This does not say good things about me but I am 13 minutes late to my interview with Allan Kilavuka. The thing is, I missed a turn on Mombasa Road’s snaky link roads and you can guess what happened. Cacophonic traffic.
When I get there, at KQ headquarters, Allan, with his brooding calm father figure exterior, extends a silence that is awkward, perhaps calculated.
Semantics aside, we safely navigate the iceberg between us, because life happens, and because time flies and, the truth is that Allan is entering this phase where he is winding down, the sun setting behind the years, the last half of his life. Or so he says.
He is at that stage where mortality and immortality are crashing, and the mountain of the life behind him is bigger than the hills ahead.
Which is funny because he is now more full of beans, hiking here and there, mentoring now and then, living the maxim from Marcus Aurelius that says, when a man sees his end, he wants to know there was some purpose to his life.
But his life is a story of stories. And he, Kilavuka, the storyteller, holding court like a truth-giver, an aging oracle whose sage sojourners will travel from across the world to his villa to seek.
What’s it like to be you?
I am a relaxed person. A very relational person—I like to know people for who they are, not what they do or what they have. I take every responsibility as an assignment and I take assignments very seriously.
What does relaxation look like to you?
Spending time with people I treasure—family and friends. I have developed an addiction to hiking. I am going for one tomorrow (Saturday). This year we hiked Mt Kilimanjaro with the KQ Hiking Club, and next year we are doing Mt Meru.
How did you pick up hiking?
I started in 2014 when I was living in South Africa. When I came back to Nairobi, I was working on a cause to help street people—to raise some money to support them and get them off the streets. I combined what I wanted to do and my new love, which was hiking Mt Kenya to raise funds, about Sh4 million.
What’s the toughest part when hiking?
Taking the next step. When you are ascending the summit, it’s quite tough. Most people wonder 'why did I do this?' Because it is self-inflicted. But after the hike, you have the kind of satisfaction that is second to none.
Quick story: When hiking Mt Kilimanjaro, at 10pm, on the last day it was very tough because of the thin air and it was freezing cold, and also quite steep. The only thing I can do is take the next step, even if I had every reason to stop. But the satisfaction of completion was second to none.
Have any of your children picked up this habit?
A little bit. They are young adults, and unfortunately, young adults these days tend to want things quickly. I was hiking with my son at Satima in the Aberdare and he was way ahead of me…so he ran out of oxygen.
I caught up with him and passed him because I was steady and consistent when he wanted to do it quickly for the instant achievement. I passed him and he really suffered.
Has he forgiven you?
I don’t know, haha!
What’s your fatherhood philosophy?
You need to be friendly and open but you are not friends, you are a parent. You know something they don’t. What you are called to do is to love them and support them as a parent.
nce you become a friend, then you are peers, but really you are not. Later on in life when they are matured and settled, it evens out. My mentors used to tell me you’ll always be a parent no matter how old your child is, even at 50.
What’s the most important decision a father can make?
To be present for his children, not just physically but also mentally. Yesterday my daughter did not find me at home and she called and asked where I was.
She didn’t know I was travelling and said 'No, I just wanted your presence'. A father’s presence gives protection, assurance, and warmth. I get this from God.
This is important to me because I feel people are busy—busyness—which makes you not present. We need to learn to be present. Stop doing and start being.
What would you change about how you were raised?
I come from a large family, with 10 siblings from different mothers. It is great but it would have been better if it were a single mother—life is much easier that way. Although my father loved me, I believe, he should have been more present.
You have this calm exterior. What ruffles your feathers?
I like people who take their responsibilities seriously at every level, even my children. If they don’t, that upsets me because it shows disorganisation and indiscipline.
One of the problems we have in this country is that we are a very undisciplined society, which is why we have a lot of corruption and crime.
Who is making plans for the holidays?
Me! My wife sometimes wonders how I can do all these things and I never feel stressed about it. She lets me do it…
Where are you going?
We’ll go to the farm in Kitale, we have some international guests coming over for a short stay and other friends as well.
What is the one question you are asking yourself now?
What can I do better? I spent some time in a montorship programme in the US. It was very impactful, so much so that I felt it is something we should do in Kenya and Africa.
That is something I can do because when our time is done, if we didn’t do it, our responsibility is to make sure the people who come after us do it better.
How do you take care of yourself given all your engagements?
I attribute this to my wife and family who give me an easy time. I take as much time as I can to rest. I also hike which is important, and have friends who keep me accountable, encourage and listen to me. We meet every week and share, especially as we grow older. It is a safe space to share our failings, frustration, joys, and pride.
Do you have a special memory you can share just between you and your friends?
In high school, I met a young man who became my best friend. He was mature and would help me think about things—he was my peer, mind you—things like when your parents tell you you need to work hard, what does that mean? They never broke it down. This friend broke it down.
I look up to him like a mentor. He passed away at 28 in a road accident. Fortunately, he left a son who I now mentor and support and consider my son. I wish I learned more from him and because of that I now mentor and break down things to young people.
What do you wish people understood about you more?
They should all say the same thing.
Which should be?
That I am authentic. I would not say what I don’t mean. It’s very hard work to be different things to different people; masking and unmasking, like when we were dating [with my wife], a different person to her, a different person to your friends. Unmask and be yourself, let people accept you. Or not.
Speaking of, what did your last heartbreak teach you?
Wow, that was so long ago, haha! I have to think. [Thinks long and hard] Not everybody is meant for you.
What’s your insecurity now?
Phew. How will my children turn out? How will they impact society? For we raise children for society.
Who is making plans for the holidays?
Me! My wife sometimes wonders how I can do all these things and I never feel stressed about it. She lets me do it…
Where are you going?
We’ll go to the farm in Kitale, we have some international guests coming over for a short stay and other friends as well.
Do you have a special ritual you do as a family?
I have a special greeting with our lastborn.
What is the one question you are asking yourself now?
What can I do better? I spent some time in a montorship programme in the US. It was very impactful, so much so that I felt it is something we should do in Kenya and Africa.
That is something I can do because when our time is done, if we didn’t do it, our responsibility is to make sure the people who come after us do it better.
What’s the last thing you read that changed your mind about something?
Business, contemporary issues, politics, religion, and philosophy interest me. I was reading about Syria and the way Bashar-al-Assad was removed {from presidency}.
Global economists have interests, nobody really likes you. Before he was toppled, I felt he would withstand the fight, but I didn’t realise the force was too big even for the interests—because he [Assad] has been there for quite some time. You might look strong, but the forces are too strong to hold back.
What’s your superpower?
I believe I have wisdom. I can discern the better way to do things.
What have you finally come to terms with?
I am in the second half of my life. I am winding down.
Is that exciting?
Oh yes. I have boundless energy. I have a need to do things quickly.
Who do you know that I should know?
He is dead and I only know one of his names. He is called Adam. He died at 28 years old and was based in Canada. Adam had all manner of disabilities, he was blind, deaf, dumb, and had multiple sclerosis.
That means he was 100 percent dependent on other people, but for him to live until 28—he was abandoned by his parents—they needed an army of volunteers who had to be coordinated to try and figure out what he wanted.
When he died, there was a multitude of people who attended his funeral, and they said although he [Adam] did not do or say anything, his being there changed their lives and perspectives.
What am I here for? There are many Adams, many invisible people in society, but are very impactful in their ways, which tells you that in your current role, you too have a role to play. Read about Adam.
