Fare thee Well, my friend Kamau. My Condolences to the entire family of my friend and brother Kamau Wanyoike.

I remember back in 2018 when we met, that day you entered my printshop. I was a rookie then but we talked and you confidently gave me a print job. I liked how you guided me through the print job, teaching me how to best use my own machines. And from then on you used to refer and give me print jobs despite being a startup company. You would give me jobs larger than what I had ever handled and you kept pushing me and guiding me through to deliver on time, every time. When things went South you still prayed with me, comforted me and urged me to start all over again. 2 years ago when I reopened you visited and said a prayer over my business. The brotherly love you had for me, words cannot even explain it. Your mentorship was also really instrumental to me in many aspects of my life. The push and the brutally honest discussions, I will truly miss them. Your trust in my abilities has impacted my life greatly.

Lastly, Kamau, you are the one guy who constantly pushed me to lose some weight. I recently started the journey through more walking as per your advice. Wanted to update you that I had made a decision to go through with the program as we had discussed. So I texted your WhatsApp but the message was not being delivered. Then I learnt that our gracious Lord had taken you home to be with Him. It is quite unbelievable to me. 

Thank you for the time we shared and I believe you are with our heavenly Father watching over us. May you Rest in Eternal Peace my brother, my friend and my mentor. This has hit me so hard.

Uncle Kamau is not my blood relative, but he has always been family — my dad in every way that counts. Mum and Auntie Mercy had Hiribae and me around the same time, and for the first few years of our lives we lived right across from each other. We grew up knowing that we had two mums and two dads — mummy Jacque, mummy Mercy, daddy Kamau and daddy Mwaniki. That is what we called them, because that is how real it was for us. Just a bunch of besties raising their families together...

Our lives were very intertwined. We spent Christmas holidays together every year until I was about 14. I remember Christmases with fireworks in their backyard(that the dad's set up), dinners at each other’s homes where Uncle Kamau was always singing in his goofy voices, and him and Mum being silly and making everyone laugh. We also went to the same church so we saw each other every Sunday even after we moved houses.

To show how seriously they took co-parenting, There was a time when they got together and shipped their firstborns off to boarding school. Co-parenting at its finest huh, haha. Visiting days became a Kamau–Mwaniki family affair. 2 dads, 2 mums and one big happy family- then there was me, not very impressed by this decision.😆

Anyway life happened. We grew up and life became busy. Distance crept in. But even then the bond never really left.

God brought him back into my life which now when I think about it was such a blessing. I got to spend a lot of time with my other dad this past 2 years.

In 2024, I tried to recruit Njeri to my church, NC Kilimani. I invited Njeri… but the Wanyoike I got was Uncle Kamau. She told him about it, and he joined. God makes no mistakes because like olden days I got to see him every Sunday which reminded me of just how important he has always been to me. It allowed him to keep up with my life the way a father would — he was interested, he asked questions, he showed up. He even offered to help with my brand logo. My first rough draft received very many notes from him, lol. That was love. He told me often how proud he was of me and how much he loved me, and that season felt like God gently reminding me that I have two dads — and how incredibly blessed I am.

He showed up in the hard moments too. Last year we needed to be in court and he was there with us, one dad on the stand and the other seated right beside me. And even though I often seem like I have it all together, in that moment, him seated beside me silently, I knew, without question, that I was held/supported.

In 2025, we worked closely on funeral committees, these seasons made us talk every day. I felt close to him again.

As much as it was years ago and I was really young, it felt familiar to have him that close. In fact this past 2 weeks, I have expected to see him walk in, call or text me asking for something or updating me ... This is still not real.

An interesting thing I recently noted is that, Uncle Kamau was one of the very few people who could always tell Kui and I apart. A dad never forgets his children. That is how well he knew us.

When he was in hospital, all our conversations ended with “I love you so much.” even when he couldn't talk, he mouthed those words. He would thank me for being there, and I always replied, "you are my dad, there is nowhere else I'd rather be, and I love you too so much, Uncle Kamau."

I am still struggling to wrap my mind around his passing. I have REALLY been holding it together — you know, gotta be strong for the rest, being the firstborn child of the Kamau–Mwaniki family. But I am grieving a father, a safe place, and a love that shaped my life.

You guys have always been, and will always be, family. Njeri and I were saying how blessed we are, because we are both so loved and supported at home. But being part of this Kamau–Mwaniki family has meant experiencing even more than that — being loved beyond our own homes too. Having Uncle Kamau back in my life in such a big way reminded me what it feels like to have a second set of parents, a second home, and an extra kind of love and covering. Truly, what is better than being loved in one home? Being loved in two. That is what being a Kamau–Mwaniki family member means. To one half of our big happy family, We love you and have you, always — one phone call, message, or smoke signal away.

And to Uncle/Daddy Kamau, Rest well🧡 I will miss you so much!

MUMBI.

I met Kamau just last year during the Reimagine Nairobi Chapel - Branding and Communications Team meeting, but the impact he made on my life feels like that of someone I had known for much longer. He welcomed us with such kindness and generosity. He opened his office to us without hesitation, turning it into a place not just for meetings, but for fellowship, food, laughter, learning, and fun.

What stood out most was the firm and gentle way he led. He had so much experience and wisdom, yet he never imposed it. He shared his knowledge, patiently, and with deep respect, guiding us in a way that made everyone feel valued and capable. There was a humility in him that made his leadership even more powerful.

His prayer life was something truly special. When he prayed, you could feel the depth, the sincerity, and the warmth in every word. He didn’t just say prayers — he connected hearts to God.

And then there was his sense of humour. In the middle of work and responsibilities, he brought lightness and joy. We laughed together, and those simple, happy moments are now treasures.

I am so grateful that our paths crossed. His kindness, faith, wisdom, and joy have left a lasting mark on my life. He may be gone from our sight, but the seeds he planted in our hearts will continue to grow.

Fare thee well Kamau. Fare thee well.

Kamau always felt like a father figure to me. He was always there to lend a guiding hand, willing to mould me - not just to be a better designer, but a better man. His presence was always illuminating: every time I was around him, I would learn something new.

His humour and flair in the office always brought a smile to my face...turning what might have been a groggy day into one filled with joy. His presence will be surely missed - lunch time in the office will not be the same without his nuggets of knowledge, design sprints will not be the same without his wealth of experience, and the banter will not be the same without his wit.

Rest well brother Kama.

Tribute to Kamau Wanyoike

My fondest memories of Kamau Wanyoike go back to our days working together at Step Magazine, a Christian publication, where we served in the production department (mid 80s). Ours was a small team, but what we lacked in numbers we more than made up for in laughter. I remember colleagues like Peter Mulwale, Nick Sikobe, Kamau, and myself; each of us doing a bit of everything. In those days, production meant hands-on creativity: photography from start to finish -taking the shot, developing the film, printing the photos, and then physically laying out the magazine, page by page, pasting it together in ways that are unimaginable in today’s digital print world.

Through all those stages, Kamau was more than a colleague; he was a peer mentor. We were learning together as we went along, and there were many moments when he gently held my hand and guided me through things I didn’t yet know. But even more than the work, what I cherish most is the joy we shared. Kamau brought humour into that department in a way that made it a truly special place; have you ever worked in a joint for 850 shillings, but you longed to be at work? The jokes flowed freely, and if you ever smiled at humour in Step Magazine, chances are it was brewed in that production room.

So infectious was the atmosphere that colleagues from other departments would wander in whenever they were stressed, just to regain their sanity. Even the Managing Editor, Bedan Mbugwa, would occasionally stop by. At times, we pushed the boundaries, perhaps a little too close to the edge for a Christian magazine; but always in good spirit. I still remember Kamau once writing and illustrating a cartoon; a mother trying to scare her son into stopping thumb-sucking by telling him his stomach would swell. Days later, when a pregnant relative visited, the little boy pointed at her stomach and loudly declared, “I know what you have been doing!” That was Kamau -witty, sharp, playful, and may I say, brilliantly observant.

Our creativity didn’t stop at print. We broke into song at times, and this led to Kamau joining us on Youth for Christ music evangelism missions. Jayne and I remember him fondly as a contributor to our songwriting. On one occasion, I brought him a song I was stuck on -Peace Be Still. I told him I needed a change in the song. He listened quietly, and within seconds, he sang a line that completed it perfectly:

“You lit a light in my heart,
You are the joy of my life.
I hear You say, ‘Peace, be still.’”

This many years later, when I visited Kamau in hospital and he could no longer communicate clearly, I reminded him of that song and his contribution to it. Though he could only respond with his eyes and a slight lifting of his face, his whole countenance lit up. When I later heard that in his final days Kamau had said he was at peace and ready to go, it made profound sense. That line he had given me had, in many ways, become his own testimony.

Jayne and I are deeply saddened to lose such a light from our midst. Yet we rest in the assurance of God’s perfect timing and peace.

You made it Kamau. 


Rest in The Peace of God.