Few artistes have regrets about how they spent their money in their heyday, and one of them is Lucy Wangui, best known as the magistrate in the television courtroom comedy series “Vioja Mahakamani”.
Her first pay was Sh40 per episode. That was in the 1980s.
“I am proud that I used my earnings well, which is why I am content with how my life turned out,” the 66-year-old says in an interview.
Away from the screen, Lucy’s aura of a no-nonsense arbitrator has melted away. When reminded of the tough image many of her fans associate with her, she smirks. Her demeanour is warm and motherly.
Our talk eventually detours into the subject of managing finances. Celebrities like her have grabbed headlines for splurging their earnings and living in want when the fame fades away.
“If you’re struggling to save, there’s not much you can do unless you take control of your money. Money comes and goes. If you don’t manage it, it will slip away. Let me tell you about artistes. They get money, and they spend it quickly. You’ll see someone win Sh1.6 million, and soon after, they’ll buy a car and commit to paying a daily fee for it. They want to stay in an expensive apartment. They live a lifestyle that isn’t theirs,” she says.
“At the end of the day, where does the Sh1.6 million go? You’re left owing the landlord. The auctioneer repossess the car. The person you owe money might even report you to the police," she says.
She recommends investing the earnings in a business.
“Before you compare yourself to others, think about where you came from and where you want to go. Ask yourself, ‘What do I want out of life?’ If you do, you’ll avoid trouble. And as an artiste, if you don’t think things through, you’ll end up alone and in trouble. You won’t get where you want to go if you don’t manage yourself properly,” she says. “If you can’t manage 50 cents, you can’t manage a million."
Unlike many artistes whose career was moulded in drama schools, Lucy’s began in a Nairobi bakery. “I worked as a secretary in Nairobi. After that, I didn’t go back to the secretary role,” she recalls.
Lucy was born in Nairobi’s Kariokor. As a child, she dreamt of becoming a nurse or a secretary, back when those were considered the most respectable jobs. She eventually pursued a secretarial course and landed a job at Elliot Bakeries.
A chance audition for the 1970s TV series Zuberi changed everything. Though untrained, she caught the eye of veteran actor Mzee Pembe.
“He was the one who exposed me to casting. Everyone saw me as the one who could do it,” she says.
Her early roles were fleeting.
“I was still in the minor acting parts at first. I would go in, do my bit, and leave.”
But when Ann Wanjugu, the original “Vioja Mahakamani” magistrate, left Kenya for Hollywood in the mid-70s, producer Alex Mutahi (of “Vitimbi” fame) took a gamble on Lucy.
“I hesitated. Ann’s shoes were too big to fill. I was scared. I even shook during filming!”
Her debut as magistrate was rocky.
“They told me to stop doing it because I was young, but I tried again,” she says.
Alex Mutahi, the director pushed her to study law to anchor the comedy in reality. “He said, ‘Study slowly. Know the law like you know a car.’ I practised day and night.”
Soon, the then Attorney-General, Amos Wako, took notice. “He said, ‘If we educate people through comedy, why don’t they respect real courts?’” Lucy recalls.
Mr Wako opened his legal library to her, and for months, Lucy immersed herself in statutes.
“We wanted viewers to laugh but also learn. For instance, if someone stole a chicken, I’d cite the actual Penal Code section,” the actress says.
Lucy’s mastery of Kenya’s law made scripts redundant. “If you hand me a script today, I’ll memorise it by tomorrow. But often, we improvise. You must know the law’s nuances—the penalty for stealing a car isn’t the same as a goat!”
The show evolved from Kiberengi (a kangaroo court) to “Vioja Mahakamani”, requiring sharp wit. “Now, we film five episodes daily. Back then, even one felt impossible!”
The show’s success caught the ear of President Daniel arap Moi. “He’d order, ‘Bring those “Vioja Mahakamani” actors to entertain!’ We made him laugh,” Lucy says.
Mr Moi later gifted her colleague, the late Mzee Ojwang, a house in Eastlands. “He asked where Ojwang lived. We said, ‘Don’t give it to us — we’ll manage.’ But Moi insisted,” she recalls.
Lucy, however, stayed grounded.
“In the 80s, I earned Sh40 per episode. Rent was Sh150 a month. We’d walk to rehearsals to save on fare and eat chips (French fries) for Sh1,” she says.
Today, she earns up to Sh1 million per role — but scoffs at reckless spending.
The acting world has changed a lot since 1978 when she first appeared on the screen.
“Back in the day, there wasn’t much money in acting. Now, there are content creators, and they make money. If you go on TikTok, you can see there is money to be made. There’s money in theatre, TV, and online platforms. However, despite this, the acting industry as we knew it has changed dramatically. The mindset has shifted. Before, people used to look at actors driving nice cars and wonder where they got the money from, but today, people know it could be from something like TikTok,” she says.
Lucy has embraced social media apps like TikTok, with her grandson filming her skits. “He edits me into memes and says, ‘Grandma, we’re trending!’” she says.
Her children, including a daughter who studied beauty therapy in London, cheer her on. “They say, ‘Mum, you’re still the star.’”
Her proudest achievement?
“I have a house, a car, children, grandchildren. What more could I want?”
To young artistes, she warns: “Don’t mimic others. Bring your own flavour. Save your coins, live humbly, and respect your craft—or fame will destroy you.”
