Tag: Nicholas Biwott

  • Construction Of Stalled Yaya Center Block Resumes After More Than 3 Decades and The Concrete Story Behind It

    Construction Of Stalled Yaya Center Block Resumes After More Than 3 Decades and The Concrete Story Behind It

    NAIROBI — For three decades, it stood as Nairobi’s most expensive monument to corporate vengeance. The Yaya West Wing building, a skeleton of concrete and steel adjacent to the bustling Yaya Centre shopping mall, has haunted Kilimani’s skyline since 1992, a silent witness to one of Kenya’s most dramatic business feuds.

    But now, after 32 years of abandonment, the cursed tower is finally coming back to life.

    JW Marriott has taken on what many construction experts privately called impossible: a complete renovation of the West Wing that promises to transform the doomed structure into a luxury hotel.

    The story behind the stalled tower reads like a John le Carré thriller mixed with a Shakespearean tragedy.

    It begins with Nicholas Kipyator Biwott, the man Kenyans knew as Total Man, one of the most powerful and feared politicians in Daniel arap Moi’s government.

    His nickname, the Bull of Auckland, came from an embarrassing diplomatic incident in New Zealand during a Commonwealth Heads of State Meeting in the 1990s. GG Kariuki teased him with it in Parliament after a housekeeper accused him of indecency.

    The incident became a diplomatic crisis that the foreign affairs ministry eventually doused, but not before it became fodder for endless jokes about how the Bull nearly mounted a hapless innkeeper.

    Total Man, or Karnet as Kalenjins called him (meaning Ironbar), was as intelligent as he was ruthless.

    In the early 1990s, he partnered with Israeli businessman Gad Zeevi to construct the Yaya Centre and its twin tower through their company, HZ Group.

    They founded the project with grand ambitions, securing financing through Trade Bank, a financial institution that the Kassam brothers had started but which Biwott and Zeevi owned 75 percent of.

    The arrangement was lucrative but convoluted.

    Trade Bank had advanced Biwott 900 million shillings that he never repaid.

    To cover their tracks, they borrowed money from the Deposit Protection Fund supposedly for Trade Bank’s own building but charged Yaya Towers Ltd’s assets instead.

    It was business done chini ya maji, under the water, away from scrutinizing eyes.

    But money has a way of exposing secrets.

    When the Kassam brothers started demanding repayments, they quickly learned that in 1990s Kenya, your freedom and rights were on loan from the deep state.

    Alnoor Kassam was given three options: be deported, walk away, or forget the money. He fled to Canada and never returned.

    With the Kassams out of the picture, you’d think the partnership would sail smoothly.

    Instead, it combusted spectacularly. Zeevi accused Biwott of playing cards under the table regarding their jointly owned companies.

    Fearing for his safety, Zeevi brought in reinforcements: his friend Vaizman Aharoni and David Kimche, an Israeli spy master.

    Both men were reportedly Mossad operatives, brought in as friends and associates but really serving as protection.

    Biwott’s paranoia, legendary even before this, went into overdrive.

    The man who never traveled in marked Mercedes or Pajeros, who never ate food served at high table events unless he could swap it with common servings, now had Israeli intelligence circling his empire.

    He would use five different cars to reach one destination, starting his journey in one vehicle and ending in a completely different one.

    Nobody ever knew which car carried the Total Man.

    The partnership was doomed. Around 1995, with construction of the West Wing building still incomplete and tensions at a breaking point, the Israeli partners decided to cut their losses. But they wouldn’t leave quietly.

    Fearing for their own lives as they too were being trailed, Aharoni instructed the Israeli contractor on site to abandon the property.

    But before leaving, the contractor received one final, devastating order: pour concrete into every elevator shaft, every drainage system, every functional waterway, and every stairwell.

    A random column of concrete was run haphazardly through the building’s core.

    It was architectural assassination.

    The West Wing became utterly useless, a building that couldn’t be completed without demolishing it entirely down to the basement.

    And because it shared property titles with the operational Yaya Centre, even demolition was nearly impossible.

    The Israelis left Kenya having served sweet revenge on the Bull of Auckland.

    For 32 years, the building remained frozen in time.

    Biwott died in July 2017, taking the full story with him.

    The Kassam who fled to Canada never returned. Smith Hempstone, the US Ambassador whom Biwott had expelled from Kenya and pursued with litigation until the diplomat went bankrupt and died in 2006, was long gone.

    The Israelis had vanished. But their concrete curse remained, looming over Kilimani like a ghost.

    Then in July 2023, everything changed. The Biwott family sold the entire Yaya complex, including the cursed West Wing, to a consortium led by the billionaire Kantaria family.

    The amount was never disclosed, but rumors put it in the billions of shillings.

    The Kantarias, already major players in Kenya’s hospitality industry with properties like the Radisson Blu Arboretum Hotel and Capital Centre Mall, saw opportunity where others saw only obstruction.

    They brought in JW Marriott, part of Marriott International’s luxury portfolio, to tackle what many considered an engineering nightmare.

    The renovation work is proving every bit as challenging as expected.

    According to sources close to the project, it’s pretty difficult work. There’s a new piping system, HVAC, everything. Lots of demolitions too. Renovations are hard, they say, especially when you’re essentially undoing deliberate sabotage from three decades ago.

    The project requires builders to work around or remove the concrete that was meant to make the building unusable forever.

    Every system must be rebuilt from scratch.

    The sabotage must be carefully extracted without compromising structural integrity or disturbing the adjacent shopping mall and hotel operations that continue humming along next door.

    It’s a delicate dance of destruction and reconstruction carried out in one of Nairobi’s most prime locations, where any misstep could cascade into massive complications.

    Yaya West Wing building that had remained incomplete for over three decades.
    Yaya West Wing building that had remained incomplete for over three decades.

    The timing tells you something about confidence.

    JW Marriott opened its flagship Nairobi property in Westlands in March 2024, a 35-story, 315-room hotel that became the tallest in Kenya.

    Their commitment to the Kenyan market appears unwavering.

    Transforming the Yaya West Wing represents both an engineering challenge and a statement of intent about where they see Nairobi’s hospitality sector heading.

    Meanwhile, the existing Yaya Hotel & Apartments in the completed tower has undergone its own transformation.

    After the 2023 acquisition, the property was fully revamped from top to bottom, with renovated lobbies, amenities, and some of Nairobi’s largest luxury rooms ranging from 1,076 to 3,000 square feet.

    The entire complex is being repositioned for a new era.

    As construction crews work to undo what was done in 1995, they’re not just renovating a building. They’re exorcising ghosts.

    The Yaya West Wing has loomed over Kilimani for more than three decades as a testament to what happens when powerful people clash, when paranoia meets ambition, when revenge is served in concrete rather than on plates.

    The building was meant to stand forever as a monument to spite.

    Instead, it’s being transformed into a luxury destination. Guests who eventually check in will sleep in rooms built on a foundation of espionage, sabotage, and one of the most bizarre property disputes in Kenyan history.

    They probably won’t know that the elevator carrying them to their floor once had its shaft filled with concrete by a contractor acting on orders from Israeli operatives fleeing a Kenyan power broker’s wrath.

    In Nairobi’s ever-evolving skyline, some buildings rise quickly and fade into obscurity. Others take 32 years and require exorcising corporate ghosts before they can fulfill their purpose.

    The Yaya West Wing belongs to the latter category.

    The concrete that was meant to bury this building forever is finally being chipped away, one hammer strike at a time.

    What was once Kenya’s most expensive monument to vengeance is becoming something else entirely: a hotel, a luxury space, a new beginning built on top of old grudges.

    The Bull of Auckland is long dead. The Israelis are long gone. The Kassams never came back. But their building, that cursed tower that shouldn’t have survived, is finally being given the life it was always supposed to have.

    The Yaya Centre complex sits on Argwings Kodhek Road in Kilimani, approximately 3.4 kilometers from Nairobi’s city center.

    JW Marriott hasn’t announced a completion timeline for the West Wing renovation, but construction is underway. After three decades of silence, the building is finally making noise again. This time, it’s the sound of jackhammers and hope.

    Artistic impression of Yaya Center.
    Artistic impression of Yaya Center.
  • Power and Influence: How The Deep State Operates and Controls the President

    Power and Influence: How The Deep State Operates and Controls the President

    The recent public discourse around Farouk Kibet’s influence within President Ruto’s administration has rekindled a familiar yet uncomfortable conversation about the nature of presidential power in Kenya.

    While the term “deep state” often conjures conspiracy theories, the reality of informal power structures operating parallel to—and sometimes superseding—formal government institutions demands serious analytical attention.

    When former Deputy President Rigathi Gachagua publicly declared that “Cabinet Secretaries report to him (Farouk),” he wasn’t merely airing personal grievances.

    He was describing a shadow command structure that has profound implications for democratic governance in Kenya.

    This phenomenon extends far beyond individual personalities to reveal fundamental weaknesses in how presidential power operates in practice.

    The architecture of informal power

    What we observe in Kenya reflects a broader governance phenomenon that political scientists have documented across multiple continents.

    The presidency, despite its formal constitutional powers, operates within a complex ecosystem where trusted intermediaries often wield more day-to-day influence than elected officials.

    These gatekeepers accumulate power not through democratic mandate but through proximity, loyalty, and their ability to control access to the president.

    Consider Dennis Itumbi’s remarkable admission about how he essentially appointed himself to the Presidential Strategic Communications Unit in 2013.

    By quickly drafting a press release while President Kenyatta moved between television interviews, Itumbi bypassed the entire formal appointment process.

    Dennis Itumbi.
    Dennis Itumbi.

    His account reveals how informal operators can exploit the chaos and time pressures around presidential schedules to create their own positions of influence.

    The fact that he and his colleagues worked for a full year without pay demonstrates the long-term value they placed on access to power.

    This pattern mirrors what we’ve seen in other contexts.

    In Putin’s Russia, figures like Igor Sechin accumulated vast influence not as elected officials but as trusted operatives who managed the president’s relationships with oligarchs and security services.

    Similarly, in Erdogan’s Turkey, presidential advisors and family members have wielded influence that often supersedes that of formal ministers.

    The Farouk phenomenon illustrates how personal proximity to power translates into institutional influence.

    His reported ability to publicly reprimand Governor Johnson Sakaja over Nairobi’s security arrangements—despite holding no formal position in the security apparatus—demonstrates how informal authority can override constitutional hierarchies.

    When Majority Leader Kimani Ichung’wah observes that “not even a minister can pass” if Kibet decides against it, he’s describing a fundamental inversion of democratic accountability.

    The presidential vulnerability paradox

    The irony of presidential power is that those who appear most powerful may be most vulnerable to capture by informal networks.

    The sheer complexity of modern governance creates dependencies that skilled operators can exploit.

    Presidents cannot possibly manage every relationship, review every briefing, or oversee every decision. This creates opportunities for trusted intermediaries to gradually expand their influence.

    Office of the President, Harambee House

    Lee Njiru’s decades of experience in presidential communications offer a particularly sobering perspective.

    His observation that “the President doesn’t run the country… he pretends to run” reflects a troubling reality documented in his memoir about how handlers during Jomo Kenyatta’s later years exploited the aging president’s vulnerabilities.

    The stories of presidential security details ransacking hotel rooms and stealing property while Kenyatta thanked hosts for their hospitality illustrate how completely informal networks can operate beyond presidential knowledge or control.

    This dynamic isn’t unique to Kenya or even to developing democracies.

    In the United States, figures like Karl Rove during the Bush administration or Steve Bannon in Trump’s early presidency wielded influence that often seemed to exceed that of formal cabinet members.

    The difference in Kenya is the brazenness with which informal power operates.

    When Farouk issues public directives to governors or when handlers openly manage presidential events, it suggests either extraordinary confidence in their position or a breakdown in the norms that typically keep such arrangements discrete.

    Historical patterns

    The parallels between Farouk and Nicholas Biwott during the KANU era are instructive but not entirely comforting.

    Biwott’s influence derived from his role as President Moi’s enforcer and strategic advisor, helping to maintain the one-party state through a combination of patronage and intimidation.

    His nickname “Total Man” reflected his comprehensive control over government operations, often bypassing formal ministerial structures entirely.

    What’s concerning about the current situation is how patterns established during authoritarian rule have persisted into the democratic era.

    The expectation that access to the president should be mediated by personal loyalists rather than institutional processes reflects a continuity of governance culture that transcends political transitions.

    Francis Kimemia’s frank admission that “the deep state exists” and his observation about international backing for preferred candidates reveals another dimension of this challenge.

    These informal networks often extend beyond domestic actors to include foreign interests, business groups, and international organizations that prefer dealing with consistent interlocutors rather than navigating complex institutional processes.

    The Rashid Echesa arms scandal provides a concrete example of how these networks can be exploited.

    Echesa’s ability to arrange meetings with supposed American officials, apparently based on his perceived connections to State House, demonstrates how the mere appearance of access can be monetized.

    Whether or not Echesa had genuine influence, his case shows how informal power structures create opportunities for both legitimate influence peddling and outright fraud.

    Systemic consequences for democratic governance

    When unelected actors wield significant influence over policy and personnel decisions, the fundamental premises of democratic accountability begin to erode.

    Citizens vote for presidents and parliamentarians expecting them to control government operations, not to serve as fronts for unaccountable handlers.

    The policy implications are particularly serious.

    When figures like Farouk control access to the president, they effectively control the policy agenda.

    Farouk Kibet.
    Farouk Kibet.

    Critical issues championed by ministers or parliamentarians may never reach presidential attention, while matters of personal interest to handlers receive disproportionate focus.

    This distorts the democratic mandate and can lead to policy incoherence as formal and informal priorities diverge.

    The institutional degradation is equally concerning.

    When ministers find themselves seeking approval from personal assistants rather than following constitutional hierarchies, the entire architecture of government begins to collapse.

    Civil servants learn to identify the real power centers, often bypassing their formal superiors to curry favor with handlers. This creates parallel reporting structures that undermine institutional cohesion and professional norms.

    International comparisons and lessons

    Kenya’s experience with informal power networks reflects global patterns, but with distinctive characteristics that offer both warnings and potential solutions.

    In countries like South Korea, the influence of chaebols (large business conglomerates) over government policy operates through more institutionalized channels, including formal advisory bodies and transparent lobbying processes.

    While this creates its own democratic challenges, it at least provides some visibility into influence relationships.

    Pakistan offers a more troubling parallel, where civilian governments have historically struggled against military and bureaucratic establishments that maintain their own foreign policy and security agendas.

    The frequent inability of Pakistani prime ministers to access sensitive information or control security operations demonstrates how deeply entrenched informal networks can essentially capture state functions.

    Even in established democracies, the challenge persists in different forms.

    The revolving door between government service and lobbying in Washington creates informal networks that influence policy through personal relationships rather than transparent advocacy.

    However, these systems typically include disclosure requirements, conflict of interest rules, and investigative journalism that provide some accountability mechanisms.

    Addressing Kenya’s deep state challenge requires moving beyond personality-focused critiques to examine structural vulnerabilities in our governance system.

    The problem isn’t that presidents need trusted advisors—every effective leader requires confidential counsel and loyal support.

    The problem is when these necessary relationships substitute for rather than supplement constitutional governance structures.

    Meaningful reform must focus on institutionalizing presidential operations while preserving necessary flexibility.

    This means creating transparent protocols for access to the president, documenting decision-making processes, and ensuring that advisory relationships operate within clear ethical boundaries.

    It also requires strengthening parliamentary oversight capabilities to include understanding who influences presidential decisions, not just what those decisions are.

    The civil service reforms initiated during various administrations have repeatedly stalled, partly because informal networks benefit from weak institutional structures.

    Professional civil service systems with clear advancement criteria and protection from political interference can reduce opportunities for handlers to capture bureaucratic processes.

    Perhaps most importantly, this challenge requires political will from the presidency itself.

    No external reform can succeed if presidents continue to prefer informal arrangements over institutional processes.

    The current discourse around Farouk’s influence presents an opportunity for President Ruto to demonstrate commitment to institutional governance by clarifying advisory roles and ensuring that constitutional hierarchies are respected.

    The stakes extend beyond any single administration.

    How Kenya resolves this challenge will influence whether our democratic institutions mature or remain vulnerable to capture by unaccountable networks.

    The conversation sparked by recent revelations should focus not on individual personalities but on building governance systems robust enough to serve future generations of Kenyan leaders and citizens.