Jack Ranguma, the former first governor of Kisumu, is now a free man. A free man with what looked like a bodyguard, lurking at arm's length.
It has been seven years since he left the governorship. He doesn’t miss it. Not the early mornings and the graveyard shifts. Not the politics and the politicking.
He wasn’t a politician, to begin with. He was a technocrat that politics fingered and rose to serve because politics remains a temptress.
His career started in 1979 when he joined BDO International as an audit manager. He stayed for the next two decades, exiting as partner and head of financial and management consultancy services. In 2002 he was appointed commissioner of income tax and later commissioner of domestic taxes at KRA.
After a stint at Justice Network Africa, a pan-African organisation as a senior policy advisor for tax, the road led to politics.
“Sometimes when there is a call to serve you heed it because serving is an honour.”
Now he is the chairperson of the Sacco Societies Regulatory Authority (Sasra). It’s not a full-time gig, giving him time to do other things, like farming. Good thing, this slow pace, because he’s now knocking 70 and that comes with demands of reflection and discernment.
You’ve experienced the profound loss of children. How has that shaped your life?
I have lost three children, though most people know about my daughter Sonia, who passed away in 2021. My first loss was my son, my firstborn with Olivia (his wife), who passed away at just two years old. It was a sudden and devastating event. The second loss was a son from a previous relationship.
He lived with his mother, and died as an adult, and while we were not deeply connected, his death still hit me hard because he was my son.
Sonia’s death was the most impactful. She was our hope after losing our first son. She had just graduated, secured a promising job, and was preparing to buy a house when she died suddenly from a heart condition. My wife has struggled profoundly with her passing. While I think of her daily, my wife feels the weight of her absence more deeply.
What was it like receiving the call about Sonia’s passing?
It was 3 am when my other daughter called, telling me Sonia had collapsed in her room, where her young daughter found her. Emergency services were already there, but it was too late. They said it was a heart problem. It was devastating. Her loss left us reeling, especially knowing her two children—just 11 and 6 years old—would grow up without their mother.
How has her passing affected your wife?
It changed her deeply. After burying Sonia, she never moved back to Nairobi. She only visits briefly before returning to the village, as she feels that being in Nairobi is akin to abandoning Sonia’s memory. She constantly worries about access to the grandchildren, who live in the US.
Their father occasionally allows them to visit my other daughter, but it’s not the same. This distance is painful for her. Now we are left with our daughter who also has two children, so I have four grandchildren.
So sorry for your loss. Onto other dark subjects, I’m afraid; politics. Do you miss being a governor?
No, I don’t. Why? Because now I can be a human being again. Stepping away was a relief. It allowed me to return to a normal life. Those first governors, myself included, took the role very seriously because we saw it as a responsibility, not just a political position. I was a technocrat, not a politician, so I approached the role as a CEO overseeing development.
The workload was intense, with long hours and numerous responsibilities. While I valued the opportunity to serve, it’s a demanding role that leaves little room for personal life.
Did the power of the office change you?
Not fundamentally, though it did make me less accessible. This wasn’t intentional but rather a result of the sheer volume of work—meetings in Nairobi, international engagements, and managing local commitments.
As chair of the health and biotechnology committee, my days often started at 6 am and stretched to 3 am. Despite these sacrifices, some people failed to recognise the effort, and the political dynamics were challenging, particularly as I wasn’t the expected candidate for the position.
My focus was on creating lasting change, but politics often derailed those efforts.
Would you consider running for office again?
Yes, under the right circumstances. There’s unfinished work, like the Lake Region Economic Bloc, which I initiated as its first chair. These projects hold transformative potential but often stall due to political interference.
Empowering the population through education and information is critical; an informed electorate cannot be easily manipulated. While I don’t miss the political arena, I sometimes feel the need to return to complete what I started.
What shaped your aspirations growing up in Nyakach Gem Rae?
I grew up in a rural setting, herding sheep and goats while attending school. My father was a tailor and lived in Tanzania with my mom, leaving us under the care of my grandmother. My early aspirations were shaped by contrasts in my environment.
I vividly remember a relative visiting in a gleaming red car—a marvel to a village boy like me. I once touched the car and was soundly beaten for it. That incident made me vow to one day own a similar vehicle. Another influence was a visiting professor whose achievements inspired me to aim higher.
At 69, what motivates you now?
Doing good and making a difference. I’m focused on strengthening financial inclusion in rural areas, particularly through Saccos. These institutions were pivotal in my education and continue to play a vital role in many communities. I also want to ensure my grandchildren and future generations have access to education.
I read somewhere that Ranguma is facing bankruptcy. I wondered how a man with great financial education, acumen, and experience could go bankrupt. I wondered if it’s the case of the shoemaker who goes about in torn shoes.
(Laughs) Having debt doesn’t mean bankruptcy. Debt, when managed well, is a tool for growth. Unfortunately, some people equate wealth with outward displays, like driving expensive cars. For me, simplicity is more important than appearances. What matters is how you use your resources to create value and impact others.
Where did you read that?
In a newspaper article… "that smart people read.”
When they don't see me driving a Porsche, they say 'he is broke because he is no longer in the government'. Let me tell you a story about cars. I still drive my 1990 Musso that has 235,000km on it. It’s very good, it's just that it is not a car of today. If I were to sell it now it would fetch me about Sh500,000 only.
The only car I bought when I was in office was a locally assembled Pajero, a very reliable car even though not very comfortable. It’ bears a KAV registration. That’s the car I move around in.
There was a time I wanted to go to a funeral with a friend of mine from Kisumu. It was one of those high-profile funerals where you arrive in style with big cars and whatnot.
My friend told me, 'Please remember, don’t show up in the KAV'. I said, why not? That’s my only car here. I have an old Range Rover, very comfortable. But I don't take it to Kisumu. He said, 'no, this is not a place to come with the KAV, there will be leaders coming in posh vehicles.' I attended with my KAV.
Where do you get your grounding from?
Which grounding?
The one that goes to a high-profile Luo funeral in an old Pajero KAV.
One need not show off. The most important thing is simplicity, reaching out to people, and talking to people at a personal level, no to impress or get something from them. Am I supposed to be rich because I was a politician?
When I stop in Kisumu now, boda boda operators will come to me, not asking for money, well some will, but most want to discuss issues, to tell me their problems. Not all problems require money. Just insight. And if you can give them that, you'll have helped a lot.
I loved it when I recently watched a news story on Ramogi TV about boda boda operators in Migiro starting saccos to buy each other motorcycles because they want to be seen by politicians as people who can help themselves.
There are three things that are important to a Luo man of that profile. One, he has food to eat, so he has a little income. Two; when he has a funeral, he has a support base and three, when he falls sick he can get help.
What are your challenges as a 69-year-old man now?
I really don't have challenges. If God gives you good health, you can progress. I don't have a lot of money, but I don't lack what to eat. And I have a little more to help others. So I don't see anything as a challenge.
I am a chairman which is not a full-time job so I’m free to farm. I have not finished my house, but I'm doing it for fun and at my own pace. What is important for me is to see if I can live to see my grandchildren grow.
What I'm trying to do with my daughter is that when I am not there, all my wealth is put into a basket, and say that in my lineage, no child will fail to go to school. That entire line, whether they are in the US or here, and my brother's children as well, everybody from my mother.
That's how people create a foundation to help people grow so that they don't become destitute. That's very important.
I am under pressure from people who want me to go back to politics, not that I miss it. Sure, I feel that I left some projects unfinished.
