Category: Business Daily

The only famous Catherines she knew growing up were dead Catherines.

And because she wanted to know how it would feel to be famous, for your name to be read by the whole world, Catherine Ndereba would cut the name Catherine out of the newspaper and stick it in her exercise book. She could not imagine her own name appearing in a newspaper while she was still alive.

It is a strange origin story for a woman who would become one of the most decorated marathoners in history: four-time winner in Boston, twice in Chicago, a world record holder, a double Olympic silver medalist, and for two decades the most recognisable name in Kenyan distance running. Her name appeared in newspapers local and foreign, again and again, and she is still very much alive.

Running was never a plan. It was just something she did, in Nyeri, without knowing it would lead anywhere. But she was good at it, good enough that the first time she ran as a guest for the Kenya Prisons team, at Nyayo Stadium, before she’d even been hired, she beat Helen Chepng’eno, the world cross-country champion, in the 3,000 metres. The doors opened almost immediately. She was 21, unemployed, and suddenly a corporal.

What followed was two decades of races won and lost in equal measure, a debut Boston Marathon so punishing she finished sixth and had to be wheeled off the course, a daughter who once asked her father who the woman under the blanket was, and a return, the following year, that ended in victory. ‘If you have nothing to sacrifice, you have nothing to gain.’

She retired at 42, went back to a quiet life as a government employee of Prisons, now a deputy director, Rehabilitation, Welfare and Sports, heading the sports section. We met in her office, a petite woman in a forest of trophies.

When did you realise you were good at running?

It was not until I was out of school. I just ran because it was my passion. I didn’t know anything would come of it; running made me happy.

Were there people running in Nyeri whom you looked up to?

My neighbour used to run, as did another boy from my primary school who got a job with Kenya Power. But I wouldn’t say I looked up to them.

In Form Four, a schoolmate told me that she had dreamed that Armed Forces officials came to our school looking for me. I jokingly said, ‘Those are good prayers, amen’. Little did I know I would end up in the discipline forces.

Right after school, I joined Kenya Prisons on August, 15, 1994. This was after I met some prison officials in Nyeri who noticed my talent and invited me to run for their team as a guest at the championships in May that year. That’s how my door opened.

At Nyayo Stadium, I competed against world cross-country gold medalist Helen Chepng’eno in the 3,000 metres race, and I beat her.

That must have been a great upset. How old were you?

I was 21. The commissioner (of Prisons) said, ‘If that girl is an officer, she should be promoted to corporal’. The head of my region said, ‘Sir, she’s not even an officer, she doesn’t have a job.’ He said, ‘Then that is a talent we should consider next time we enrol’. That’s how I got the job.

Are there athletes in your family?

Yes. My dad used to run, although I only learned that through my grandmother, because my dad never talked about it. I don’t know why.

The first time you earned good money from running, did it come as a shock?

What really amazed me is that my name was published in the newspaper. Throughout secondary school, I desired to see my name, Catherine, in newspapers.

But whenever I checked, the only place I found my name, or one close to mine, was in the obituaries section. I used to look for anybody named Catherine, cut out their name and stick it in my exercise book. I didn’t imagine my name could appear in the paper while I was alive.

You won the Boston Marathon four times, the Chicago Marathon twice and several other major races. What did you have to sacrifice?

A lot. I have a keychain with my motto: If you have nothing to sacrifice, you have nothing to gain. I’m married, so a wife; I’m a mother, a daughter, and a daughter-in-law. There were many times I was needed at home to attend to one or another responsibility that comes with the above roles, but I had to sacrifice all that to make sure that I flew the department’s flag high, and that of the nation too.

How did it feel the first time you won something and they played the national anthem?

I remember very well. Boston Marathon. It was spring, so it wasn’t very cold. I couldn’t stop crying.

What was it like to become globally famous almost overnight; a girl from Nyeri suddenly recognised around the world?

It made me uneasy. People pointing, staring, whispering. It was a shock at first, but I got used to it. You have to remain humble, even when everything around you asks you to be proud.

How did your extended family react to your success?

Nobody believed in me at first, apart from my parents. They didn’t have any restrictions; they were just watching to see what would come out of this. My cousins said things. Not many people, even in my neighbourhood, believed my running would have a significant impact on my life.

Who was the first person outside your parents to believe in you?

Mr Maina, my Grade Six class teacher. He believed I had the talent and encouraged me. After practice, we would get half a loaf of bread and a soda to replenish our energy, and some classmates started ridiculing me for it, saying I only ran because I couldn’t afford bread and soda.

You ran professionally for 20 years, what was the most difficult period?

Raising my daughter. Having to go race abroad after maternity leave and leaving her behind with my husband and my sisters.

Does she remember those days?

She does. She’s a woman now. I’m a grandmother. [Chuckles]. We talk about it. It used to make her feel lonely and left behind, and she developed into more of a daddy’s girl. That didn’t bother me; girls are often closer to their fathers anyway.

Did you meet your husband before you started running, or during your career?

Before I became popular. We met at prison college, enrolled the same year, same class, what they call school squads. We were in Squad 15. We fell in love and later got married.

Retired Kenyan Marathon Runner Catherine Ndereba poses for a photo at ACK Guest House on September 16, 2026.

Francis Nderitu | Nation Media Group

How did he handle your fame?

He didn’t have any problem; he was really considerate and supportive. When I had my baby, I had some baby fat and struggled to get back into shape, so he motivated me to train. He’d transferred to Nairobi and would take me out for morning runs and speed work at Nyayo Stadium, 400 metres at a time, because I was too heavy to run fast. He’d start ahead and tell me, ‘Run so fast that I don’t catch you’. That’s how I got my speed back.

Does your daughter have the talent for running?

She does, but it wasn’t in her heart. She didn’t like it. I can’t blame her; I think she hated it because it used to steal her mum from her.

Do you miss those periods…running, winning trophies, travelling?

I don’t miss it. I gave it my all. It was a season, and once a season is over, you accept and build for something else.

You later developed a leg problem and had to retire, what happened?

I retired earlier than I planned, at 42 instead of 45. I believed my running was a mission, and a mission has a season, so I asked God for a sign for when to exit, and I took the injury as that sign. I was told I needed surgery; I asked to heal naturally instead, since it was my choice, even though it would take longer. I don’t regret it. I went back to the office at Nairobi West Prison in 2011, did a senior management course, and got promoted from chief officer to superintendent.

Your successes are well documented. But what failure stays with you.

[Chuckles] I don’t think I have anything I’d call a failure, only lessons.

How did it feel when you lost a race?

The one I lost that I don’t count as a loss, my second silver from the Beijing Olympics, I call it my gold. I was prepared to win gold, but developed back issues, and it rained at the start, so my back seized. I lost my competitors and couldn’t tell who was ahead.

Past 25 kilometres, I caught the chasing group, not realising someone was ahead of them. Around 39 kilometres, I spotted a runner on the other side of the road. It was Costantina Di?a of Romania, who had never beaten me. I closed a two-minute gap, but it was too close to the finish, one or two more kilometres and I would have caught her.

Running at that level must come with some unimaginable pain. Can you tell me something about that?

Nothing compares to the Boston Marathon, my debut, where I started winning. I went in 1999 out of frustration, with speed but not enough mileage. My manager said there was no budget except for marathons, so I told her, jokingly, book me anyway.

The organiser offered two return tickets and $10,000 if I finished top 10. I felt strong until past 30 kilometres, then my mileage ran out. I was number two, running with defending champion Fatuma Roba, passing the Boston College, where students cheered me on. I told myself Fatuma would know who Catherine was at the finish line. But she switched gears, and I couldn’t respond.

By 40 kilometres, I was exhausted, almost stopping, and had to stop for my water bottle. Moses Tanui, who’d already stopped himself, yelled at me not to stop, so I kept going, although it was a painful uphill and I could barely lift my legs. I finished sixth, passed near the finish line by Japanese and Ecuadorian runners. I could not move; my feet were cramping so badly I had to be carried off in a wheelchair. My daughter, I was later told, seeing me on TV covered in a towel and foil, asked my husband, ‘Who is that, daddy?’ It didn’t help that the photo that ran in the papers wasn’t nice.

That must have been painful in a different way…

If I were a coward, I could not have gone back, but it didn’t stop me. That night, around 3am, I had a strong feeling in my heart: even tomorrow, you’ll be on the podium. In the morning, my manager, Lisa Buster, asked me one honest question: Will you ever run a marathon again? I said, ‘Why not?’ She high-fived me and said, “If, despite all that pain, you give me that answer, you are a champion’. The following year, I won.

Do you still run?

Once in a while, not every day, just for recreation. Like when I was in Korea for the Masters World Championships, I’d wake up every morning to run.

Do people still recognise you in the streets?

Some do, some don’t.

You are just a girl from Nyeri who went to the world and won many important marathons, broke a world record and did so much. Do you ever wonder, why you?

It is very humbling. I don’t fully understand it; only God knows. I’m a third-born; nobody believed in me, not even myself. I just followed my desire, my passion. Even after school, I kept running every morning, not knowing why, just enjoying myself.

What else are you passionate about now?

The word of God.

Do you still keep in touch with the people you ran with, the people you beat, the people who beat you, your managers?

I try to. Naoko Takahashi, the Japanese runner who broke the world record a week before I broke it, invites me to her half marathon in her village, Gifu, Japan. I even ran it competitively for two years, 2010 and 2011; I won the first one and came second in the next.

Which country made the biggest impression on you?

The US, then Japan. In Europe I did some in London and Italy, also New Zealand and the Netherlands.

Where did you get your financial advice from? Did you have a team?

No, just my family and my manager. My first cheque came in May 1995. My manager wouldn’t bank it in her own account. When I got my third, she said, ‘Catherine, your money is not my money, and I’ll be taxed for it’. ‘What we’re going to do’, she said, ‘is take you to the bank, you open your own account and give me power of attorney, so I can move money for you when you’re travelling’. And that’s how we lived

Are you happy with how you spent your money?

Very happy. I count myself one of the most blessed, because I didn’t misuse my money.

The owners of Nairobi’s 14 Riverside complex, Cape Holdings Limited, want the High Court to determine whether a section of the Banking Act is unconstitutional for allowing interest on court-awarded debts to grow beyond the principal amount and expose borrowers to potentially disproportionate financial claims.

The company and its directors are challenging Section 44A (4) of the Banking Act, which excludes judgment debtors and court decrees from the protection of the in duplum principle. This rule generally limits recoverable interest on a debt to the outstanding principal.

‘The petition does not seek to reopen the merits of the arbitration, set aside the award, reverse the Court of Appeal judgement or invite this court to exercise appellate or supervisory jurisdiction over any superior court,’ the company said.

The petition arises from a long-running commercial dispute between Cape Holdings and a creditor, Synergy Industrial Credit Limited, over an aborted transaction involving a block within the 14 Riverside Drive development in Nairobi.

‘An Act of Parliament that offends the Constitution is unconstitutional,’ the company lawyer said, urging the court to hear the petition on its merits.

Cape Holdings says it is not seeking to reopen the underlying arbitration dispute or overturn previous court decisions. Instead, it wants the High Court to determine whether the continued accumulation and enforcement of interest on the decretal amount violates constitutional protections, including the rights to equality, dignity and property.

The dispute has gained significance because the amount now being claimed has grown substantially beyond the original arbitration award.

According to court documents, an arbitrator awarded Synergy Sh1.666 billion. However, fresh warrants of sale and a notification of sale issued on March 16, 2026 put the amount allegedly due at Sh10.679 billion.

Cape Holdings, through its lawyer, told the court that about Sh9.013 billion of the claimed amount comprises compound interest, accounting for roughly 84 per cent of the total.

The company argues that the interest has therefore overtaken the original award by a significant margin.

A valuation by Knight Frank in October 2025 placed the open-market value of 14 Riverside at Sh7.328 billion, with a forced-sale value of Sh5.496 billion.

The company argues that the claimed debt now exceeds even the property’s open-market value, raising questions over the proportionality of the proposed enforcement.

Cape Holdings said the petition does not challenge Synergy’s status as a decree-holder. Rather, the company wants the court to examine whether the manner in which the decree has been calculated and enforced is constitutionally permissible.

The company said the attempts to enforce the Sh10.679 billion claim against the entirety of 14 Riverside, and potentially against property belonging to the company’s directors and third parties, amount to a disproportionate interference with property rights.

Cape Holdings, through its lawyer, argued that the statutory exclusion raises a constitutional question under Article 27 of the Constitution, which guarantees equality and freedom from discrimination. He urged the court to determine whether the provision can stand where it treats judgment debts differently from other debts protected by the in duplum principle.

Synergy Industrial Credit has opposed the petition and wants it struck out.

Synergy argued that the dispute has been before the courts for about 16 years and that all available appeals have been exhausted.

The company said that the courts, including the High Court, Court of Appeal and Supreme Court, have already determined the dispute and that Cape Holdings should not be allowed to reopen it through a constitutional petition.

It also argued that Cape Holdings no longer has proprietary rights over the property in question and urged the court to bring the prolonged litigation to an end by striking out the petition with costs.

The court will rule on October 22, 2026, on whether to strike out the petition or proceed to hear the substantive petition.

As a child growing up in Umoja, Nairobi, Maulid Owino found his way into dance through a window.

A church near his home hosted young people who practised dancehall, hip-hop and gospel routines. But because his parents considered the neighbourhood unsafe, the young Maulid was rarely allowed to wander far from home. So he watched.

‘I used to go and peep in the window and see some moves. I didn’t have access to the internet or anything. So that was like my YouTube,’ he says.

He would memorise the movements, rush home and practise secretly in the toilet, bathroom or kitchen.

Two decades later, the 25-year-old contemporary dancer is learning ballet, jazz, contemporary dance and Pilates from professional tutors in the United Arab Emirates after earning a full scholarship to the University of the Arts Sharjah (UAS).

The journey from that church window to an international dance programme has taken six years of professional work, missed opportunities, international festivals, financial uncertainty and persistence.

It has also taken him across Africa and North America, through dance films and multidisciplinary collaborations, and into a profession he is determined to make sustainable.

‘I can say, at any particular point, I don’t know what this journey holds, but I feel like it’s one of those ‘final boss’ journeys,’ he says.

At UAS, Maulid is one of 98 students in his cohort, sharing a campus with dancers from Egypt, Morocco, Spain, Russia, England and other countries. His days run from 8am to 5pm, with intensive physical and technical training.

‘My experience so far has been interesting and beautiful. I received a really warm welcome,’ he says. ‘I’ve had ballet, jazz and contemporary dance classes as well as Pilates by different tutors. There’s so much to learn and we have collaborations. I’m even starting to learn a few Arabic words.’

The programme is also exposing him to choreography, theatre and theory – skills he hopes will prepare him in his career.

Finding his language

For Maulid, dance is more than executing steps to music. As a movement artist, he uses his body to interpret stories, emotions and ideas. A performance can follow a rhythm, a monologue or simply the atmosphere of a space.

‘I can interpret stories. There’s dancing, and there’s also performing movement art. Depending on how a story is influencing my body, I can be off rhythm. I can be dancing to a text or maybe a monologue. And I can dance without music as well.’

Sound itself does not necessarily mean music. Breathing, silence and the ambience of a room can shape movement. He has also taken that philosophy into film, creating dance films in which locations, movement and natural sound become part of the storytelling.

But the confidence to perform did not come easily. At about 10, the shy boy began finding his voice through movement. In primary school, he met another dancer who introduced him to routines he had learnt from other crews. He also practised at church and performed at youth functions.

‘There was a time I was pushed into a crowd and just told to dance. Because I was really shy, I was like, ‘Today I just have to dance. I won’t speak, but now I’ll just dance.’ That’s how it started. Then confidence came.’

His first certificate came through youth competitions at Holy Family Basilica, where his mother was a coordinator for the Missionary Youth Movement.

High school deepened his interest, although not in the way he expected. After Class Eight, he joined a seminary school where such activities were limited. He practised through the Young Catholic Students club and became a familiar performer at school functions.

After Form Four, he briefly considered studying culinary arts. Then, in 2019, dance opened another door.

His twin brother, Mohammed Ayeko, was exploring dance, photography, fashion and modelling. Photographer Alekograph created a short video featuring the twins, which went viral after singer Wahu reposted it. It felt like a sign.

‘I’m finishing high school. I’m going to now get to explore this,’ he remembers thinking.

Learning the craft

Covid-19 soon disrupted his plans to join university. In 2020, while occasionally helping his father with the family business, Maulid turned to YouTube to teach himself ballet and contemporary dance.

‘It was really hard because this is a style where you need someone to teach you.’

He and his brother began shooting dance videos using their mother’s phone and Maulid joined a dance crew.

The physical demands of professional dance quickly became apparent. ‘I wasn’t that fit. I was very slim at that time. When I ran, my knees would knock. So it took a lot of physical work to get to where I am even now.’

But dance was becoming more than technique. ‘For me, it is the expression that comes out and the fulfilment that lives after I’ve just done a project.’

In October 2020, he joined Dance Into Space, a mixed-ability dance company working with able-bodied and differently abled performers.

It was a turning point.

Second chance

In 2025, Maulid attended a residency before being invited to an in-person audition by the Human Expression Dance Company in Singapore, an organisation he had admired for years. He had applied twice before.

With little money and no guarantee of funding, he turned to M-Changa.

‘I decided to open an M-Changa and raised Sh280,000 in two weeks.’

He made it to Singapore, auditioned and participated in a workshop. But only one of nine male dancers was selected. He returned to Kenya disappointed, then a friend he had met through a skills programme told him about UAS, where his work was taught.

He applied, submitted a video of himself performing an assigned choreography and qualified for an online audition.

‘They said I have a strong background in dance, like I had been trained formally.’

Then came the scholarship interview. Annual tuition is about AED55,000, roughly Sh1.94 million, and the programme runs for three years.

After assessing his financial situation, UAS awarded him a 100 per cent scholarship and offered full-board accommodation for his first term.

‘They told me to just come and start, then they will review from there.’ It was a remarkable second chance.

For now, he does not know exactly where those ideas will take him, but he knows he is moving.

In September 2022, when the Commissioner General’s inflation adjustment notice was circulating on social media and people were asking someone to explain it to them like they were two years old, I wrote a piece in the Business Daily attempting exactly that.

I explained why a specific rate of Sh10 collected today is worth less than Sh10 collected a year ago, and why indexing those rates is international best practice rather than an act of aggression.

The mechanism did not survive the argument. The Finance Act 2023 deleted it altogether, with effect from July 1, 2023.

Four years on, Tanzania has done the opposite. Since July 1,2026, its specific excise duty rates have been adjusted by a formula written into law: every year, they move with the year-on-year inflation rate for the period ending March, plus two percentage points. The change was paired with an initial uplift of 8 percent for 2026/27, from which petroleum products were excluded, and it replaced an adjustment cycle that had previously run only once every three years.

Two neighbours in the same customs union, taxing the same excisable goods, have now arrived at opposite answers. It is worth asking which of them got the design right.

Start with what a specific rate actually is. It is a fixed shilling amount charged per unit: per litre of beer, per mille of cigarettes, per kilogramme of sugar. The amount does not move on its own. Inflation moves around it, and unless the law says otherwise, nobody corrects for the gap.

This is the quietest tax cut in the Kenyan fiscal system. It requires no Bill, no debate, no announcement and no vote. A rate fixed in July 2023 and left untouched through 2026 has fallen in real terms by whatever cumulative inflation Kenya has recorded in the interval. Nobody chose this. It simply happens, which is exactly why it is so easy to permit.

For alcohol and tobacco the loss is larger than the arithmetic alone suggests, because what governs consumption is not price but affordability, meaning price measured against income. When incomes rise and the specific rate stands still, these products become steadily easier to buy even as their shelf price ticks upward. The tax remains on the statute books, described as a health measure, while quietly ceasing to function as one.

It has become common to say that Kenya tried inflation adjustment and rejected it. That reading is too convenient, and it misdescribes what the law contained.

Section 10 of the Excise Duty Act empowered the Commissioner General, by notice in the Gazette and with the approval of the Cabinet Secretary for the National Treasury, to adjust specific rates once a year using average monthly inflation for the preceding financial year. In September 2022 the Commissioner published an adjustment of 6.3 percent, to take effect on October 1, and invited stakeholder views by September 16. The provision also carried a safety valve: specified products could be exempted from the adjustment, with Treasury approval, after weighing the economic conditions prevailing that year.

So the process objections that are usually raised had, on paper, already been answered. What defeated the mechanism was timing. Headline inflation in August 2022 stood at 8.5 percent, fuel subsidies were being unwound, and because excise sits inside the value added tax base, a 6.3 percent duty increase reaches the shelf as rather more than 6.3 percent. In that environment an automatic annual increase was politically unsurvivable, whatever its economic merit.

The narrower remedy was available and went unused. The exemption power existed precisely for a year like 2022. Parliament could have carved out the products where cost of living pressure was sharpest and left the mechanism standing for alcohol and tobacco. It chose instead to remove the instrument entirely, treating a bad year as proof of a bad tool.

What replaced it is not stability. It is a rate negotiation every June. The Finance Act 2026 raised excise on imported sugar from Sh7.50 to Sh40 per kilogramme and split fruit and vegetable juices into a two tier structure. Whatever the merits of those particular decisions, a manufacturer planning three years ahead cannot forecast them. A published formula, by contrast, can be modelled on a spreadsheet. If predictability is the goal, the ad hoc route is the worse of the two options.

A reinstated Kenyan mechanism should borrow four things from the Tanzanian design. Put the formula in the statute, with the index, the reference period and the margin fixed, so that the adjustment does not require a fresh decision and therefore a fresh fight each year.

Set the margin above inflation rather than at it, because merely preserving real value does nothing about affordability.

Sequence a one off catch up before indexation begins, since indexing from an eroded base locks three years of losses into the rate permanently. And make the carve outs narrow, visible and deliberate: excluding fuel, as Tanzania excluded petroleum from its uplift, removes the strongest political objection at modest revenue cost.

One objection deserves a straight answer. Higher duty does widen the incentive to evade, and Kenya’s experience with illicit trade is real. But evasion does not track rate levels as tidily as the argument assumes. Several economies with lower excise than Kenya record higher evasion, because they lack the administrative machinery to control it.

The answer is licensing, production accounting and track and trace, not a frozen rate. Kenya built the Excisable Goods Management System precisely so that rate policy would not be held hostage to leakage.

Tanzania has now put a working reference design on the statute books, in force, in the region. Kenya has the unusual advantage of being able to watch it run for a full year before the Finance Bill 2027 cycle.

I argued for this instrument in 2022 and I would argue for it again, with one amendment: this time, write the rule into the law and leave the discretion where it belongs, in Parliament’s hands rather than in an annual decision.

Juja-based exporter of avocados and herbs Karakuta Fresh Produce has sought regulatory approval to list on the Nairobi Securities Exchange (NSE) in a move that will expand the agricultural segment of the market.

In its application to the NSE and the Capital Markets Authority (CMA), Karakuta plans to list by introduction by the end of this year. This means it will not be raising new capital and will simply list existing shares for potential sale to other investors.

Companies can also go public through an initial public offering (IPO) where shares are sold to raise funds shortly before listing.

‘The listing will provide shareholders with a transparent platform for price discovery in the market and trading of its shares,’ Karakuta’s founder and chief executive Grace Ngugi, told Business Daily.

‘Listing on the NSE will enable the company to enhance its corporate governance, unlock value and give it access to deep capital markets for potential capital raising in future.’

Once Karakuta lists, the NSE will gain an additional member in the agricultural segment, which currently has six companies -Eaagads, Kakuzi, Kapchorua, Limuru Tea, Sasini and Williamson Tea Kenya.

Karakuta was established in 2018 in the Karakuta area of Kiambu County and sources Hass and Fuerte avocados from 3,000 farmers across Kenya, Uganda and Tanzania. Besides avocados, Karakuta also exports herbs including basil, oregano, thyme, tarragon, mint, rosemary, sage, coriander and chives.

The company has customers in the European Union, the United Arab Emirates, Malaysia and India. It is also targeting the promising China market. The company is expected to publish its financial information and other disclosures before listing.

Karakuta currently has only two shareholders, meaning that it will need to conduct an ownership restructuring to comply with listing regulations that require a minimum of seven shareholders and a minimum paid-up capital of Sh10 million for firms eyeing the bourse’s SME Market Segment.

Grace Muthoni Ngugi currently owns 80 percent of Karakuta while Lawrence Kibe Karanja holds the remaining 20 percent, according to company registration records seen by Business Daily.

Other listing requirements published by the NSE include a lock-in period of 24 months for controlling shareholders, a minimum volume of shares equivalent to a 10 percent stake available for trading by the public and total assets of Sh100 million.

Some of these conditions can be waived at the discretion of the CMA. Karakuta will become the latest firm to list by introduction after Family Bank which went public in June, floating 1.7 billion ordinary shares at an introductory price of Sh18 each.

Other firms that have gone public by introduction at the NSE include Homeboyz Entertainment Plc in 2020 and Flame Tree Group Holdings Ltd in 2014.

According to the top leadership of Karakuta, going public at this time is designed, to a large extent, to ensure the company unlocks price discovery through open trading in the NSE which has been on a bull run in the past few years.

‘Listing on the NSE is the natural next step. It gives us the governance and transparency that public markets demand and positions Karukuta to draw on deeper capital as we scale production and expand into new markets,’ Ms Ngungi said.

Karakuta’s listing will be midwifed by Synesis Capital as the lead transaction advisor, MWC Legal as the transaction’s legal advisor and Bakertilly as the reporting accountants.

A former associate has sued Rock Investment Bank, demanding Sh137.2 million in commission from the firm’s lead advisory work on the Kenya Pipeline Company (KPC) initial public offering in March 2026, in which the government raised Sh106 billion from a 35 percent stake sale to the public.

Patrick Ouma Kwome, a former associate at Rock Investment Bank, formerly Rock Advisors Limited, claims that the firm has withheld commissions arising from his role in the successful KPC initial public offering.

Rock was Faida Investment Bank’s transaction partner on the KPC IPO and handled key technical, financial modelling, proposal and transaction-structuring responsibilities under their fee-sharing arrangement.

Mr Kwome filed the claim at the Employment and Labour Relations Court in Nairobi, accusing Rock Investment Bank of breaching his employment contract. He is seeking payment, damages and orders preserving fees payable from the transaction. The investment bank is yet to file a response to Mr Kwome’s claims.

The legal dispute follows a collaboration between Faida, appointed lead transaction adviser, and Rock, which handled key technical and coordination duties. Under their arrangement, Rock was to receive 70 per cent of net fees, while Faida retained 30 per cent, according to Mr Kwome’s claim.

The parties were later referred to mediation, but the process did not resolve the disagreement. Meanwhile, Rock received fees paid by Faida in June and July totalling about Sh1.47 billion, representing its alleged 70 per cent share.

Mr Kwome says his employment contract dated April 1, 2025 entitled him to a gross monthly salary of Sh150,000 and commissions of 10 per cent of net revenues from projects originated by Rock, or 25 per cent where he originated the project.

He called the commission structure ‘a fundamental component’ of his compensation and incentive to deliver the transaction.

He claimed that the KPC transaction was originated by Rock under a consultancy agreement executed in November 2025 and backdated to July 2024. Rock was responsible for preparing the technical and financial proposal, coordinating experts, and organising meetings with the Privatisation Authority.

Mr Kwome says he helped lead the proposal process, developed the financial model underpinning the transaction, drafted data-room protocols and advised on the proposed 1,000-for-1 share split.

He says he helped secure and structure the mandate, developing the financial model, preparing Rock’s proposal and participating in fee negotiations with the Privatisation Authority.

He also participated in negotiations between Faida and the Privatisation Authority and appeared as a key contact person in minutes of pre-contract negotiations held on November 25, 2025.

The claim says the IPO generated advisory, success and placement fees totalling Sh1.95 billion after direct transaction expenses. Rock’s 70 per cent share was calculated at Sh1.37 billion, while Mr Kwome’s claimed 10 per cent commission was put at Sh137 million. He alleges that Rock later sought to alter its fee-sharing arrangement with Faida after the transaction succeeded, reducing the amount from which his commission would be calculated.

Rock’s role was as Faida’s collaborating transaction partner and the firm responsible for much of the technical, financial modelling and proposal work that helped secure and execute the mandate.

The KPC Information Memorandum states that Faida would receive Sh98.6 million in advisory fees and a success fee of one per cent plus VAT on gross proceeds.

It estimated placement fees at 1.5 per cent, or Sh1.59 billion. The offer involved the sale of 65 per cent of KPC for targeted gross proceeds of Sh106.3 billion.

‘The respondent coordinated the preparation of the Information Memorandum by organising and collating reports and information from experts, entities and all relevant sources, for the engagement of investors in addition to preparation of other transaction-related documentation,’ says the claimant in the court papers.

The advisers and other intermediaries were expected to share about Sh3 billion from the sale, including banks, brokers, lawyers, accountants and communication firms.

Mr Kwome alleges that after the transaction succeeded, Rock declined to discuss his commission, excluded him from correspondence and meetings, and initiated disciplinary proceedings intended to pressure him into abandoning the claim.

He further alleges that the company’s managing director indicated Rock would not honour its obligations and would seek to alter the Faida agreement to reduce the amount payable to Kwome. The allegations await trial.

He also claims that his exclusion from transaction discussions, refusal of his commission and subsequent disciplinary proceedings created conditions that forced him to resign.

Mr Kwome resigned after issuing a two-month notice dated April 27, 2026, saying the alleged hostile environment made continued employment untenable.

He asks the court to declare the non-payment a fundamental breach, award the claimed commission, grant 12 months’ salary for constructive dismissal, and preserve outstanding transaction funds pending determination.

Public-private partnership projects with financial obligations for the State must receive parliamentary approval, the High Court has said, strengthening legislative oversight of infrastructure deals financed by taxpayers.

The court declared parts of the Public-Private Partnerships (PPP) Act unconstitutional after finding that the law excluded Parliament from approving PPP arrangements that create government expenditure, guarantees, public debt or other financial liabilities.

The judge said Parliament’s constitutional role in approving public expenditure and public liabilities cannot be bypassed merely because a project is structured as a PPP or funded initially by private investors.

The judgment followed a petition by Katiba Institute challenging provisions used in the proposed concessions involving Jomo Kenyatta International Airport (JKIA) and the Kenya Electricity Transmission Company (Ketraco).

The two projects linked to India’s Adani Group had been cancelled before the petition was heard, but the judge said their cancellation did not remove the wider constitutional questions raised.

The dispute centred on whether the Executive, acting through the PPP Committee, could approve arrangements with long-term financial consequences without Parliament’s involvement.

Katiba argued that Sections 59, 60, 61, 62 and 72 of the Act allowed the Executive to exercise powers reserved for Parliament under the Constitution.

The court agreed in part, declaring Sections 59, 60 and 72 unconstitutional to the extent that they failed to provide for parliamentary approval where a PPP creates government expenditure, guarantees, public debt or other liabilities.

The court, however, suspended the declaration of invalidity for six months, allowing Parliament time to amend the Public Private Partnerships Act and align it with constitutional requirements on public expenditure, guarantees, borrowing and other public liabilities.

The judgment does not require legislators to approve every partnership individually. Approval is necessary where the arrangement commits the national government to financial responsibility.

That may include payments to a private operator, State guarantees, public borrowing, government contributions or liabilities that could eventually fall on taxpayers.

The court stated that a project does not escape parliamentary scrutiny merely because private investors provide the initial capital or because it is described as a concession rather than ordinary public borrowing.

Katiba had also challenged provisions allowing authorities to decide whether privately initiated proposals should undergo open competitive tendering. The organisation argued that Sections 44(5) and (6) undermined Article 227, which requires public procurement to be fair, transparent, competitive and cost-effective.

The High Court rejected that part of the challenge. It found that the law may permit alternative procurement methods where justified, but public agencies remain bound by the Constitution.

A privately initiated proposal cannot be used to favour a particular company, avoid competition or deny the public value for money. The court thus preserved the mechanism while placing limits on how it may be applied.

The petition was filed amid controversy over two proposed Adani concessions. The court papers identified a proposed 30-year concession for the JKIA by Adani Airports Holdings and a Sh95.68 billion, 30-year power transmission concession involving Ketraco and Adani Energy Solutions, according to the published case record.

Katiba said the projects had been developed through privately initiated proposals and were being advanced without adequate parliamentary participation. It also questioned whether the process met constitutional standards of openness, accountability and fair competition.

The petition directly challenged the exclusion of Parliament from PPP agreements.

The government and other respondents opposed the petition, arguing that the court should not intervene in matters governed by the PPP framework and that some disputes belonged before the PPP Petition Committee.

They also argued that cancellation of the projects had weakened the basis for the case.

The court held that the petition raised questions beyond the two transactions. These included Parliament’s role in public finance, protection of public resources and accountability of agencies negotiating long-term concessions.

The six-month suspension means the affected provisions remain temporarily operative while lawmakers consider amendments.

The court is expected to return to the matter on May 11, 2027, for compliance checks and directions.

I didn’t know what to expect when I walked into Jiko Restaurant at the Tribe Hotel. The invitation had promised an evening celebrating Kenyan food heritage, with age-old ingredients and cooking traditions taking centre stage.

That didn’t prepare me to find, let alone enjoy, a six-course meal built around foods our grandparents would recognise – traditional staples such as njahi (black beans), nthoroko (cowpeas), kunde (cowpea leaves), thafai (stinging nettle), musherekha (natural food tenderiser from the Luhya community), and mursik (Kalenjin fermented milk). Not even the spicy malenge (pumpkin) dessert.

The perfect teaser

To get our salivary glands going, the Executive Head Chef at Jiko, Chef Mohamed Yakat, started us off with cassava chips topped with achari ya ndimu salsa and hummus made from baobab (mbuyu) and bambara (njugu mawe). It was the perfect mouth teaser, if ever there was one; a crunchy, flavour-packed bite that disappeared faster than my neighbour could say, ‘That was fire!’

But like any good player, Chef Moha, as he preferred to be addressed, knew better than to let our anticipation die down. He sent out the first of many drinks, in both alcoholic and non-alcoholic forms.

This was the Kijabe Gimlet, made with Procera African gin, fresh juniper, mutatia (mountain basil), and lemon. Its non-alcoholic version, Kijabe Fresh, had everything but the gin, with wild honey and soda added to the mix.

Our drink captain of the evening, Tribe Hotel Group’s Food and Beverage General Manager, Richie Barrow, was quick to explain that the Procera gin, which is distilled right here in Kenya, is made from juniper berries grown in Kijabe Forest.

It was a bright and refreshing drink, but knowing that it was homegrown somehow made it go down even smoother, setting the stage for the soup that came next.

Soup made with njahi, kunde leaves and nthoroko beans served at Jiko Restaurant at the Tribe Hotel.

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Made from njahi, kunde, and nthoroko, this was vibrant green in colour, its velvety surface dotted with a few roasted nthoroko beans. The soup was smooth and hearty, and while you could taste the greens, the telltale bitterness that keeps many children from enjoying a serving of kunde was conspicuously missing. And being used to nthoroko that had been boiled until soft, finding them roasted and crunchy was an unexpected change of texture, albeit a welcome one.

The show stealers

As soon as the soup bowls were cleared, a second round of drinks was passed around. This one was made with guava-infused vodka, or guava cordial for the non-alcoholic version, along with lemon, gum Arabic and honey gomme, and a topping of baobab foam. But before anyone could really indulge, the starters came out and stole the show.

Looking too pretty to eat, the non-vegetarian version came in pairs: soft finger-millet taco shells filled with pressed, grilled, and spiced strips of ox tongue and dotted with vibrant green dollops of a puree made from thafai and mursik.

The ingredients were familiar to us. Finger millet, as our dining captain mentioned, is an ancient heirloom grain that was domesticated in the country thousands of years ago, with evidence of its cultivation found in the East African highlands, including Migori County. Some of us even mentioned having finger millet and thafai at home, but presented as they were here, these familiar ingredients were an adventure waiting to be had.

The dining setup at Jiko Restaurant at the Tribe Hotel on September 10, 2026.

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So when Richie said we could dig in, I was not the only one who put modern propriety aside, leaned into tradition, and reached for the food with my fingers. The little tacos melted in my mouth, their rich, satisfying flavours making a surprisingly strong case for ingredients we thought we already knew.

By the time we had polished off the tacos, we were all in agreement. Rather than the foreign cuisine, this was the kind of menu that belonged not only at State House, but at street level too, replacing the ubiquitous sausages and chips.

Before we could wonder what else could possibly be done with everyday ingredients, a palate cleanser arrived, offering a cool, refreshing pause before we moved on to the main course. This was a watermelon sorbet sprinkled with muthiga (Ugandan greenheart).

Described by Richie as the Kenyan wasabi, a little of the muthiga went a long way. It was spicy, with a lingering herbal kick, yet it provided an interesting contrast to the sweetness of the watermelon.

Ostrich skewers, munyu musherekha sauté osuga, pounded pumpkin seeds and fermented milk, njugu mawe and baobab hummus, served at Jiko Restaurant at the Tribe Hotel.

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The main course

Then came the main course, and with it, another round of familiar ingredients transformed into something I would not have expected to find on a fine-dining table. There were ostrich skewers, alongside osuga (managu/ African nightshade) sauteed with munyu musherekha, sitting on a shallow pool of pounded pumpkin seeds and fermented milk. On the side was the hummus made from baobab and bambara.

At this point, I was already feeling like I might need to pop open a button and measure my spoonfuls, but the tenderness of that ostrich meat had me temporarily throwing caution to the wind. Besides, the man to whom we owed the dinner, Dr Patrick Maundu, had been instrumental in introducing managu into supermarkets back in the 1990s. If only in honour of his efforts, I took more bites than I’d originally intended.

The course also came with accompanying drinks, which were a modern take on the Kamba traditional brew, kaluvu. The Kaluvu Pinot Noir, an alcoholic option, was made with Baobab hibiscus and kaluvu wine, hibiscus baobab triple sec, and beetroot water, and was served alongside a shot of the original kaluvu brew in its unadulterated form.

Spicy malenge, cinnamon and nutmeg ice cream served for dessert at Jiko Restaurant at the Tribe Hotel.

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Malenge dessert

For those not imbibing, there was the Blackened Hibiscus Spritzer, made with hibiscus cordial, blackened local lemon and beetroot water. For a meal this adventurous, it was the perfect thing to wash it all down.

And then there was dessert. Spicy malenge, cinnamon and nutmeg ice cream, accompanied by the Madafu Tamu Tamu, a delicious blend of fresh coconut water, limes, condensed milk, coco tincture and mursik float. It was tangy. It was creamy. It was gone before I knew it.

Who said old is boring?

In many boardrooms, a familiar defence is invoked when things go wrong: ‘I genuinely believed I was acting in the best interest of the organisation.’

For years, that subjective belief prevailed and offered comfort.

However, in light of the UK Supreme Court ruling delivered on 14 July 2026, there is a paradigm shift in this state of affairs. In Saxon Woods Investments Ltd vs Francesco Costa, UKSC 21, the court delivered a unanimous decision that will shape corporate governance across the Commonwealth, including Kenya.

Francesco Costa was the chairman of Spring Media Investments Ltd. The company and its shareholders had formally agreed, through a shareholders’ agreement, to sell the business by December 31, 2019.

Costa was entrusted by the board to lead the sale process. Privately, Costa disagreed. He believed a delayed sale would yield a higher price. Instead of convincing his fellow directors, he unilaterally decided to delay the sale. He gave quiet instructions to investment bankers to slow the process, withheld information from the board, and allowed board minutes to show that the sale was on track when it was not.

Then the Covid-19 pandemic struck. Valuations collapsed and the sale failed. A minority shareholder holding 22.3 per cent brought an unfair prejudice claim. Costa’s argument was straightforward: his motives were pure and that he honestly thought delay would maximise the company’s shareholder value.

The court was interpreting Section 172 of the UK Companies Act 2006, which is mirrored in Section 143 of Kenya’s Companies Act 2015 and, in the public sector context, Chapter 1, paragraphs 1.7 and 1.8, Chapter 4, paragraphs 4.2 and 4.3 of Mwongozo, the Code of Governance for State Corporations.

The court held that the duty to act in good faith has two elements. Subjectively, did the director honestly believe he was promoting the company’s success? Objectively, was his conduct itself consistent with good faith? Covert deception, concealment and disloyalty, the court ruled, can never satisfy good faith, even if driven by a genuine belief that it is best for the company.

Costa was ordered to personally buy out the minority shareholder at the pre-pandemic valuation.

In light of this, there are two key learnings for boards. First, dissent must be overt. The duty of a director who disagrees with a board resolution is to disclose the disagreement openly to the board, argue the case and seek a formal review.

Second, collective responsibility is not optional. Once a resolution is passed, it binds all directors, including those who dissented.

Mwongozo requires that dissent be minuted, but it does not allow a dissenting director to sabotage the implementation of a board resolution.

The enduring message from London to Nairobi is clear: in governance, being right in your own mind is not enough.

How you act and whether you respect the collective authority of the board are what the law will ultimately judge.

Tourism levy collections fell Sh1 billion short of target in the year to June after regulations to bring Airbnb rentals, homestays and villas into the tax system failed to take effect.

The Tourism Fund collected Sh5.646 billion against a Sh6.65 billion target in the 2025/26 financial year, according to data submitted to the State Department for Tourism.

The Sh1.004 billion shortfall was the largest recorded in recent years and marked a significant deterioration from the previous financial year, 2024/25, when collections missed the Sh5.5 billion target by Sh400 million.

The agency attributed the shortfall to the failure to gazette regulations that would have expanded levy collection to short-term accommodation operators.

‘The Fund had anticipated having regulations that would enable collection of levies from Airbnbs, homestays and villas during the financial year, but the same were not gazetted, hence the shortfall,’ the report says.

The disclosure highlights the growing challenge of capturing Kenya’s expanding short-term rental market under a levy system largely designed around conventional hotels and other licensed tourism establishments.

It also exposes differences over whether new regulations are needed before the levy can be collected from digital platforms.

Tourism Fund chairperson Samson Some said in January that there was no legal obstacle to collecting the charge from digital platforms, arguing that the bigger challenge was identifying and tracking short-term rental operators.

‘There is no legal gap,’ Mr Some said in an interview. ‘The systems we had were built for traditional hotels, restaurants and bars. What has changed is the entry of digital platforms and short-term rentals, which the old systems were not designed to capture.’

Under the tourism law, regulated hotels, restaurants and other licensed tourism establishments pay a 2 percent tourism levy on gross sales.

The levy is payable monthly, with failure to remit by the 10th of the following month attracting a Sh5,000 fine and a three per cent penalty on the outstanding amount for every month it remains unpaid.

Short-term rentals have complicated enforcement, particularly where individual operators manage multiple properties without operating from conventional hotel premises.

‘You may have someone running 10 units on one floor of a residential block while the rest of the building is private housing,’ Mr Some said. ‘Without the right digital system, you may not even identify the operator, let alone enforce levy collection.’

The latest figures show how the revenue gap has emerged as annual targets have increased.

Collections exceeded the target by Sh1.12 billion in 2021/22, when Sh2.81 billion was raised against a Sh1.69 billion target.

The surplus narrowed to Sh690 million in 2022/23, with collections of Sh3.9 billion against a Sh3.21 billion target, before falling to about Sh150 million in 2023/24.

Collections then dropped below target in 2024/25, when Sh5.1 billion was raised against a target of Sh5.5 billion, leaving a Sh400 million gap.

Although collections rose by Sh546 million last year, the annual target increased by Sh1.15 billion, meaning revenue growth was insufficient to match the higher expectations.

The stalled expansion of the levy base comes as the tourism industry increasingly includes accommodation booked outside traditional hotels, raising the stakes for the authorities to find a workable collection mechanism.

Mr Some said the proposed solution is to shift collection towards digital transactions rather than relying on physical identification and follow-up of individual operators.

Under the proposed model, the levy would be deducted when a guest makes a booking, with the platform remitting the amount directly to the agency.

‘If $100 (about Sh12,962) is collected from a guest, a percentage is remitted directly through the system,’ Mr Some said. ‘That way, we don’t have to chase operators to their residences or follow properties that keep shifting locations. The levy is collected at source.’

The approach would move enforcement from individual properties to booking platforms, potentially giving authorities access to transactions that are difficult to identify through conventional inspections.

Other countries have adopted similar approaches. Rwanda requires accommodation providers, including short-term rental operators using platforms such as Airbnb, to pay tourism tax based on guest payments.

South Africa has also pursued a data-driven approach in which platforms can provide authorities with transaction information, including host identities, earnings, property addresses and rental periods.