Category: Business Daily

When I met Dr Kenne Belgrade, the emerging dealmaker who closed the $300 million block transaction transferring a 24.7 percent stake in Kenya Pipeline Company (KPC) to the Dangote Group, the first thing I sought was a breakdown of the deal.

If you are interested in numbers and facts, he thundered, the first point you must agree with is that no money was lost and that investors who bought KPC shares did not lose a dime.

Retail and local institutional investors bought the shares at Sh9 during the initial public offering (IPO), and he offloaded those blocks to Dangote at Sh9.36. Even after factoring in holding time, inflation, dividends and prevailing Treasury bond yields since the March flotation, value was preserved.

Belgrade’s contention is that while the IPO performed well, it left an unsustainable concentration of State-linked pension funds among shareholders. The initial transaction windows left insufficient time to market the offer to global institutional investors.

Offloading shares held by entities such as the NSSF and pension schemes sponsored by Kenya Power, KRA, KPC and KPA was a response to critics who argued that State funds had been coerced into propping up the listing.

Replacing public sector capital with a private titan validated the IPO price that sceptics claimed was inflated.

Having spent weeks in European capitals and the Gulf engaging with risk-averse, condescending foreign investors demanding exhaustive due diligence across the entire infrastructure network, the Dangote Group arrived as a Godsend, wrapping up negotiations within two weeks as the $300 million transaction was concluded.

The numbers on the cap table shifted dramatically. NSSF’s stake plummeted from 22 percent to 6 percent, the Public Service Superannuation Scheme dropped to 6 percent, and individual State-linked pension funds exited entirely.

The broader picture, however, extends far beyond share counts.

KPC is a commercial tollgate for East Africa’s petroleum flows, and three competing business models now clash around its pipeline assets: Kenya’s government-to-government import system, the Vitol-financed trader model supplying Uganda, and Dangote’s proposed import-displacing refinery at Lamu.

The amended Memorandum and Articles of Association convert this commercial tug-of-war into a boardroom contest. The Kenyan government retains 35 percent, while Uganda, which accounts for roughly 65 percent of transit volumes, holds 20.15 percent through UNOC.

Dangote holds the second-largest block at roughly 24.7 percent. Yet, despite his massive outlay, Dangote holds no explicit veto powers.

Reserved-matter vetoes over the CEO appointment, tariffs, capital structure and business plans belong exclusively to joint approval by the Kenyan and Ugandan government directors.

Because special resolutions require an 81 percent vote threshold under the amended governance documents, the voting arithmetic gives the Kenyan government, Uganda and Dangote each an effective blocking minority.

But ordinary board mechanics favour the incumbents. Article 24 reserves seats for the Treasury, Uganda, local institutional groups and oil marketing companies, forcing any other director through a tight Nomination Committee gate. Dangote enters as an outsider on the cap table.

His interests naturally look beyond simple dividend yields; he requires offtake and infrastructure alignment for his Lamu refinery, putting his agenda in direct conflict with existing import margins and trading houses.

Does the Kenyan State risk losing operational control? A hostile takeover via rights issues remains an uphill task because the voting threshold required to introduce capital expansions onto the corporate agenda is intentionally set too high.

Furthermore, under the Sessional Paper through which Parliament ratified the privatisation, reducing the State’s remaining 35 percent holding requires explicit legislative approval.

Governance dynamics remain delicate. Since the IPO, KPC has experienced administrative friction, key staff turnover and an unprecedented rise in trade union militancy at a utility historically free of industrial action.

Simultaneously, Uganda has begun asserting direct influence, with its Treasury and Energy permanent secretaries taking board seats and unlocking stalled executive appointments.

The future hinges on which alignment breaks the impasse. Dangote may remain contained as a passive major shareholder, kept away from executive levers by reserved vetoes. Alternatively, Dangote and local import networks could find operational convergence on upstream crude storage and transport, or Uganda could be persuaded to shift its product strategy towards the Lamu refinery.

The $300 million transaction rebalanced the share register, but it has ensured that KPC’s boardroom will remain the primary arena for the region’s energy politics.

An insurer backed by Quiver Lounge and Grill owner Peter Mbugua and SportPesa CEO Ronald Karauri has captured a quarter of Kenya’s matatu insurance market barely 18 months after entering the business, intensifying competition in a segment dominated by established players.

Latest Insurance Regulatory Authority (IRA) disclosures show Definite Assurance’s share of commercial public service vehicle (PSV) insurance market jumped to 25.03 percent in June 2026, from 4.74 percent a year earlier.

Definite’s more than fivefold expansion in its market share came in the period premiums received from matatu insurance jumped to Sh727.05 million from Sh130.79 million in the period industry premiums hit Sh2.91 billion in six months from Sh2.76 billion.

The insurer’s growth coincided with a decline in the fortunes of President William Ruto-linked Africa Merchant Assurance Company (Amaco), with its stake declining to 26.79 percent from 50.75 percent over the same period.

The latest figures challenges the balance of power in matatu insurance, which has for long been concentrated in Directline Assurance and Amaco.

Amaco emerged as the market leader in early 2025 as Directline Assurance, which had dominated the matatu insurance business for years, was embroiled in a shareholder dispute over businessman Samuel Kamau Macharia’s stake. In May this year, the High Court confirmed Mr Macharia as a minority shareholder.

The latest performance places Definite within striking distance of Amaco. Directline, whose market share rose to 43.41 percent from 38.4 percent, retained its lead in the segment that provides cover for matatus and other commercial passenger vehicles against third-party liabilities arising from accidents.

The latest figures underline the rapid reshaping of a lucrative but risky insurance business in which investors are competing for premium income despite a history of underwriting losses, fraudulent claims and insurer failures.

Definite’s rising market share has coincided with Mr Mbugua and Mr Karauri settling their differences over ownership and control, which emerged shortly after the insurer received its licence.

Definite, which received its operating licence in December 2024 and began underwriting policies in January 2025, has expanded its market share from 2.35 percent in March last year to 7.71 percent in September and 10.28 percent in December before reaching 25.03 percent in June this year.

Mr Karauri and Mr Mbugua were previously embroiled in disagreements over shareholding and control shortly after the insurer received its licence. it is not clear if they settled the disagreements.

Mr Mbugua, who owns Quiver Lounge and Grill, had accused his partners of sidelining him from key decisions and sought to exit the business. He invested Sh175 million in the venture, giving him a 22 percent stake.

Mr Karauri, who is also the Kasarani MP, committed Sh500 million towards the capital required to establish the insurer, taking a 10 percent stake.

Mr Mbugua initially considered exiting the business but changed his mind after the license was granted. His partners, including Mr Karauri had opposed the terms he had set for his exit, including the amount he wanted to be paid.

Other shareholders in Definite are Mikaj Topgrains Company Limited (25 percent), Lydra Ventures Limited (five percent), Jekelusahe Limited (five percent), Monday Maxine Kerubo Oyugi (three percent), Cecily Muthoni Wairimu (three percent) and Patrick Ndirangu Kibuthu (two percent).

Definite brought together investors with different business backgrounds and networks. Mr Mbugua built his profile in the hospitality industry through Quiver Lounge and Grill.

Mr Karauri is the CEO of betting firm SportPesa and also a politician. Kushian Muchiri, another shareholder, brought experience managing Kenya Mpya buses that operate on the Nairobi-Thika route.

Definite’s expansion comes as Directline and Amaco continue to jostle for leadership in a market whose fortunes have shifted over the past two years.

Directline held 60.6 percent of the market in September 2024 before losing ground to Amaco. The latter’s share climbed to 54.71 percent in March 2025, allowing it to overtake Directline for the first time since the IRA began reporting commercial PSV insurance as a separate class.

Amaco’s share has however been on decline as Directline recovers and Definite grows. Amaco has seen its share fall to 47.49 percent in September 2025, to 44.61 percent in December and 21 percent in March 2026, before recovering to 26.79 percent in June.

The insurer is associated with President Ruto’s family and associates, adding to the profile of investors competing in the segment.

Directline has been rebuilding its market position despite earlier shareholder disputes that disrupted its leadership and raised concerns among policyholders.

Many investors are attracted to the matatu insurance business due to the volume of premiums generated by the mandatory motor insurance and the opportunity to invest collected funds.

However, the business comes with risks because frequent accidents, litigation, inflated claims and fraud can quickly erode earnings.

The sector has seen insurers such as Invesco Assurance and Xplico collapse or enter statutory management after struggling with claims and financial obligations.

Insurers have responded in different ways, including raising premiums to reflect risk, withdrawing comprehensive cover from some vehicle models and using telematics to assess driving behaviour and mileage.

In July, something quietly happened in Kenya. The 2026 Standard Chartered Nairobi Marathon sold out. Not on race week, not during the final scramble of October, but in July – a full three months early.

Rewind to 2003. The inaugural race drew 4,000 runners. Last year, over 30,000 registered. More tellingly, full marathon finishers more than doubled from less than 700 in 2022 to nearly 1,500 in 2025. Nobody runs 42.2 kilometres on a whim. It takes months of early mornings and long Saturdays. A hobby is becoming a habit.

Kenya is a nation of running champions, yet recreational running has long been a tiny niche. Until now. Something is shifting, and if you’ve started running lately, you’re at the front edge of a rising wave.

Five laws may explain why. This concept borrows straight from nuclear physics. A small lump of fuel below a certain size does nothing remarkable. Particles escape, the chain reaction fizzles out. But pack in enough fuel, and you cross a crucial threshold where each reaction triggers more reactions. This is critical mass. Beyond it, the reaction becomes self-sustaining.

For years, running in Kenya sat below this threshold. The odd runner pounding the pavement became two, the two recruited four, and four inspired eight.

Today, running communities are springing up across neighbourhoods, each a small reactor attracting new runners and sustaining the chain reaction. Kenya’s recreational running scene may finally have reached critical mass. The reaction is now sustaining itself.

Once ignited, how fast does it spread? Metcalfe’s Law suggests a network’s value grows with the square of its users. One telephone is unusable. Two can talk. A hundred create thousands of possible connections. Running, though seemingly solitary, works much the same way.

Consider Strava, the fitness app runners practically live on. Its global users have surged from 100 million three years ago to 180 million today, with three million joining monthly.

Every new runner brings more potential training partners, shared routes and encouragement. The running club becomes more attractive, drawing in yet more runners. Each new member multiplies the magnetic pull of the entire running community.

A spreading behaviour traces an S-curve. It begins with innovators – eccentrics willing to go first, braving the puzzled looks. Early adopters follow. Once the thing is proven, has legs and becomes a little cool, the majority join in. The curve shoots upwards.

Kenya’s recreational running is in that steep, electric middle of the curve, swinging from niche to normal. If you’ve started running recently, you’re not late to the party.

Enter the smartphone. Scroll your social media feed on a Saturday morning, it’s all: scenic routes, finish-line photos and medals held up to the camera. Running once looked like suffering. Now it’s discipline, vitality and immaculate vibes.

The moment something stops looking strange and starts giving you FOMO, then the activity is running up the S-curve. Who keeps a boom alive? Enter the Pareto Principle, better known as the 80/20 rule: roughly 20 percent of causes produce 80 percent of effects.

In running, a committed minority does much of the heavy lifting. The regulars at the Saturday morning club run, persuading friends to attempt their first 10K. A boom looks like a mass movement, but rests on this core, like load-bearing columns in a skyscraper.

The tentacles are reaching into established institutions. More employers now have running clubs. Entire professions have them; there is even one for doctors. Each creates another home for the committed few to evangelize and recruit others into running.

And now the law that should concern us. Diminishing returns: each additional dose of something delivers less reward than the one before. As the thrill per run fades, so might the crowds. Eventually, the S-curve flattens into saturation, with few new runners left to recruit.

So, if you missed a Stanchart marathon ticket, cheer up. The boom is underway. There are more races to run and friendships to forge. Register early and see you at the starting line.

The place had no name. It was a forest, thick with towering indigenous trees that whistled whenever the wind blew. Not the gentle, soothing kind of whistle, either, but the sort that sent shivers down your spine and dragged you straight into the terrifying ghost stories my grandmother told me as a child.

Today, the place has a name: Cohiba. For reasons best known to Dan, a man who claims to be a DJ, this once patch of forest has been christened after what I assumed was a cigar lounge. When I first heard about this new space, I wondered why anyone would set up a cigar lounge in the middle of a forest. Was the idea to smoke out the ghosts?

I had lived in Nairobi’s Ruaka during my early days of hustling. Back then, it was so remote it could easily have passed for my village, the sort of place where you expected darkness, crickets, and perhaps an ancestral spirit or two, not a lifestyle destination.

‘Come see. We have transformed the place. You won’t believe it,’ Dan said over the phone.

Naturally, curiosity got the better of me. I arrived with a companion, and Dan the DJ was at the door to usher us in. We had started as a party of two. By the time we settled down, there were 12 of us gathered around a long table that reminded me of Vladimir Putin’s famously elongated meeting table. I half-expected someone at the far end to need binoculars to catch my eye.

The long table was a gathering of men I had never met, and who, judging by their curious glances, had never met me either.

We were strangers thrown together by Dan’s forest experiment, united by neither friendship nor familiarity, but perhaps by the universal Kenyan instinct to investigate a new joint.

One was an architect, who was smoking shisha with enthusiasm.

Another was dressed like the stereotypical man from ‘mrima’, the sort who seems to have declared a lifelong war against fashion. No fancy capes, no designer labels screaming for attention, no effort to look wealthy. Yet, as is known of these men, are often the ones with deep pockets.

He was busy hammering his beer with the seriousness of a man working toward a quarterly target. His stomach seemed to be losing it.

With every bottle, it expanded until sitting became an increasingly ambitious undertaking. Eventually, he surrendered to gravity, abandoned his chair, and continued enjoying the night on his feet. Perhaps standing offered more room for the beer to settle, or at least gave his belly a chance to negotiate a ceasefire.

The forest whistled again beneath us. The wind gathered strength, and the evening grew colder. But the temperature seemed irrelevant to the Gen Z women keeping the men at our table company.

One wore a backless jumpsuit that left little to the imagination and appeared determined not to let the architect enjoy a moment of his Shisha. Another woman appeared to be having less success attracting the attention she wanted; she turned her attention to a bottle of whisky, draining it with grudge.

Then there was the woman who arrived in pink pyjamas. She had found someone at the table willing to keep her entertained. She was also the reason I eventually relocated to the bougie VIP lounge. The moment she began winking at me, I decided that my evening did not need an additional plot twist.

To be fair, Cohiba’s ambience was exquisite. The setting had character, the atmosphere was inviting, and the contrast between the wild trees and the sophisticated lounge made the place intriguing.

It was the sort of establishment that made you wonder whether the forest had always possessed this much potential or whether Ian had simply discovered a profitable way to negotiate with nature.

But the real comic genius was at the counter. At the counter, cigars were for sale. Actual cigars. The Cohiba cigarellos brand. A hangout joint selling cigars at the counter? That is unheard of. Then someone said, ‘You know, Mrima guys will do anything to earn an extra coin.’

M ercy Mutemi, the executive director of The Oversight Lab Africa, has taken on big tech, notably representing 185 content moderators who allege they were trafficked to Kenya and subjected to forced labour to moderate content across Facebook, Instagram, and WhatsApp.

‘We knew who we were fighting for and why,’ she says. ‘It was always about the people harmed by tech.’

She even had the government on the ropes, challenging the amendment to the law that provided for Huduma Namba, which, she argues, violated fundamental privacy rights.

The High Court ruled in her favour. A gladiator in a suit, it is easy to see why TIME named her to the 2023 TIME100 Next list of emerging global leaders. This is who she has always been: refusing to accept the status quo and, from a young age. Like that time, in her Catholic high school, where all students had to attend Mass daily.

‘I went to the principal and asked if non-Catholic students could have dedicated time to worship in their own way,’ she says.

With a Master’s degree in internet governance from the University of Malta, and an undergraduate degree in law from the University of Nairobi, Mercy was recently named a 2025 Ford Global Fellow.

‘There is the path you are told you are supposed to take, and there is the path your gut inclines toward,’ she says. ‘Follow your gut.’

What is that gut decision you made that was difficult or unpopular, but taught you the most?

Starting my own law firm at 25 years old was extremely unpopular. Senior advisers and lawyers warned me against it, telling me it would fail, and that as a young woman I should wait. Taking that bet on myself is the biggest risk I’ve taken.

That and the decision to pursue tech and human rights were seen as foolish by peers because there was no money in it. I wasn’t representing wealthy clients; I was representing people rendered destitute by technology.

For the first five years, it was a constant struggle just to keep the lights on. Courts were reluctant to hear things on technology. I once had a judge tell me to speak very slowly because he didn’t understand any of the tech things I was saying and just wanted to write down my words and go make a judgment later based on that [chuckles].

I often wondered why I chose this path, but despite the struggle, I was so passionate about it and my heart felt at peace doing this work. Over time, society and the legal system began recognising that tech deeply impacts fundamental human rights. Fulfilment is my measure of success, and I am happy I followed my gut.

What has it been like to lead the career you have?

Incredible. I think of careers as a series of responses to roadblocks, and when you hit one, you find a way out of a closed path.

Early on, I thought I was going to be a parliamentary legal counsel, I was set on that. But it didn’t work out, and I had to very quickly ask myself: if not this, then what? I then found a deep passion in technology: how it interacts with people and the law.

Thinking about the experience of women working in law firms and the abuse they go through, especially where abuse is sometimes normalised, and how vulnerable they are, I decided to start my own firm and create safe spaces for other women to work with me.

Are gender and age still major issues in law?

Yes, absolutely. Not too long ago, I was in court and had the displeasure of being referred to as: “This little girl does not know what she’s doing in the court.” Moments like that, especially during a heated argument with a colleague about a legal subject matter where you both come to the table as experts and lawyers, take you back. You realise, “Oh, we’ve made so much progress, yet we haven’t moved at all.”

There are people who hear you speak and the first question they ask is, ‘Who beds that woman?’ Sexism is a big issue in the legal profession.

Age is an issue as well. For many years, this profession was much more closed. You had to be of a certain status or elite to chart your own legal journey and thrive.

Some people are still stuck in the old mentality that legal practice needed to look one way, and that’s where the ageism comes out.

For me, it wasn’t even that I was fighting for my space; I was fighting to be considered relevant or serious.

With time, people started realising that nowadays, technology is central. Respect came by allowing time to pass. That required enduring many years of being sidelined, minimised, and trivialised in court, where judges didn’t think these issues were real, even when people were impacted. It took patience, fighting, and really believing in what I was doing.

Most lawyers are told to start small and rise steadily, but you seemed to go straight for the jugular and take on the big players. Was this by design?

Haha! I did start small. You could frame it as going after the big tech companies and going for the jugular, but my perspective is different.

My career was not just about the law; it’s about people. People come first. You think about the person and ask: What tools do I have to help them? Law is just one of those tools.

When you think about it that way, it doesn’t take as much guts because what you’re doing is standing with people and focusing on what they need. It just so happens that some of the disputes I’ve been involved in include some of the biggest tech companies in the world. But it was never about ‘going after them’; it was about aligning with people.

One of the earliest cases I took on was for a pregnant woman who had been doxed on Kilimani Moms [social media page]. Her private details were shared alongside allegations, and people were attacking her. We lost that case, but I was trying to argue that she still deserved protection regardless of the forum. It wasn’t a Facebook [now Meta] issue; it was about the human being.

For many years, I was my own clerk and my own secretary. I typed my own court proceedings, carried them to court personally, queued, paid fees, and did all the running around. You start small and build out slowly.

What has taking on these tech giants taught you about running a specialised, smaller law firm?

Initially, that you can do anything as long as your focus and your heart are in the right place. We knew who we were fighting for and why. It was always about the people harmed by tech.

However, the bigger lesson is that litigating a complex problem as a small firm has clear limitations.

For example, in our work against Meta, we have been representing 185 content moderators who allege they were trafficked to Kenya and subjected to forced labour to moderate content across Facebook, Instagram, and WhatsApp. That case has been ongoing since 2023.

But think about the bigger problem: why can a multinational company come to Kenya, bring in people from various countries, and end up facing allegations of human trafficking and forced labour? What are the economic and societal conditions that allow this? Last year, a content moderator from Nigeria died because they couldn’t return home due to invalid papers.

When you see governments supporting tech companies in court over their own people, you realise these are not just straightforward legal problems. They are broader societal and economic issues.

Why are tech companies welcomed full-scale to exploit people, and how can it be solved? That kind of systemic issue cannot be solved inside a courtroom alone. It requires broader thinking, research, community advocacy, and policy reform.

That realisation prompted my transition from private litigation in a law firm to a non-profit organisation focused on working with communities to build better tech futures. The problem is far bigger than litigation alone can address.

In popular culture, people often talk about two outcomes when confronting massive interests: being threatened or being bought out.

Where have your chips fallen?

Threatened, for sure. We’ve had moments where we had to face the reality that my life was in danger because of this work.

In Kenya, tech was framed as a primary pillar of Vision 2030 and the promise that Kenya would become the ‘Silicon Savannah’ and generate millions of jobs to solve our economic problems.

When you litigate against these big tech companies, it puts you in direct conflict not only with the tech companies, but also with government narratives about employment. Our position is clear: we want young people to have jobs, but those jobs must come with dignity.

When you represent victims, it forces you to confront fundamental questions about economic development and employment and unemployment:

Are we willing to let our people and resources be exploited just to claim we are part of the tech evolution?

Should we celebrate being a tech hub when women in our country are being recorded without consent and having their content sold on platforms? Those are the hard truths we have to confront.

Was this your dream growing up?

[chuckles] I actually wanted to be a doctor. We believed that to be successful in life, you had to become a doctor. I adopted that dream, even though I don’t think I would have made a good doctor. I faint at the sight of blood haha!

Luckily, I missed the grade cutoff for public university admission to medical school by a single point. The only alternative was paying for a private parallel programme, which wasn’t a given for me.

When filling out the JAB (Joint Admissions Board) university selection forms at the last minute, I wasn’t sure what to choose. Someone suggested, ‘Write law and try it out. If you don’t like it, you can change.’

What do you know about tech and the internet that most people miss?

The people cost. We talk a lot about humanity’s environmental footprint, but for tech to become what it is, it leaves a large trail of human harm.

Nothing happens automatically. Behind impressive AI models, chatbots, and autonomous vehicles, there is a huge human price that has been paid on the backend.

There is a human being involved in training any technology to be what it is. Human beings spend endless hours labeling data, categorising content, and training algorithms. Many of them work under exploitative conditions and suffer severe mental health consequences from reviewing graphic content.

Beyond data training, look at hardware: technology requires minerals extracted from mines in places where people live. The push for AI dominance requires massive data centres, which drive up demand for rare earth minerals and energy, leaving behind exploitation, environmental degradation, and disenfranchisement.

There is nothing fancy about AI; it is the way it is because some people have suffered on the backend while a few people make billions out of it. That human price is what we miss.

What has this work cost you personally that, looking from the outside, we don’t see?

Beyond fearing for my life, there is immense mental strain, burnout, and fatigue.

After years in high-stakes negotiations, what have you learnt about getting people to agree?

It always comes down to an emotional problem. The biggest disputes or corporate battles aren’t just about money or commercial terms; behind them lies an unaddressed emotional issue.

If you want to resolve a massive conflict, you have to identify the underlying emotional problem, whether someone felt cheated, disrespected, or deceived. In professional environments, people rarely create space to address emotions because when you address the emotional core of a dispute, the commercial or legal dispute resolves itself.

What advice would you give someone on this path?

There is the path you are told you are supposed to take, and there is the path your gut inclines toward. The path that allows you to sleep soundly at night and feel fulfilled is the one guided by your gut, no matter how unconventional, unpopular, or traditional norms dictate otherwise.

If you firmly believe in something, start it. Whether a blueprint exists or you have to build it yourself, just begin. Your gut will guide you through the roadblocks and help you find creative ways around them. True self-fulfilment comes from trusting yourself and charting your own path.

Have you always been this brave?

Haha! Maybe not brave, but I’ve always been someone who thinks outside the box and questions the status quo.

In high school at a Catholic boarding school, we had to attend Mass daily. Non-Catholic students felt unable to practice their faith freely. I went to the principal and asked if non-Catholic students could have dedicated time to worship in their own way.

That is what is consistent with me. I’ve always looked at rigid situations and asked: What alternative possibilities exist, and how can we make them work? I refuse to accept being stuck.

What don’t you have a handle on?

[chuckles] That’s interesting. I struggle with the full range of human emotions, including doubt, fear, and uncertainty about the future. I meet many of my colleagues who have their long-term plans completely mapped out, whereas I am constantly reflecting and questioning. It’s not a done deal.

This may come off as a gendered question, but has being a woman in this field opened doors, or forced you to push them open?

There are definitely many doors that have been closed because I am a woman. The job won’t be taken directly from you, but you’ll have to trade your human dignity for the job.

Patriarchy and sexism don’t always manifest as outright denial of opportunity; often, they demand that you compromise your human dignity to access the opportunity. I’ve had to walk away from environments where my dignity was at risk. But you make it despite patriarchy.

Look, you don’t get special privileges for being a woman in this system. In every meeting or negotiation, you constantly have to evaluate how the environment might dehumanise you and how to protect yourself from that. It constantly threatens to take away from you, not give you things.

Does success change something in you?

I’d say when you make any progress in life, it definitely changes how you see things. But I have my own definition of success. Growing up in boarding school from Class 5, success was hardwired in us: get top grades, go to a specific high school that leads you to a specific university to study a specific course, and then you make a lot of money. That was not a path that has ever been comfortable for me, so I had to break free.

To me, success is connecting with yourself enough to understand what is important to you, and then actualising those personal goals, whether that means running an organisation or owning a small shamba in Kaloleni with 10 chickens.

The path to that desired goal is what changes you, not you getting there. It shifts your worldview and chases away naivety because you experience life in all its breadth.

Life stops being a future event and becomes a present thing, where my feet are currently planted, as opposed to never being happy until I achieve something.

What feelings do you have when you look back at your life now?

It feels like a child coming home to a proud parent. I look back at the obstacles, mistakes, and learning experiences with deep compassion and pride. We really did try our best.

Does taking on power make you feel powerful or remind you that you are not?

It helped me understand what power actually is. When I started litigating tech cases, I felt smaller than an ant facing a giant. There was so much anxiety around it, but I did it afraid anyway.

But over time, I realised that corporations only hold power because millions of ordinary people use them and sustain them. People are the true source of power. By aligning my work with everyday people, content moderators, workers, and impacted communities, I realised we are actually on the side that holds real power.

What matters less to you now than it used to?

Acceptability and palatability. Earlier in life, being viewed favourably by others felt important. Today, self-alignment and internal fulfilment matter far more. The primary person I need to be accountable to and live at peace with is myself. What are my values, what do I hold dear to me, and what do I want to protect? You could do everything right, and people still think you are the demon, so can you live with yourself?

What core question do you hope your life answers?

Generational joy. We hear so much about generational trauma, poverty, and struggle. I hope my life demonstrates what generational joy looks like.

Any regrets?

Once, I thought if you work hard enough at a thing, then you can actually win the thing or solve the problem. I wasted many years stuck in that emotional turmoil of whether I succeeded or failed because I had that perspective. With age, you learn that once you put effort toward something, it is you succeeding, not waiting for the result.

Are you somebody someone can get stuck with in an elevator?

Haha! I am claustrophobic. So, for the first 10 minutes, I’ll give you stories, but at some point, the claustrophobia will check in, and then I will become a burden to you. And that will be a problem [chuckles].

The Employment and Labour Relations Court has dismissed a former Safaricom employee’s claim for Sh35 million following her dismissal over alleged misuse of medical insurance benefits.

The court ruled that Safaricom had valid reasons to dismiss Ms Lynette Oduor and had followed a fair disciplinary process. The court rejected her claims of unfair termination, discrimination and additional payments.

Ms Oduor had worked for Safaricom for about 16 years, rising from customer care representative to the position of Quality Analyst (Analyst-Experience Assurance Officer).

She earned a gross monthly salary of Sh203,632 when the company dismissed her on September 23, 2021.

The dispute began when Ms Oduor visited Mater Hospital’s Buruburu clinic on June 29, 2021, with her cousin. She said she had abdominal pain and underwent a consultation and ultrasound scan. The alleged misconduct was that she used her Safaricom medical insurance card to obtain treatment for her cousin, who was not eligible for cover under the company’s medical scheme.

The company alleged that Ms Oduor presented her medical card to access services for the ineligible relative, contrary to the scheme’s rules.

She said staff later reported her card missing and her insurance account locked. She paid Sh8,300 and was given an ultrasound report belonging to another patient, she claimed. Minet Insurance Brokers, which administered Safaricom’s employee medical cover, investigated the incident. It reviewed CCTV footage, interviewed hospital staff and Ms Oduor, and examined medical claim forms.

Its investigator, Genson Mbae, testified and produced the report.

The investigation concluded that Ms Oduor had attempted to use her benefits to treat an ineligible person.

Ms Oduor denied the allegation.

She maintained that she was the patient seeking treatment for abdominal pain, and said her cousin had accompanied her.

She claimed that Mater Hospital staff misplaced her medical card, locked her insurance account, and gave her an ultrasound report belonging to another patient. She said she paid Sh8,300 for the services.

Safaricom said its policy covered specified family members but not cousins, and that misuse breached its medical scheme rules and code of conduct.

The court rejected her explanation, citing inconsistencies in her account, discrepancies in medical claim forms and CCTV evidence. It also noted that she did not call her cousin or the doctor she said had treated her to corroborate her account.

The court accepted Minet’s findings and ruled that Safaricom had valid grounds to dismiss her for gross misconduct.

The court found discrepancies in Ms Oduor’s account and the medical forms she relied on. The judgment says a form dated June 28 carried a Mater Hospital stamp, while another for June 29 carried an AAR stamp. The forms also named a doctor whom the court found was working at AAR on both dates.

The judge noted that Ms Oduor did not report the alleged card loss, seek reimbursement, or return to Mater for the correct scan report. She did not call the cousin or the doctor to support her account.

Ms Oduor maintained that she had performed well and had never received a warning. Safaricom said it gave her the investigation report with a show-cause letter, invited her to two hearings and informed her of her right to appeal within 10 days.

‘The court is therefore convinced that the respondent followed the due process in terminating the claimant’s services,’ the judge said.

‘In the above regard, the court further finds and holds that in terminating the claimant’s service the respondent followed a fair procedure and had valid reasons; hence the dismissal was fair.’

Ms Oduor argued Safaricom relied on Minet’s report without conducting its own investigation. The court said Minet’s probe was sufficient because Safaricom had delegated medical scheme administration to it.

The court said an employer need not prove misconduct beyond reasonable doubt, but must genuinely believe the grounds for dismissal existed. It found Ms Oduor had an opportunity to respond.

The court also rejected Ms Oduor’s discrimination claim because she had not identified comparable employees who were treated differently or established a factual basis for discrimination.

She had sought Sh34.2 million in salaries to retirement, Sh1.6 million in service pay, pension benefits, compensation, damages and a Sh35,000 staff phone benefit.

The court said employment does not guarantee work until retirement. It found her NSSF and NHIF membership excluded her from service pay, while her pension claim should be pursued with the separate scheme.

The judgment states that Safaricom paid Ms Oduor Sh76,362 in terminal dues after statutory deductions in October 2021 and issued her a certificate of service.

‘In conclusion, the claimant’s claim is found without merit and is hereby dismissed with costs,’ the judge ruled.

Every first full week of October, businesses across the world decorate their offices with bright banners, share team slogans, and offer clients small tokens of appreciation to mark Customer Experience Week.

Beyond the celebrations, this week reminds companies what it truly means to champion their customers. Exceptional service goes far beyond basic job duties – it requires listening with genuine empathy, tackling challenges with optimism, and treating every customer as a person rather than a transaction.

But after the Customer Experience Week decorations come down and the event is checked off the annual to-do list, a tough question remains: What does going the extra mile actually mean when nobody is watching?

As the year winds down, companies must look past the marketing hype to discover what true customer devotion entails in daily practice.

The extra mile should not be a seasonal campaign; it should be a basic standard of care. Today, businesses focus heavily on speed and efficiency, making genuine human connection a rare and valuable commodity.

This reality is especially clear as artificial intelligence rapidly changes how companies handle customer service. There is no denying the benefits of AI. It answers instantly, works around the clock, and never gets tired. For simple, everyday questions, it is incredibly efficient.

However, efficiency and care are not the same thing. A great algorithm can follow instructions perfectly, but it cannot feel empathy.

It cannot hear the frustration in a customer’s voice, and it will not stay on a call to solve a unique problem just because it is the right thing to do.

The extra mile exists in those unscripted moments when human intuition and real kindness take over. This principle goes far beyond business. If we treat the extra mile merely as a corporate strategy, it loses its meaning.

True care must apply to all parts of life – our co-workers, friends, family, and ourselves. The final months of the year are often a stressful rush to meet deadlines. Under that pressure, showing up for the people who matter and taking care of our own health become the ultimate test of our values.

In the end, finishing the year strong is not about big, public gestures. It is about the quiet, steady choices we make when no one is tracking our performance. It is checking in on a struggling client, calling an old friend, or choosing to rest instead of burning out.

Technology will keep automating our work, but it cannot replace human sincerity. Real care takes time, effort, and a choice to do more than the bare minimum. That is what truly matters.

On February 22, 2015, Gladys Wambui Irungu, a model, sat across the table with officials from Brainwave Communication, a casting agency, to sign a deal on behalf of L’Oréal East Africa.

The deal was for her face to be on the packaging of L’Oréal’s Gold Touch cream. She would become the face of the product.

In the two-year contract, Ms Irungu was to earn Sh250,000 in the first year for the use of her image, with the fee rising by 10 percent annually. Over the contract period, the deal was expected to earn her a total of Sh525,000, subject to deductions by the casting agency.

Eleven years later, what began as a modelling assignment has since evolved into a dispute over a question that is increasingly becoming important in Kenya’s influencer marketing and advertising industry. Just how long can a brand continue to make money from a face after the contractual right to use it has expired?

Ms Irungu has now sued L’Oréal East Africa, a subsidiary of French cosmetics giant L’Oréal, and is seeking damages exceeding Sh8 million. She accuses the company of breaching its licensing agreement and infringing on her image rights by continuing to use her likeness without a valid licence.

In court documents filed on September 28, 2026, Ms Irungu claims that L’Oréal continued to distribute Gold Touch products bearing her image after the expiry of licensing agreements, despite her efforts to have the company stop using it or negotiate fresh terms.

A model’s commercial value

The dispute raises questions about the commercial value of a model’s identity, particularly when an image initially commissioned for product packaging continues to circulate through retail outlets and advertising platforms long after the original deal has run its course.

According to her pleadings, trouble began after the first year (2015) of the original agreement, when payments allegedly stopped even as the company continued benefiting from the use of her image. During the two years, she was not to work with another brand but also waived the rights to the use of her image, handing power to L’Oreal to use her image for marketing however it deemed fit.

‘After the first year ended as I was never paid any money thereafter despite the fact that the Defendant continued to benefit from the use of my image and likeness to date,’ she argues.

By 2022, Ms Irungu says, L’Oréal owed her Sh2.12 million in unpaid fees.

‘In 2022, it was seven years since I entered into the contract. The Defendant had continued to use my image and likeness and had until then refused to pay the requisite licence fees,’ she says.

She subsequently sued the company and the casting agency in Milimani Commercial Chief Magistrate’s Court in a case filed in 2022. The matter was later settled out of court, with the parties recording a consent and the suit being withdrawn. L’Oréal then entered into a direct agreement with Ms Irungu on May 19, 2022, allowing it to use her image and likeness until December 31, 2025.

That agreement appeared to give the relationship a fresh lease of life. But its expiry has now opened another chapter in the dispute. Ms Irungu maintains that the latest licence expired on December 31, 2025, and that L’Oréal had no right to continue using her image from January 1, 2026, without obtaining a renewal.

On April 29, 2026, she says she emailed the company to remind it that the licence had expired four months earlier and invited it to make an offer if it wished to continue using her image.

The company proposed a new three-year renewal deal running from January 1, 2026, to December 31, 2028, with a fee of Sh2.25 million.

The proposed payment translated to Sh750,000 annually, three times the initial annual fee of Sh250,000 under the original deal.

But the offer did not resolve the dispute. By then, Ms Irungu says, other brands had approached her with more lucrative offers for the use of her image.

She also wanted assurances that Gold Touch products bearing her likeness would be withdrawn from the market after the agreed licensing period, allowing her to pursue other commercial opportunities without an indefinite association with the cosmetics brand.

In her filings, Ms Irungu says she discovered Gold Touch products in various outlets bearing expiry dates extending into 2029, despite the proposed renewal agreement ending on December 31, 2028.

She interpreted this as a sign that the company intended to continue selling products bearing her image beyond the proposed licensing period. She subsequently sent a communication expressing her objection to any continued use of her face after the proposed expiry date.

The model says she made a counteroffer that would allow L’Oréal to clear existing stock bearing her image, while allowing her to work with other brands.

The negotiations, which revolved around Sh8 million as compensation, however, broke down, with her claiming the company had initially agreed but then began taking her into circles, hence prompting her to issue a cease-and-desist notice demanding that the company stop using her image.

According to the court documents, she also accuses L’Oréal of continued assigning or granting exploitation rights in her image to third parties for advertising, marketing and promotional purposes without her authorisation.

Commercial exploitation claims

These allegations broaden the dispute beyond the physical packaging of the cream. They place the commercial exploitation of one’s likeness across advertising and media platforms at the heart of the case.

A licensing agreement does not simply put a face on a product, but also defines the commercial terms under which that identity may be used, including the duration and scope of the permission granted.

‘When a licence expires, the question of whether a company can continue using the image, and under what circumstances it may sell existing stock, can become a source of conflict if the parties have not agreed on what happens next. In Ms Irungu’s claims, the proposed renewal did not produce an agreement, and her pleadings indicate that she wanted the company to stop using her image rather than extend the relationship indefinitely,’ Manasses Mwangi, an intellectual property lawyer tells BDLife.

The model is now asking the court to award Sh750,000 in special damages for the alleged infringement of her image rights from January 1, 2026, until the filing of the suit. She also wants the amount adjusted to cover the entire period the case has been in court.

In addition, she is seeking general damages for the alleged unauthorised granting of exploitation rights to third parties and the use of her face in advertising and marketing across internet and media platforms. She also wants a permanent injunction barring L’Oréal from using her image for any purpose, as well as further damages, interest and legal costs.

By the time of going to press, L’Oréal had not filed its defense in the case despite having already appointed lawyers to represent them in the matter.

The September 30, 2026 groundbreaking of the East Africa Oil Refinery in Lamu marked a potentially transformative moment for Kenya and the wider region. With an estimated investment of $16 billion, the project is touted as one of the largest investments in Kenya’s history and could reshape how East Africa produces, consumes and trades energy.

For decades, African oil-producing countries have exported crude oil only to import expensive refined petroleum products.

This cycle drains foreign exchange, exposes economies to international price shocks. The proposed Dangote East Africa Oil Refinery, with a planned capacity of 700,000 barrels per day, offers an opportunity to reverse this pattern by processing crude locally and retaining more value within the region.

However, its transformative potential will depend on whether the project can overcome significant economic, logistical and market challenges.

Beyond meeting domestic fuel demand, the refinery is expected to create up to 60,000 jobs and stimulate industries such as fertiliser, plastics and bitumen production. Its associated infrastructure, including a planned 1,000-megawatt power plant, could further support industrial development.

For landlocked neighbours such as Uganda, South Sudan and Rwanda, reliable access to refined petroleum products could strengthen energy security and support economic activity. The project also aligns with the African Union’s longstanding ambition to move beyond exporting raw materials toward local processing and value addition.

The experience of Nigeria offers important lessons. During the groundbreaking ceremony, Aliko Dangote recounted the challenges involved in developing his refinery in Nigeria, including securing financing, navigating regulatory hurdles, sourcing materials and overcoming enormous logistical obstacles.

These experiences illustrate the scale of coordination and persistence required to deliver a project of this magnitude.

Nigeria, despite being one of Africa’s leading oil producers and a member of the Organisation of the Petroleum Exporting Countries, has historically depended heavily on imported refined petroleum products. This contradiction has come at a considerable economic cost. In 2020, Nigeria imported refined petroleum products worth $7.75 billion, according to figures cited in the original account.

For East Africa, the lesson is clear: the value of the Lamu refinery will not be measured by the amount of crude oil it processes alone, but also by its ability to reduce import dependence, support local industries and improve the region’s resilience to external supply disruptions.

Achieving these outcomes will require the refinery to operate competitively, secure reliable crude supplies and develop effective distribution networks.

Equally important is the investment climate in which the project will be implemented. Dangote recounted his experience of abandoning an earlier attempt to invest in a cement plant in Kenya after encountering alleged extortion by officials. His account highlights a risk that could undermine the refinery’s success if investors face demands for unofficial payments or unnecessary bureaucratic obstacles.

A project of this scale requires a predictable regulatory environment, transparent public institutions and consistent government support.

The benefits could extend well beyond the refinery itself if its establishment attracts complementary investments in transport, storage, manufacturing and energy infrastructure.

Implementation discipline will be another critical test. Dangote has set a 40-month timeline for the refinery’s establishment, raising expectations that the project will progress within a defined period. Delays in major infrastructure projects can increase financing and construction costs while postponing jobs, industrial activity and other anticipated benefits.

Ultimately, the East Africa Oil Refinery represents a significant step toward energy self-sufficiency for Africa.

By expanding local refining capacity, strengthening energy security and stimulating industries linked to petroleum processing, the project could help retain more economic value within East Africa while creating opportunities for employment and investment. This shift will empower African nations to harness their natural resources more effectively and leverage them for sustainable development.

Kenya Pipeline Company Plc share price jumped 7.9 percent on Thursday, hitting a high of Sh9.78 from Sh9.06 at its previous closing, after the disclosure of Aliko Dangote’s acquisition of a 24.7 percent stake in the company.

The entry of the Nigerian billionaire businessman, who is expected to make fresh investments in the business, has been viewed as a vote of confidence in the mid-stream oil company, driving investors’ interest in the counter.

Interest in KPC has also been drawn from the revelation that Dangote snatched the significant stake in the business from overseas suitors from the United Kingdom and the Middle East which underlines the intrinsic value of the firm.

KPC’s share price however remains below its all-time share price of Sh10.

‘This is a vote of confidence. Dangote has raised the profile of KPC,’ said a market analyst.

‘Without this transaction, we would not have seen this price rally.’

Dangote acquired the 24.7 percent stake in KPC through the purchase of 4.5 billion shares from local institutional investors including the National Social Security Fund (NSSF), the Public Service Superannuation Fund (PSSF) and the County Pension Fund (CPF).

The shares changed hands for Sh9.36 each which rounds off to about Sh42.1 billion, with the trade being concluded through the Nairobi Securities Exchange (NSE) block board.

The sale price did not form part of KPC’s closing share price of Sh9.02 on Monday as per rules set by the bourse.

Aliko Dangote is seen as a strategic investor in KPC and is expected to align the operations of the pipeline company with his endeavour to build an oil refinery in the port of Lamu.

KPC’s existing and future network is seen as essential in the supply and distribution of finished petroleum products from the Lamu refinery which construction is set for completion by 2030.

The Kenya Pipeline Company has been looking for a strategic investor even after its public listing in March this year.

The initial public offer period was deemed as insufficient in bringing in an anchor investor.

KPC now has three major shareholders including the government of Kenya which retained a 35 percent stake in the business, Dangote, and the Uganda National Oil Corporation (UNOC) who both hold stakes of more than 20 percent in the business.

Other shareholders including local pension institutions have become minority shareholders after selling down/reducing their stakes in the company.