for Home Affairs, the parent ministry of the Immigration Department. The governor told us to expect a call at our Ofafa Jerusalem house at exactly 5pm, so my father left work early to make it home in time.

True to his word, Sir Patrick Renison called later in the evening and explained that he had just been told my passport was withdrawn for security reasons. He suggested, I was at liberty to re-apply in the coming year. To our suprise, we could not imagine how a teenage boy like me would actually be a security threat to the mighty British in a small colony. Had I not been the son of Jaramogi Oginga Odinga, maybe it would have been an outlandish and ridiculous accusation.

My father was not the type that took things lying down and he decided to give the governor a piece of his mind there and then.

He understood the governor had many issues with him but thought it was unfair and totally out of order for the colonial administrator to transfer or extend their differences to an innocent schoolboy. He deeply knew that the final decision to withdraw my passport was not made by Swan but Sir Patrick Renison himself.

Still on phone, my father told the governor, “ You are behaving badly and I will teach you a lesson about our people’s resilience and resolve. Whether you like it or not, when we meet in London next month, this boy will be with us.”

He said this in reference to the forthcoming 1961 Lancaster House Conference that was scheduled for London. Towards the end of 1961, Jaramogi had already acquired his own travelling documents and Ghanaian papers for me to travel as a minor.

Since it was my first travel out of Kenya, I was subjected to rigorous but normal requirements that included vaccination for yellow fever and other diseases. With all the animosity around me, we knew getting such medical documents through official channels would raise further blockade and suspicion.

My father as usual, had a trick up his sleeves. Wycliffe Rading’ Omolo worked with the Nairobi City Council Health department. He was also in Jaramogi’s political youth wing and was very active in Nairobi city politics. One day, Omolo invited me to his City Hall office at 6am and quickly gave me the jabs. He also stamped and backdated my documents to meet the set requirements. I was now ready for any eventualities, tough or otherwise.

Around the time he was having a tiff with Sir Renison, my father had a busy diary as a nationalist in the Legislative Assembly (Legco). First in line was the Pan-African Freedom Movement of East, Central and Southern Africa (PAFMECSA) conference in Addis Ababa.

From there, he was scheduled to travel to London for the Second Lancaster House Conference that paved way for the last meeting that finally gave Kenya its independence constitution. He cleverly arranged to fit me in his busy itinerary and fly me all the way to London. From there it would be easy to connect to my last destination, the Soviet Union.

 ***

The PAFMECSA meeting of 1962 was scheduled to start early February, so we arranged to leave Nairobi at the end of January 1962. It was important for us to make it to Addis Ababa on time because my father was the head of a delegation that included several eminent statesmen, most of who became future presidents in their own countries.

The Ethiopian trip was my first personal encounter with sophisticated geopolitics. I learnt about the plight of black people across the continent in ways I had never heard before. I saw statesmen, freedom fighters and even an emperor I had only read about in books or newspapers.

To deceive the colonial authorities and sneak me into the airport, my father intentionally delayed our arrival at the Embakasi airport. By the time we reached, the situation was developing into a near panic for PAFMECSA delegates. Probably they were wondering where the leader of the trip was.

As we disembarked from our vehicle, suddenly there was an announcement, “Mr Oginga Odinga, can you please report to the immigration desk immediately.” The message blared repeatedly from the loudspeakers. My father employed his trademark commanding swagger by swinging his flywhisk authoritatively as we strode into the main terminal building. He had our documents in his hands and when he handed them over to immigration staff, Omollo his aide, standing nearby shoved me through to the waiting Ethiopian Airlines plane. Within minutes, we were airborne.

By the time Immigration officers came to realise, I had already left with my father. Addis Ababa was warm with its welcome and we did not have to navigate through colonial barricades. Haile Sellasie had recently offered Kanu, Kenya’s new political party, office space in the heart of the city. The Ethiopian Emperor supported freedom movements across the entire continent of Africa.

 ***

The conference was officially opened on February 2, 1962 by Emperor Haile Selassie. As I savoured these historical memories in the making, back in Kenya, the colonial administration realised my father had played a trick on them and they set things in motion to hit back at Jaramogi. Governor Sir Patrick Renison called Emperor Haile Selassie and explained that one of his subjects had been smuggled through his airport to Addis Ababa. He requested the Emperor to arrest and deport me back to Nairobi for prosecution.

Suprisingly, the Emperor obeyed the governor’s request. I was promptly arrested and handcuffed at the Addis Ababa airport when we boarded a Khartoum bound aircraft on our way to London. We were shocked, because just few hours earlier, my father had even taken me to Haile Selassie’s palace and introduced me to the Emperor. We even received a warm welcome and tea was served as the two elders chatted away.

We caused a scene at the airport and everything came to a standstill when my father protested loudly that I should not be arrested. Sudan was now an independent country and we were in the company of the Sudanese Foreign Minister. Seeing what had happened, the Sudanese minister declared that he wasn’t going to leave the airport without me. Jaramogi demanded to speak directly to Emperor Haile Selassie and a call was immediately made to the palace. When connected, Jaramogi categorically told the Emperor how back home he was fighting against colonial oppression in Kenya, yet the same oppressors were extending their conflict to innocent children.

He then bluntly told Haile Selassie “ if you allow the Kenyan colonial governor to have his way with my son, then you shall be complicit in helping our oppressors to achieve their dirty aims”. Hearing this, Emperor Haile Selassie ordered his men to let me go. In the meantime, the Sudanese aircraft we were bound to board was still waiting on the runway. In any case, their senior minister had also not boarded.

When we took to the skies and flew westwards, I was relieved to see Addis Ababa disappear behind us. We stayed in Khartoum as state guests and had a wonderful time sampling the sights and sounds of the city and its environs. Sir Patrick Renison had by now given up and didn’t pursue the matter any further.

 ***

After three days, we left for Cairo, where we were received like heroes. The Egyptian President, Gamal Abdel Nasser, was a famous leader and a staunch supporter of our party Kanu. With his impressive credentials in the fight for freedom and dignity of his own people, Nasser intentionally made Cairo a haven for African freedom organisations.

We stayed in constant touch with the men who manned the Kanu office in Cairo. Both Odhiambo Okello and Wera Ambitho, had been taken to Egypt by my father. I remember Odhiambo Okello as a very committed international operative for Kanu and Kenya.

Finally, we arrived in London. I remember the awe I felt when I found myself looking at the great City of London for the first time in my life. There were many exciting experiences in store for us, both personal and political. I was booked into Africa House.

The historically famous six-storey building located near Collingham Gardens not far from Earl’s Court underground railway station was bought by Ghanaian President Kwame Nkrumah to serve Pan-Africanist goals. Most African countries involved in freedom fighting had offices within Africa House.

***

I stayed in Africa House for a few days before I was transferred to Cumberland Hotel. During the day, my father became very busy with constitutional talks and I could only see him in the evenings. We stayed at the Cumberland Hotel within Marble Arch Square in London.

Jomo Kenyatta, leader of the Kenyan delegation and President of Kanu, had been booked in a corner room. I remember his room had an inter-connecting door with my father’s so either of them would walk to the other room with ease. Next to Kenyatta, was Dr Njoroge Mungai’s room. He was deliberately allocated the room because as Kenyatta’s personal physician it was important to be close.

Next was Achieng Oneko’s room. He was personal secretary to Kenyatta before they were both jailed in 1952 with four others who included Paul Ngei, Kung’u Karumba, Bildad Kaggia and Fred Kubai. Before the conference was over, my father did something that would forever remain in the minds of those who attended the Second Lancaster House Constitutional Conference.

One evening the British Government decided to treat the Kenyan delegation to a cocktail party. Many senior officials attended, including the Kenyan Governor, Sir Patrick Renison. My father deliberately took me to the cocktail to prove to the governor that he (my father) would be having the last laugh after their earlier altercation back home about me.

As the party progressed inside Lancaster House, Jaramogi waited for the perfect moment when everyone was watching and tugged me over to the governor saying, “Bwana Governor, this is my son, the one I told you would be with us here in London. I told you whether you liked it or not, he would be in London.” Sir Patrick Renison was stunned and dumbfounded.

He turned red and was unable to utter a word, he did not even offer his hand to greet me neither did I. He simply purred angrily and walked away. That was the last time I saw Sir Patrick Renison, the second last Governor in colonial Kenya. In a matter of days, I was headed to Moscow, where I spent the most memorable decade of my life. Sir Patrick Muir Renison, the British colonial administrator had earlier in his career worked in several colonies before coming to Kenya in 1959 where he served until 1962.

He was just 54 years old when he died in London on the 10th of November 1965. In a strange twist of fate, his daughter Anne Willoughby Renison married Lord Delamare in 1964 and their son Tom Cholmondeley was once jailed for shooting a man in their ranch in Soysambu near Naivasha.

Sir Renison had been preceded by Evelyn Baring who stayed in Kenya during the Mau Mau years from 1952 to 1959 and is credited for playing a leading role in the suppression of our freedom fighters.

 ***

My father’s troubles with the colonial racists started well before I was born. I didn’t realise that some of these troubles would be transferred to me until I sat for my Kenya Primary Education (KPE) examinations at the end of 1960.

I had selected Alliance High School as my first choice, Kisii School my second and Homa Bay High School as my third and last choice. When results came out, I looked forward to receive an admission letter to Alliance because they picked students with A’s and strong B’s. I had two A’s and one A-minus. We were all shocked when my name mysteriously appeared in the list of students selected to join Maranda Secondary School, a fairly new institution in its second year of existence, next to my village.

The primary or intermediate section of Maranda was an old institution but the secondary section was pretty new. My father was very upset and he immediately decided to go to Alliance High School to confront his former teacher and boss Edward Carey Francis.

I accompanied him for the long drive to Kikuyu Town. Always forthright, Carey Francis frankly told my father, “Am sorry, Mr Odinga, I couldn’t admit your son to Alliance. I could have taken him because he passed very well, but when I look at you as a politician I get concerned. I warned you not to join politics but you defied me and now you’ve become stubborn. Do you want your son to come here and bring your politics to this school? No, I will not have him. I also called Kisii High School and told them not to admit your son there because he will take a lot of trouble to that school.”

My father tried to argue and reason with Carey Francis but the white man had long made up his mind about me. That is how Jaramogi arrived at the decision to have me continue with my secondary and university education overseas. Carey Francis and Jaramogi had a love hate relationship from their days at Maseno, one as a student, the other headmaster. Francis had wanted Jaramogi to become a teacher instead of furthering his education at Alliance High School then Makerere College. Ironically, Francis even invited him to join the teaching staff in Maseno.

Although he accepted to work under his former headmaster, Jaramogi was unsettled due to the kind of discrimination African teachers were experiencing in the school. He resented many things including salary disparities and other welfare issues. Francis hated Jaramogi’s guts and his seemingly anti-colonial demeanour and when Jaramogi went to see him about my case, it was like pay back time. In colonial Kenya, to be Jaramogi Oginga Odinga’ s son was a serious crime, more of an abomination in a way. At a tender age of slightly over sixteen, my father made a painful arrangement for me to go and study in the Soviet Union.

My younger brother, Raila, would later follow me to East Germany in Europe. As I experienced my first winter in Russia, it dawned on me how there was a lot in store ahead. I was not just a youth in colonial Kenya, but also the eldest son of a man the colonial fovernment labelled ‘rebel-in-chief’.

 ***

When you travel along the Maseno-Luanda highway, you may notice a small brick house located next to the Equator signboard in Maseno. I have never been to the house as an adult and neither do I have any memories of the place. My father, however, lived in it when he was the principal at the Maseno Veterinary School. My grandfather Odinga, died in 1937 when my father Oginga was still a student in Makerere College Uganda. He graduated in 1940 and became a teacher in Maseno School in 1941.

I was born in that small house by the highway which now belongs to the Ministry of Agriculture. My father always stated that I was born on the 17th day of October, but my mother insisted it was 15th October. On checking my birth records later, I realised my mother was right. I came into the world on the night of October 15, 1943. I was named ‘Oburu’ after my grandfather who was popularly known by his nickname ‘Oburu Rambo’.

 ***

It was after I became a student leader in Russia that John Joseph Kamotho and a fresh group of new students arrived in the USSR. Kamotho was a mature student but also very outspoken. He immediately became the leader and spokesman of the new group, a pointer to his future role in politics back in Kenya as a Cabinet Minister and Kanu secretary-general for 13 years. My father’s office had arranged everything for them, so they came on a full government scholarship. Kamotho had come in a group that had 60 students.

After brief spell in Moscow, they were taken to a university in the city of Baku in Azerbaijan state, which was then in the USSR but is now a country. The students had expected to be posted to prestigious universities within Moscow. Baku was so far away from the centre of activities in the USSR. Many students lamented that it was a backwater city compared to the great metropolises of Moscow, Odessa, Leningrad (later renamed St Petersburg) and Kiev. Kamotho and his group grumbled about the horrible social life in Baku and regretted how the locals did not even like Africans. They claimed they were unable to even talk to girls because the local men would beat them up whenever they did so. One day Kamotho got fed up and he led his group to go on a strike.

They demanded immediate transfers to universities in other cities. Russian officials were dispatched to convince Kamotho and his group to wait for three months before doing exams and getting transfers to other cities. Again led by Kamotho, the group insisted they wanted to leave right away without further waiting. I was one of the student leaders who were contacted by the Kenyan ambassador to inform us about the state of affairs with the Baku students. We decided to fly there to try and talk to the students.

I had never met Joseph Kamotho before. He was a pugnacious young man, very hardline, and he spoke real tough to us. It seemed Kamotho had been talking to the Americans, who showed him pictures of students driving big cars in the USA. I tried to impress upon the group that they were missing a big opportunity of a full government scholarship where they could get top training and later go home for guaranteed job positions.

I told them that if the Americans were all that philanthropic, they would be going to assist the poor students in Kenya who couldn’t get scholarships anywhere; and not coming with videos and pictures to poison the minds of students who had already acquired scholarships from the USSR government. Kamotho was ready for me. He called me a Soviet stooge. He claimed I had been bought by the Russians and that was why I was talking for them. Kamotho refused to listen to the ambassador.

He told us how Americans were ready to put them on another plane across the Atlantic the moment they landed in Nairobi. I asked Kamotho, “Why won’t the Americans fly you directly from Baku or Moscow to America, instead of first taking you back to Nairobi?” Kamotho said all he knew was that he would go to America.

The ambassador told the students that they were young people, mostly from poor families, and it would be abominable for them to go back home with nothing to show for it, all on the weight of a fickle promise given by a couple of American propagandists.

When we couldn’t convince the students to stay and complete their degree courses, the Russians put a plane on the runway and came to speak to the students. A Soviet government official drew a line, asking the students who didn’t want to finish their degree courses at Baku to step on the other side. Kamotho was the first to eagerly cross the line.

Although he was not an elected student leader, Kamotho had such power over the students that half of them agreed to cross the line and join him. The remaining 30 students went back to campus as Kamotho and his group were packed into the waiting plane. The students thought they were being taken back to Moscow, where they could plead for a better deal in a more prestigious university.

They were shocked when they realised the first destination was a brief stopover in Cairo, and then off to Nairobi the next day. As warned, the whole Baku saga did not end well. Out of the thirty students who were taken back to Nairobi, only Kamotho found his way to higher education in America.