A fireband mother and Moi: Gamaliel Hassan’s escape from Kibra to CEO

“I wanted to be president,” he says.

Instead, he battled his health challenges and escaped the cyclone of slum life to eventually attain a doctorate degree. As the CEO of Stima Sacco, a 200,000-member savings and credit cooperative, Dr Gamaliel leads the group with the compassion borne from his experiences.

This interview happened a couple of weeks ago, in the middle of Ramadhan, a time of reflection for him on matters of spirituality, sacrifice and gratitude.

I was out there having a chat with your PA as you got your photos taken. I asked her, how old is this guy? She said, 47. I asked, how many children? She said three. Three? From how many wives? She said, he has only one wife. I said, What? Is he even a proper Muslim? [Laughter]

No, no, hold on. Just because you have been told you can have many wives does not mean you should. I have one wife and three children. I love them so much. Extremely so.

I was 33 years old when I got my firstborn. So, I started late. Before that, I was hustling in Kibra, going to Olympic Primary, trying to get out of Kibra and finally going to Nairobi School - the best high school that there is. [Chuckles]. That helped me because it led me to university.

So marriage, for me coming from a poor background, was about whether I was able to provide for my children. And I did not want them to go through what I went through.

My children (13, nine and four) are the best thing that has ever happened to me. They think I'm superman. But I guess what you are really asking is; why am I married to only one wife, right?

Glad we came around to that. [Laughter] And this is what every Christian asks. I know I’m allowed to marry up to four wives but for me, marriage is special. And I have a partner who I had known for so long before.

Since I was 20 years. We got married when I was 33. It took us 13 years to get married. We both come from Kibra so it took us a long time to say this is what we want to do together. She is Muslim like me. She’s from Nyeri.

Are you learning anything new this Ramadhan?

The spiritual journey is ongoing. I keep learning about the needs of my body and my spirit. Of course, there is the learning of the body during this time; that our bodies don’t need the amount of food we give it.

That hunger is a state of mind more than a state of the body. That water is normally just mostly sufficient. Look, I’ve fasted for as long as I can remember. Since I was young, my spiritual profile has kept transforming.

I’m not just fasting food but fasting my thoughts, and desires and trying to keep away from that to attain mental and spiritual cleanliness. And it’s all a work in progress. My prayer to God in every time of my five prayers in a day is to make me a better person, to make me a better Muslim.

Do you think about your mortality more now at 47 than you did, say 10 years ago?

You start thinking about your mortality when you have children. Or I did. It’s something that I have engaged with. And of course, you're getting older, and you are on the way out. You have less time.

And you cannot escape that. We have to be aware that you could get into your car today as you head back home and not make it. Because we assume we will get back home this evening and see your children. But we might not. [Shrugs]

We have plans. God has a purpose. Exactly. Life is so brittle. You are driving and you see someone lying dead on the side of the road, hit by a car. And you drive on and forget about it. Seems like something that only happens to others. That was their day.

How much time do you have? But that’s not even the question you should be asking. What you should be asking is what are you doing with the time you have now? Because death is around the corner. It’s inevitable. However, all I pray for is extra time so that I can be able to do a bit more.

If it were to end today, as you say, what would you be least proud of?

Wow. [Very long pause] That’s a tough one. [Pause] I wish I could have helped people more. I think it’s something I constantly want to aspire, to change lives, to inspire and to contribute. But there is always the excuse of resources, we are always thinking when I have more, I will do much more.

The truth is we don’t need a lot to help. Sometimes we just need to give our time. But we are so busy, aren’t we? We have calendars. [Chuckles].

I do a lot of charity work, but I don’t think it's enough. I’m certain I can do more and I’m not proud of that admission. And I’m lucky I got out of Kibra and I know what it means to be where I was. Many others leave. You have to ask yourself why? So I try to mentor and help others who were like me, but…yes, I’m sure I can do more.

Was your dad born in Kibra?

My dad was a Luhya from Khwisero, Kakamega County. He met my mom, Fatma Abeid and married her. Her grandparents, her father and her mother come from Kibra. They are all Nubians.

I’m a Nubian. She was one of the first human rights advocates during the Moi era. She founded and ran an NGO called Kenya Anti-Rape Organisation. It took a lot those days to set up an NGO like that, there were a lot of challenges. Some of my childhood memory was of my mom bringing back home rape victims to live in our tiny house.

Traditionally, we have identified ourselves with our father’s tribe. If your father is Luhya, that technically makes you Luhya. But you identify as Nubian, your mother’s side, and you are Muslim. How come?

So, on my dad’s side half is Muslim and half is Christian. My dad converted to Islam and married my mom. I respect traditions and observe some of them.

My children go to the village and know all my dad's side of the family. I consider myself both a Luhya and a Nubi. My children often ask what tribe they are seeing as my wife is from Nyeri and I tell them we are Kenyans.

We are a mosaic of different tribes and because of intermarriages, we are less tribal. I have a sister who's married to a Sudanese, my brother is married to a Somali. I have a half-sister who's Luo. I was brought up in a way that I don't look at people through the lens of religion or tribe.

You mentioned a phrase earlier about getting out of the poverty of Kibra. You said you “got out” from “across the railway line.” What inspiration allowed you to get out?

We didn’t have many role models in Kibra. My only role model was my mother. She had nothing, absolutely nothing, yet she was very committed to helping and fighting for something. Like rape, like dumping of trash.

Part of what is the Southern Bypass now was part of prisons and was a dumping site and my mother fought against it for long. It eventually stopped. And she was this frail, petite woman but with a force to behold.

When I got much older, I remember her telling me, when you have a few shillings go to the Hilton Hotel and just take tea so that you are acclimatised to the fact that you belong anywhere.

My other role model was the late President Moi. We used to hear that Moi would drive around alone in our neighbourhood in a Volkswagen.

I remember him driving on his way to Kabarnet Gardens and stopping at our school to hand us sweets and five shillings. From a very tender age, if you asked me what I wanted to be, I’d say I wanted to be a president.

My mom would tell me, he has five fingers on each hand and two legs, like you. Why can’t you be president? My dad was a footballer. He played for Harambe Stars in the 70s and 80s, as a midfielder.

They used to call him Rocky or Gondrola, because he was good at controlling the ball. [Laughs]. My dad’s side are talented footballers. I was 18 when my dad died. He was a very calm individual, that’s what I recall.

The biggest advice he ever gave me was not to play football, which was puzzling because he would bring home many trophies. By the time he passed away at 54 years old, he had also struggled quite being an international player. He said, “You should strive to be a doctor.” I’m a doctor now, but not the doctor he meant. [Laughs]

What was the impact of losing your father at 18?

My mom stepped in to try and fill this gap, of course, but I hardly ever had a male role model, and this meant a lot of trial and error as a man. I had to hustle and find my way.

At the University of Nairobi, I started an afternoon aerobics class, as an instructor. My fitness journey started then; it’s a cornerstone of my life. I was not a healthy child, I had bronchitis, was always in hospitals, never able to play sports in school. I also sold insurance. I did my CPA and CPS [Certified Public Accountant.

Fast forward to a gentleman called Ben Muchemi, a rally driver who I consider a father figure because Ben saw something in me. He gave me my first opportunity in life; to be the CEO of Safaricom Dealers Association. He didn’t have to, but he did.

What's your weakness as a man?

There are many. [Pause] I can list them. First, I’m naturally competitive. I see that in my two sons competing about everything. Everything is a competition.

What's your greatest fear?

[Laughs] I think I have. [Laughs]. Greatest fear? Disappointing my family. They look up to me. My children think I’m this guy, superhuman. I fear shattering this image and they have to contend with the fact that I’m human, that I have always been human.

I fear losing them because they are growing older each day and are becoming more independent of me. For my teen daughter, I’m learning to treat her like a person with individuality, no longer a child but somebody who has an independent mind.

→ [email protected]