Veteran broadcaster Sammy Lui’s story is not merely that of one man; it is the story of a nation’s conscience and how far we have strayed from it. For decades, Lui stood at the nerve centre of power, serving at the Presidential Press Service before rising to become Director of State Events within the Presidential Communications Service (formerly the Presidential Press Service) at State House, Nairobi.
To Lui, public service was not a job but a calling. He was a familiar voice to Kenyans across generations; a respected State Master of Ceremonies, a man whose calm authority gave voice to national pride. His duty placed him a breath away from presidents, a custodian of national dignity, the unseen hand behind the pomp and precision that define our country’s official life.
To serve at that level demands loyalty, restraint and devotion. Lui embodied all three. He was among those quiet civil servants who make government work by ensuring that ceremony meets meaning, and who, in their invisible ways, uphold the authority of the State, and that power is conducted with grace. For over four decades, he gave his best years to Kenya, long before hashtags and sound bites replaced the quiet professionalism of the public service.
But in the end, the State he served so loyally forgot him.
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Lui’s story reached the public eye not through accolades but through anguish; the heartbreaking images of demolition and brutal eviction from his longtime home. The house he had lived in for over five decades was torn down, and with it went the dignity of a man who once stood so close to power. He was forced to retreat to Subukia, his acquired rural home, far from the corridors of State House that once defined his life. There, broken and disillusioned, he lived out his last days as a deprived and depressed senior citizen, an exilée in his own country.
President William Ruto’s administration ought to have done better. This is not merely a question of policy but of principle. How does a government that promises compassion, service and restoration of dignity justify such cruelty toward those who once served it so faithfully? The treatment of Lui exposes a deeper moral rot in how we, as a society, treat our elders, our civil servants and those who carried the burden of State when the rest of us were merely spectators.
The demolition of Lui’s home in November 2024 by the Nairobi County Government to pave way for the affordable housing project was not just a bureaucratic act but a symbolic unmaking. It showed, in the clearest terms, how the Kenyan State can swiftly turn from benefactor to betrayer, or master to tormentor, how gratitude evaporates once utility fades. In that rubble lay not only bricks and memories, but a career’s worth of sacrifice buried under the weight of indifference.
There is a painful irony here. For decades, Lui orchestrated ceremonies that honoured presidents, heroes and visiting dignitaries. He understood, more than most, the language of respect and the choreography of honour. Yet when his turn came, there was no ceremony, no recognition, not even a gesture of decency. The man who once ensured the flags flew right and the anthems played on cue passed on quietly, in obscurity, far from the symbols he once upheld.
The State must be judged not by how it treats the powerful, but by how it treats those who have served it loyally once they are no longer useful to it. We cannot continue to celebrate loyalty while punishing the loyal.
Mr Mutahi is a business executive, Standard Group PLC
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By Samuel Mutahi