Mophat Mandela: The Short Administrator Who Stood Tall

CECM for Social Services, CPA Jackline Masicha, presents a gift to her predecessor, Mr. Mophat Mandela. Photo: Silas Inzoyia

A few weeks ago, we held a farewell party for our dear minister, a young man who had served with us for close to two and a half years. Mophat Mandela, my buddy from secondary school, was among the County Executive Committee Members (CECMs) recently reshuffled to new dockets following an executive shake-up by the Kakamega Governor, FCPA Fernandes Barasa. Mophat was reassigned to the Ministry of Agriculture.

Mophat and I go way back. He was exactly one class behind me at our humble but mighty Shikomari Mixed Secondary School. Years later, fate would have it that he would become my boss in a devolved unit of government.

To bid us farewell, he organized a party for the entire ministry. He booked us into one of the poshest hotels in the region, Lantana Hotel, located along the Kakamega Mumias Road. It was a classic move, typical of his bold personality.

We came together with music, laughter, and vibrant energy to send off a man who embodied both charm and grit. Grit, because he was incredibly strict. He did not sugarcoat his words or hide behind polite language. He would simply say, “You have put on badly.” That kind of blunt honesty could feel jarring to many.

Yet, there was undeniable beauty in his boldness. He was unapologetically frank, and we respected him for that. He was also witty. Before you could even finish presenting something, he would interject, “I know that. I am aware, but go on.” That would leave you scrambling between telling the plain truth or dressing it up a little.

During the farewell, Mr. Mululu, the eldest and most respected among us, led the programme. At one point, he invited officers to share their reflections on the outgoing minister. People spoke with genuine admiration, facing a man whose smiling face held many untold stories. As I listened, I was reminded of Mophat’s early days. Back in school, he had a talent for confronting tough characters directly. He would face you with confidence, yet deep down, he often found it amusing how easily he could disarm people. Many never knew this side of him, but I had seen it growing up. Before passing around the microphone, Mr. Mululu broke the ice with his signature humour.

“I am Mr. Cyril Bahati Mululu, the longest serving officer in this department. I am actually old. Some people even ask me why I am not dead yet,” he joked, and the room erupted in laughter.

Then came the tributes. Officers spoke about the man who had led them for two and a half years. They poured out their thoughts, describing him as a tough but fair administrator. One phrase kept coming up: “Short men are tough administrators. They use their voice to command the tall.” Mophat had said this many times, and he truly lived by it.

As others shared their stories, I sat quietly at a round table with three colleagues. Of everyone present, I was the only one who had known Mophat for years, long before the ministry, long before the suits and stern expressions.

We first met not in high school, but in a humble secondary school. Mophat joined Shikomari Mixed Secondary when I was in Form Three, and he came in at Form Two. Within a week, he was already the talk of the school. He excelled in class and stirred things up outside it. He even bullied students who were ahead of him. The question on everyone’s lips was, “Who is this short boy with sagging trousers bullying his peers?” But Mophat was unmoved. He defended himself like a much older man, fluent in the Queen’s English—something rare at our school. At the time, only teachers spoke like that.

Our first personal interaction happened in the computer lab. I was struggling with an Excel assignment when I noticed someone standing behind me. “Hey bro, maybe I could help?” he offered. I nodded. In no time, he had taken over the computer and was walking me through the functions with surprising skill. I was stunned.

From that moment, a friendship blossomed. We became close at school, at home, and later at work. Our bond deepened when we discovered that we both descended from the great Abasitsetse clan through our mothers, whom we fondly referred to as Bwibo East Africa, Bwibo Global, and so on.

Our friendship endured through the years, even in the professional space, though few people ever realized how deep our connection ran. I respected him not just as my boss, but as a mentor. Imagine that—someone who was once a class behind you becomes your mentor. Strange, isn’t it?

At the farewell party, I chose not to speak. I simply listened. Most of the speeches focused on his well-known obsession with grooming. Indeed, my akhasi Mophat never compromised when it came to appearance. Grooming, to him, was non negotiable.

“Omwami, Reebok shoes are not worn with a suit. This is wrong. Dress like a professional,” he would say with a laugh, but he meant every word.