by: Christopher Munene
In the quiet of an August evening in 2011, huddled around our village television set – one of the few that could catch a clear signal – I watched Citizen TV’s News at 9. The news anchor’s voice carried what would become the seed of my destiny: “President Mwai Kibaki has finally had his way with the naming of Prof. Githu Muigai as Amos Wako’s successor at the helm of the State Law Office.” I was eleven, young enough to dream without boundaries, old enough to be struck by the gravity of the moment.
The credentials rolled across the screen like epic poetry: Professor of Law, international human rights lawyer, constitutional expert, degrees from the University of Nairobi and Columbia University. To my eleven-year-old mind, each achievement was a star in a constellation I desperately wanted to reach. In that moment, watching Prof Githu’s image command the screen, a quiet resolve formed within me. If I ever got a chance to wish for anything, it would be to become half the man this legal giant was. That night, I silently made a pact with my future self – I would become a lawyer.
As Maya Angelou once wrote, “There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.” That night, a story began writing itself in my heart. The little boy in me, saw in Prof. Githu a beacon of possibility. Years later, in 2017 I would watch him argue the presidential election petition. By then, my dream had grown stronger roots. Each argument he presented, each precedent cited, each masterful navigation of constitutional complexity only reinforced what that boy had known, this was my calling.
Fast forward through years of burning midnight oil, through dog-eared law books and countless cups of coffee, to day one at MM Chambers. Life, sometimes has a way of making reality feel more magical than magic itself. Walking into MM Law Firm on Monday felt like stepping into a scene from “Suits,” minus Harvey Specter’s smugness and plus a healthy dose of imposter syndrome. The Krep Plaza Building stands like a testament to corporate success, all glass and steel and intimidating security protocols.
The MM team, like storytellers welcoming their audience, drew us into the fold with smiles that echoed the kindness of village grandmothers handing out a second helping of steaming githeri. Our initial day unfolded much like the proverbial palm wine festivals, where community and tradition envelope a newcomer with warmth.
Yet amidst this familiar warmth, there was a moment that transported me back to that evening in 2011. As we settled into the main boardroom, its ergonomic chairs and polished mahogany table gleaming under soft lights, my heart skipped a beat. Like a story coming full circle, like the river finding its way back to the sea, there I was, sitting in the same boardroom as Prof. Githu, no longer a young boy watching through a fuzzy television screen, but a pupil ready to learn. That same voice that captivated the Supreme Court was now sharing the fundamentals of legal practice with us wide-eyed pupils, each word a golden thread weaving together past dreams and present reality.
The induction was a masterclass in legal philosophy and practical wisdom. Like Socrates in Plato’s Republic, The Team guided us through the labyrinth of legal practice. They spoke of ethics with the gravity of Marcus Aurelius’s Meditations: “Your reputation,” one partner emphasized, “takes years to build and seconds to destroy.”
We learned about the firm’s rich history, a narrative that unfolded like an elder’s tale around a traditional evening fire, each story adding warmth to the gathering darkness. Like the baobab tree that has witnessed generations come and go, the walls of MM Chambers held within them the wisdom of ages. Each Advocate added their chapter to the story – tales of landmark cases that echoed the epic oral traditions of our ancestors, victories snatched from the jaws of defeat, principles upheld against overwhelming odds with the steadfast resolve of Mekatilili wa Menza. The chambers, they explained, had stood witness to the evolution of Kenya’s legal landscape. Now, like young initiates in a sacred grove, we were to become part of that continuing story, adding our own verses to this great legal symphony.
The technology training felt like stepping into a Time Machine. Document management systems, digital libraries, and virtual meeting rooms. “The law remains constant,” Mr. Nkarichia observed, “but the tools of our trade evolve.” The library, oh the library! Like the legal equivalent of Platform 9¾, it housed everything from ancient legal texts to the latest digital databases. The firm’s resources were vast, but so were the expectations. As one Associate told me, quoting what I’m sure was an unwritten MM commandment, “In this firm, we don’t just find the law, we understand it, shape it, and when necessary, make it work for us.”
As the day progressed, we were introduced to different departments, each with its own specialization and culture. The dispute resolution department, fierce as Achebe’s Okonkwo, ready to battle in court. The Banking, Finance & Real Estate Department operated with the precision of a master chess player, each move calculated to perfection. Their dual-screened monitors displayed agreements being crafted in real-time, each clause a note in a billion-shilling orchestra. The gentle hum of their high-performance machines provided background music to deals that would reshape Nairobi’s skyline.
That evening, as I packed up my issued laptop (itself a symbol of how far I’d come from my village dreams), I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the elevator. Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie once wrote about the danger of a single story. My story was now interweaving with the grand narrative of MM Law Firm, of Prof Githu, of the law itself. The little boy from 2011 would hardly believe where his dream had led.
As days turned, Tuesday brought the real baptism by fire. Tasks started flowing like a burst dam, each one carrying enough potential pitfalls to sink a small legal career. My first legal memo returned looking like it had bled to death, red marks everywhere like a crime scene. “Good attempt,” my supervisor said, with the kind of smile that makes you question every life choice that led to this moment. The same memo would have earned praise in my Legal Writing Class. Here? It barely qualified as a rough draft.
But here’s the beauty of MM – they don’t expect you to be perfect; they expect you to be better tomorrow than you were today. The learning curve isn’t steep; it’s vertical. Yet they provide the ropes, harnesses, and safety nets. Every partner, associate, and even the Janitor seems invested in your growth, like gardeners tending to a particularly stubborn but promising sapling.
The firm, in its wisdom, cultivated such diversity, understanding that the law is vast and multi-faceted. Much like a mosaic, it requires a multitude of pieces to be truly complete. As Aluoch aptly observed one morning, “Each generation redefines law in their own way,” capturing the essence of our early days within those storied halls. Our small band of six, navigating the firm’s corridors with a mixture of reverence and determination, were much like stars in a constellation. Each of us shone with our own particular brilliance, illuminating different corners of the legal firmament.
Marion moved through constitutional law like a poet through verses, while Michael approached conveyancing with quiet confidence and artistry. Victor emerged as a commercial litigation virtuoso with his strategic brilliance. Sumeya, our research oracle, unearthed valuable precedents with ease, and Thandie’s speed-reading abilities turned her into a firm legend within days.
As for me? They say a storyteller can never truly be objective about their own tale. Yet here I am, attempting to capture both the observer and the observed in the same narrative frame. How does one accurately describe themselves in a constellation of stars? Perhaps it’s best to share what my colleagues whisper in the corridors when they think I’m buried in case files.
They say I have a peculiar habit of finding poetry in precedents, of seeing stories where others see only statutes. “You treat every case like it’s a novel waiting to be written,” Yunis remarked one afternoon, watching me reconstruct a client’s narrative from scattered affidavits. The law itself is humanity’s longest-running story, and every new case adds another chapter to this eternal narrative.
Victor, with his litigator’s eye for detail, often mistakes my quiet observation for introversion. “You’re always watching, always absorbing,” he noted one afternoon, not realizing that while others speak to be heard, I listen to understand.
“You see the law as one great interconnected story, don’t you?” Thandie asked one evening, understanding something about my process that I was only beginning to grasp myself.
In our constellation of six, I’m the one who finds patterns in the spaces between our individual brilliances, weaving separate strengths into a coherent whole. After all, every great legal drama needs its narrator, and every narrator is also part of the story they tell.
Even in quiet corners during breaks, our different strengths played out: Marion deeply engaged in constitutional law reports, Michael drafting sale agreement’s clauses, Victor creating strategic plans, Sumeya delving into research, and Thandie swiftly synthesizing complex documents. Despite our varied talents, we fit together seamlessly, like pieces of an ancient puzzle.
Ronald, an Associate, astutely remarked as our first week drew to a close, “The law is like a prism. Each of you sees it from a different angle, refracting different colours. Together, you create the full spectrum of legal practice.” This perspective unified us, each adding distinct hues to the firm’s broad canvas.
The firm’s halls quickly began to feel like a second home, with our footfalls finding their pace in its well-trodden paths. As the sun set on our inaugural week, casting long shadows through office windows, we sensed this was the dawn of our shared journey toward legal excellence. Aluoch’s words resonated deeply, each generation indeed redefines law in their own unique way. Our collective efforts had already begun to leave their mark, weaving our legacies into the fabric of the firm’s history, one case, one document, and one argument at a time.
They say growth happens outside your comfort zone. Well, I’m so far outside my comfort zone, I need GPS to find my way back. But maybe that’s exactly where I need to be. Because at MM Chambers every day brings new challenges, new lessons, and new opportunities to either sink or swim. By Friday, I had learned to tilt at the windmills of law with more strategy and less panic. The firm’s processes, once incomprehensible began to reveal their underlying logic. As Haruki Murakami might say, not all cats are black in the dark – some are simply waiting for you to turn on the right light.
As I pack up for the weekend, exhausted but oddly satisfied, I realize something profound – I’m living my dream, even if it currently feels like a beautiful nightmare. The boy in me is terrified, but the lawyer I’m becoming? He’s ready for this. Like Achebe’s tortoise, I am learning to dance in this new clearing, one careful step at a time.
This, dear reader, is not merely a recount of days gone by but a prologue to growth. For as I’ve learned, standing on the shoulders of giants requires grit and a willingness to learn. And learn I shall. Here’s to all that MM will teach us; here’s to adventure.
“In the end, we’ll all become stories.” This was just the beginning of mine…… ours.