Ababu’s Tribute to his Bodyguard Should be a Lesson to Others

Kenya’s Ambassador to the United Nations Office in Nairobi and Permanent Representative to the United Nations Environment Programme, Amb. Ababu Namwamba, has eulogized his long-serving security aide in words that demand we pause, reflect, and reconsider what true leadership and loyalty look like in a nation so often broken by the noise of tribal suspicion and sectarian paranoia.

In a time when the Kenyan body politic is weighed down by ethnic calculations and regional allegiances, the quiet, loyal relationship between Ababu Namwamba and the late Corporal Jonah Kemboi Rotich reads like a whisper against the noise and a reminder that true character is built in private fidelity, not public theatrics.

For a record eighteen years, Jonah Rotich walked beside Ababu. Not behind him. Not against him, not ahead of him. Beside him: on tarmacs and campaign trails, through the security corridors and across foreign capitals. He was his protector, but more than that, he was his friend, his brother, his family.

Ababu said it best in his moving tribute: “For Eighteen years, Corporal Jonah Kemboi Rotich has been more than just a trusted security aide to me. He has been a cherished brother and a true friend. FAMILY in every sense. Professional yet humane, humble yet firm, loyal and honest beyond a morsel of doubt, he has been an ever presence around me in all situations. We have worked. We have travelled the world. We have dreamt. We have raised our children. We have built one large family. And worshipped our one true God, I as a committed Catholic, him a dedicated Seventh Day Adventist.

And yet, this bond was not stitched by blood, by tribe, or even by faith. Ababu is a Luhya, of the Bantu extraction. Rotich is a Kalenjin of the Nilotic heritage from Cherangany. Their family trees cannot be drawn to meet any soon, any near.  One is Catholic, the other was a devout Seventh-day Adventist. In today’s Kenya, that alone would be cause for Covid-era social distance. Instead, it drew them closer.

What still echoes is the deep respect Ababu showed for Rotich’s convictions. Knowing that his aide observed the Sabbath on Saturdays, Ababu made it a point to give him that day off, even during tight schedules and high-pressure moments. It wasn’t about convenience. It was about honour. About accommodating a man’s spiritual beliefs, even if it didn’t match his own. That, in the shallow waters of political privilege, is a depth few leaders are willing to reach.

I write this not merely as a commentator but as someone who once served as the head of Ababu’s press team. I remember the whispers from those who questioned my presence at that table, not because of performance, but because I was not “from his people.” Ababu never blinked. He told me to ignore the distractions. “Stay on,” he said. “You’re here because of what you bring, not where you come from.” That moment of grace changed everything.

In mourning Rotich, Ababu mourns more than a friend. He mourns an ideal. A vision of Kenya that still seems just out of reach — where people build things together not because they share a surname, a clan, or a denomination, but because they share values, purpose, and humanity.

I have known Rotich for 8 years and he was not just a bodyguard. He was the silent embodiment of fidelity, of service, of duty done with dignity. He stood guard not just physically, but morally. And in return, he was treated not as a tool, but as a man. A man with a life, a family, a faith and a name. Today, all who knew him eulogize him and agree that a great man has rested.

This tribute arrives just as the country grapples with the murder of Kasipul MP Charles Ongondo Were, whose own security aides are now suspects in his killing. A man is dead, allegedly at the hands of those meant to protect him. The contrast with Jonah Rotich could not be starker. While some used access to destroy, Rotich used his to protect. To uplift. To stand close and stay true.

Eighteen years of unbroken service. That kind of loyalty is not common in our political space. It is not built on contracts. It is built on trust. On respect. On shared humanity not on bossy grounds.

In a nation constantly searching for moral direction, this relationship offers one. A story not of perfect people, but of people trying to do right by each other. A story of what is possible when we choose character over tribe, humility over power, and honor over expediency.

Jonah Rotich will be buried in his Eldoret home on June 3. His story, however, will live on. And perhaps in his dignified silence, Jonah Kemboi Rotich has said more to Kenya than some of our loudest voices ever will. His 18 year relationship with his boss should be a lesson to other leaders who cannot stay with their security aides for more than 6 months due to mistreatment and disrespect. They have a lot of lessons to learn from Mr. Namwamba.

May he rest well and may his memory awaken in us the better angels of our national character.