How
Fitz tried desperately to save
his
mentor Pio Gama Pinto
Copyright
© 2019 Fitzval R.S. de Souza
The views
and opinions expressed in this book are the author’s own and the facts as
remembered by him.
All
rights reserved.
Fitz
pictured in London with Pio’s widow Emma Gama Pinto when both were in pretty
good
health
and long before the onset of Parkinson’s disease for Pio. Both have been ailing
since. Photograph by ex-Kenyan Benegal Pereira, the son of freedom fighter
Eddie Pereira.
Forward to Independence Fitz de Souza My Memoir
Available on Amazon
The long, long-awaited memoirs of
Fitz de Souza are finally out and the book is quite brilliant. The former Deputy
Speaker of the Kenya Parliament, lawyer, politician, a rather quiet man in the
sometimes loud circus of politics, he was Jomo Kenyatta’s right-hand man … from
the first days of the negotiations for freedom with the British Government and
until the night of December 12, 1963, Kenya’s independence and for the rest of
Kenyatta’s life. The President of Kenya paid great heed on the legal,
political, social and societal deliberation provided by Fitz de Souza. Not only
Kenyatta, but politicians of every ilk sought out the wisdom of Fitz. Goans in
Kenya did not celebrate this man because they did not know him. Like his mentor
Pio Gama Pinto, Fitz worked better behind the scenes but he was not afraid to
speak his mind at international conferences or at local political rallies.
Thanks to his memoirs, we can now
reveal exactly what happened on that fateful day in February, 1965 when Pio
Gama Pinto clashed (some folks said “exchanging personal abuse”) in the
corridors of Parliament House, Nairobi. Fitz writes: “It was on an afternoon in
February, as I was taking a break for tea outside the Parliament building, that
I heard someone calling my name. ‘Mr de Souza, come quickly please!’ Turning
around I saw that a few tables away an altercation had broken out between Pio
and Kenyatta. Both men were gesticulating and swearing, and as their voices
rose, everyone on the veranda could hear. Tom was standing nearby, now joined
by several onlookers. Pio, his face contorted with anger was shouting, ‘I’ll
fix you!’ Kenyatta, equally incensed, was shouting back at him.
I knew immediately what they were
arguing about: the English farms, which Pio claimed Kenyatta was grabbing.
Running up behind Pio, I put both my arms around him, trying to restrain him
and calm him down. When Kenyatta had gone we sat down. I warned him not to
shout at Kenyatta again, as Kikuyus rarely forgive someone who becomes their
enemy.
‘In the eyes of most Africans,’ I said, ‘you
are just a Muhindi, you are perfectly dispensable, but he is not.’ I reminded
him how at almost every meeting Kenyatta would ask the same rhetorical
question: if a man plants a tree, who has the right to claim the fruit of that
tree when it has grown? Ask any African, I told him, and they will say that
Kenyatta has been very little compensated for the sacrifices and hardship he
has endured in the struggle for independence. ‘If it comes to the push,’ I
said, ‘there’ll be two shots fired at you and no one will remember you in a
year’s time.’ Pio shook his head, ‘No, no, there would be a bloodbath.’ I said,
‘Pio, you are overestimating your position; maybe if you were a Kikuyu or a
Luo, then yes, there would be a backlash, but you’ve nobody to support you;
like me, you’ve no support in the Indian community and none outside it.’
Fitz knew Pio’s life was in
danger because Tom Mboya (the rising star of Kenya politics and man many wanted
as the next president) told him so. Fitz writes: “One night Tom took me aside
and mentioned again the concern on his side, and how Pio was increasingly seen as
trouble, a left-wing firebrand out to oust Kenyatta.
‘Once certain people realise that the
possibility of Odinga succeeding Kenyatta is due to this one man,’ he said,
‘and that when the time comes, he can provide the necessary organisation to
pull it off, then those same people will want to get rid of him. Take Pinto
out, and the whole thing collapses like a pack of cards. (I wrote something
very similar in my book Yesterday in
Paradise)’ I wondered what exactly he meant by ‘take out.’ I said, ‘Tom,
Pinto is a good organiser yes, but it really wouldn’t be as easy as that.’ I
asked, ‘If it came to it, would you take any part in getting rid of him,
whatever that means?’ Tom said no, but there were people who would. He then
told me earnestly to speak to Pio and to warn him that his life was in
danger.”
According to Fitz it was the Luo
leader Oginga Odinga who picked up Pio and drove him to Mombasa. A few days
later Joe Murumbi turned at house where Pio was staying. Joe very, very
confident that no harm would come to Pio because he would speak to Jomo
Kenyatta.
Fitz writes: Pio took Joe’s
advice and returned to Nairobi on the train. Pio arrived back home in Nairobi
in the morning. That evening, J.D. Kali’s driver, a Kikuyu called Ndegwa,
stopped by the house. Ndegwa was also with the Special Branch and drove
Kenyatta too. He asked if Pio had returned. Someone told him, yes, and he drove
off. Also in the house at the time was a very close friend of Pio, an African
called Cheche, who had been with him in detention. Cheche acted as Pio’s
bodyguard, and it was said would die for him. When Pio was told about the
caller, he said he knew whom Ndegwa was and that he was trying to organise to
kill him.
Perhaps the visit was a warning.
If so, it did not deter Pio and he was soon busily compiling a list of farms
and land which in his view had been stolen from the African people by the
Government. The list would form a key part of his group’s opposition to Tom’s
Sessional Paper 10. The expectation was for there to be an explosive result: a
vote of no confidence against Kenyatta. I reminded Pio of Kenyatta’s strength,
of the sacrifices and struggles he had made and his firm belief that the fruits
of independence should be his. I said, ‘Pio, I think you have a lot of good things
to say, but however much you say them, Kenyatta is not going to give up power
or go away. He is a very courageous man and would fight to the death to stay
leader if he had to. So don’t try to attack him morally and not expect to get
on his bad side, you are just wasting your time, it is not possible to remove
him.’
Pio was actually preparing the
ground for the enactment by Parliament of a type of African socialism, the
removal of Kenyatta and the coronation of his sworn enemy Oginga Odinga. It was
never going to happen because Pio would be killed by the assassin’s bullet on
February 25, 1965.
The next thing that happened was
that Fitz’s life was in danger: On the 25th of February, I was in court in the
middle of a case when one of my articled clerks came in looking for me. ‘What
are you doing here?’ I asked him. ‘Mr de Souza,’ he whispered, ‘I am very sorry
to tell you that your friend is dead.’ I knew immediately that he meant Pio.
The English judge, a good friend, looked across the courtroom at me. I stood up
and cleared my throat, ‘I am very sorry, but due to an unfortunate occurrence,
I have to leave. The judge said, ‘I can see you are shocked. Is this about your
friend Pio Pinto?’ I nodded. He said, ‘This court is adjourned.’ I went
straight to Pio’s house.
Two police officers were there,
the gate was closed and the car was in the driveway. Pio was inside, his body
leaning to one side as if asleep at the wheel. Looking at him I suddenly
thought, he’s all right after all, and reaching in, touched his shoulder,
saying, ‘Pio, Pio.’ Then I saw the bullet hole. It was true; Pio was dead. That
night I cried and cried. I felt really shattered. Pio had been just 38 years
old, but had done so much for the country, spent seven years on Manda Island,
not even allowed to see his dying father. All he had ever wanted was justice
and fairness for all. He did not deserve this fate. Pio’s bodyguard Cheche came
to see me later, crying, ‘Our friend is dead, our friend is dead.’ Through my
day-to-day legal work, I had got to know one of the Nairobi CID officers, an
Englishman. It wasn’t long before he and I had a lead. A taxi driver described
some men with guns being taken recently in specially hired Fiat cars to South C
where it was said, they were to ‘fix’ some trade union people. Could they also
have been sent to fix Pio?
The taxi driver took the CID
officer and I around the streets and within a short time had identified a young
African man in a red shirt. After being placed under arrest, the 22-year-old,
Kisilu Mutua, admitted to shooting Pio. My mind was full of questions. On the
day Pio was killed, the end of Lower Kabete Road had been blocked off and the
traffic stopped. And why, when he was found in the car, obviously preparing to
leave as usual that morning, was the gate to his driveway closed? Pio was a
good runner, faster than the Maasai even, at one time predicted to run for
Kenya in the Olympics.
If he had got out of the car, no
one would have caught him. The roadblock and the closed gate had been no
coincidence. I began asking around and challenging people to find the person or
persons responsible. My father was worried. ‘Fitz you must be careful,’ he
urged me, ‘they might want to shoot you too.’ I said, ‘Look I’ve known Kenyatta
for years, been his lawyer and helped him.’ My father replied, ‘People can
forget things.’ I could not, in any case, believe that Kenyatta would have
wanted Pio dead.
About two weeks had gone by when
walking on the street past the Standard Bank in Nairobi one day, I heard
someone behind me. I looked around and saw Bruce McKenzie hurrying to catch up
with me. His manner was friendly, chatting about general things, but I sensed
something more, something he wanted to say. Bruce was a big man, with a strong
handshake that overpowered you, and I felt that strength in him now. ‘Fitz,’ he
said, ‘I like you very much, you’re a good friend.’ I said, ‘Bruce, have you
been sent to talk to me about Pio.’ He nodded. I said, ‘To warn me, that if I
carry on asking questions, the same is going happen to me?’ Bruce said yes,
this was the message he had been asked to give me. Then Mungai came to see me.
He was a mysterious figure, some hinted he had been a Mau Mau leader, others a
Government spy. Telling me that I was now on a ‘wanted list’, he reached in his
pocket and took out a pistol, complete with licence, advising me to keep it for
protection.
I had been under threat before
when Pio had been arrested and I had driven across the border to Uganda. The
concern then was possible imprisonment. This was different. Pio was gone, and
Bruce had come to tell me, on whose authority I did not know, that I could be
next. Mungai had confirmed it. I had seen Pio’s limp body carried from his car,
the small hole in his body where the bullet had entered, witnessed Emma’s shock
and grief. As the reality of the danger, I was in hit me, I became very
nervous. I took some Valium, and not knowing what else to do booked into the
Hilton Hotel. Nowhere in Nairobi was completely safe, but here at least there
were people around, I could stay behind a locked door. How long for though? I
would have to come out sometime. I thought carefully. I was getting married in
a few months. Now there were not just my parents, my brother and sister and
myself to think of, but also my future wife Romola – our future lives together
and in time, probably a family of our own. After a few days, I let it be known
that I was no longer pursuing my inquiries, checked out of the hotel and went
home. I hid Mungai’s pistol in a strongbox behind a loose brick in the wall and
kept the key in my pocket. Still anxious and in shock, I decided to go to
England and from there, seeking a complete change of scene, take a trip to
Scandinavia. At that time permission was needed to take money out of the
country, so I rang Kenyatta to ask if it could be arranged. Yes, yes, he said,
and gave me the name of someone who could help. Talking to Kenyatta, he was
clearly very distressed and crying over the phone. When I broached the question
of who might be responsible he said, ‘Do you think I could possibly have
murdered my own friend?’ and said he had been equally shocked by what had
happened. A couple of weeks later I returned for Pio’s funeral. The
mourners were mostly Africans and church people. Kenyatta, who was not expected
to attend, sent an ivory carving in tribute. Joe Murumbi was full of remorse,
blaming himself for persuading Pio to leave the beach house at Mombasa and come
back to Nairobi that day. While Pio’s alleged killer languished behind bars,
sentenced to 30 years’ imprisonment, there were whispered rumours that the
‘powers that be’ had organised the assassination, or the Kiambu Mafia, CIA or
foreign governments, and the riddle remained unanswered.
Before now, not many people knew
of Fitz’s attempts to save Pio Gama Pinto or that even Fitz’s life was
threatened. All this and more, my hero kept it all to him self.
The deaths first of Pio and then
later of Tom Mboya and J.M. Kariuki destroyed Fitz as a politician and he quietly resigned from politics and focused on his law firm.
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