Transcript of The Shadow Side

Lemonada.

This episode contains strong language and graphic imagery. Sensitive listeners, please be advised. I don't know one Kenyan who would rule out witchcraft. Juju, Urogi. No, it doesn't exist. I feel in some capacity, every Kenyan has a little belief, a hidden belief in Urogi. In my family, it was very much the Lord is our shepherd, and the blood of the Lamb will cover me and protect me. But Also, watch out for that dude, watch out for that corner. Just err on the side of caution. Today, we're going to get into all of that. Superstition, urogi, juju. We're crossing into the shadow side. I'm Lupita Nyong'o, and this is mind your own. I took them from Akara, Smart, and Nairobi, Kinshasa, and Keta, and Dakar, I go.

I landed, I landed by here, I'm stuck on a London, but you make it feel like a home. There's a custom flow, like your heart. I got a feeling I know. There's a custom to, mind your own. They come and follow us home. It's the life I saw, mind your own. It's the cat we grow, mind your own. It's the cat we grow, mind your own.

When I was in year seven, I was hanging out in our field at school. I'd finish my activities and I was waiting for the late bus. Me and my friends were gathered at the edge of the playing field. We were lying on the ground. We were chatting amongst ourselves, just kicking it. And there was a group of boys, I think they were in year five, running around the field. But for some reason, they decided to run in our area. They were running around us, and one of the boys decided to jump over my legs, over my legs. And I was so shocked because that is such a bad thing to do in my culture. There's a superstitious belief that if you jump over someone's legs, you stunt their growth and you could make them barren. The way you undo it is he has to jump over you again. So I'm like, Come back here. You come back here. Jump over me. How could you do that? So he comes, he jumps over me, and now he's giggling, I'm like, You shouldn't be jumping over us. There's a whole field. Go play elsewhere. Me and my friends are having a busting like, Why are they doing this to us?

Shame on them. They were so irritated, these small boys. And then I decide, okay, if he does it again, man, I'm going to have to have a word with him. He does it again. All my approaches are falling on deaf ears. I swear to God, next time this boy comes my way, I'm going to trip him. I'm just going to kick my leg up casually the way I have been doing and trip him. So I get back into conversation, but now my attention is fully on these boys. I'm pretending to engage in this gossip session, but no, I am listening to the pita-pata of these boys' feet waiting for them to approach. And I lift my foot and it catches his, and he falls. Yes, did it. But just as soon as I've rejoiced, I recognize almost like in retrospect that the fall didn't sound right. It was a... And so I'm like, Wait, what? I get up. All my friends get up. We're looking at the boy. He sits up, creedling his hand, and he goes, I How? And he looks down at his arm. I look down at his arm, and I see that where it's supposed to be brown, there is something white.

White, jutting out. And no sooner have I seen that white thing jutting out, of blood. His hand is facing the wrong direction. And then he starts to scream. I'm about to be in a lot of trouble. I'm going to be in so much trouble. I broke someone's arm. I broke someone's arm. It's about I don't know what to do. There is panic all around me. My friends have run to call the receptionist. The teachers have shown up. In no time, there's an ambulance there. You know, I just wanted him to trip and maybe have a little graze on his elbow. That's it. You know, a little whoops. I didn't want him to, like... I didn't want him to end up in hospital. He's put on a stretcher, and he's carried away. The teachers that are left behind are trying to figure out what happened. And I feel like everybody knows that I did it on purpose. I'm hearing the boys that were running around that are telling the teachers, Oh, we were playing, we were playing. And then he jumped over their legs and tripped. I realized that nobody knew that I had done it intentionally.

And so I chose not to say anything. I was crying and crying and I remember my teacher saying, Why are you crying so much? You're fine. Can't you see that the boy is hurt? You need to have sympathy for him. Surely they would find out. Surely he would say something. I wanted to find out what hospital he was in. But then I realized that if I take too much action, they might figure it out, and then I might get expelled. My parents might have to pay the hospital bill. At that point, things were tight financially, and I knew that. He was out of school for a while, maybe a week or We were asked to write him a get-well soon card, and so I signed the card. And I was just so sure that when he got better and came back to school, he would come for me. When I heard he was back, that day, I didn't hear anything my teacher said in those first sessions of class, man, because all I could think about was like, I'm going to see him. I'm going to run into him at recess. He was going to point a finger at me and yell at the top of his voice.

It's her fault. It's her fault. It's her who did it. It was break time and very unceremoniously, he just passed me by. He had one hell of a cast on. He saw me. He said, Hi. I said, Hi. And he just went on. It was like he didn't even recognize me. Like he didn't equate me to his accident at all. At first, I was perplexed because here I was, and I saw his face every night. And so to see him so unburdened by me was really quite surprising. And then I thought, phew, that means I'm really in the clear. I felt relief. And I just kept the guilt. I didn't get suspended. I didn't miss one day of school, and I didn't get socially condemned. If I didn't tell this story, nobody'd know, but I would. So what constitutes getting away with it? Don't go anywhere. More mind your own after this quick break.

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Welcome back. You're listening to mind your own. At some point or another, we've all had a scheme. Maybe it's a gamble that you're sure is going to turn out in your favor. And it does. And it keeps working for you. It's almost too good to be true. Well, I can tell you with certainty that you have never heard a scheme quite like this one. Today, on Mind Your Own, we're taking you to Kenya to meet John Kibera, the man who disturbed the dead. I hope you're listening. John Kibera knows a lot about the Thief manual.

You know, a thief is not wise.

A thief's money is spent quickly, runs out quickly. When you are a thief, you have to be a hypocrite. You have just to pretend that you have no idea what is going on.

Since age 11, crime was the only way he knew how to survive. He had been caught several times, served some time, and went back to robbing banks and carjacking. One day, it nearly cost him his life.

We at a place called Kawanguare. We accosted this particular victim as they were driving into the compound. We did not know that the police were laying in wait.

I heard the first gunshot, the second gunshot, and the third gunshot, and everyone scramble.

We had gone as a squad of six people. The police gunned down two of them.

John made it out alive, but this was his last time doing armed robbery. He realized he wanted to find a better, safer hustle.

I really sat down and thought, what crime would not bring me trouble with the police? What crime would not give me trouble with the public?

Attending the burial of one of his friends who was involved in the carjacking was a brutal reminder of why he had to change things up. And at that funeral, he noticed something.

In the cemetery, I noticed that the rich were being buried in very expensive coffins.

And this is where I got the idea, how could I still steal these coffins?

John imagines it would be like any other heist. You find a buyer.

I found a coffin shop and talked to the owner.

Put together a small team of reliable men.

Two of them, we had been locked up together.

And yes, there was that one grizzly detail of handling dead bodies, but John had a solution for that, too.

Like three beers and then smoke some weed. Even these use drugs, too, to escape what have it to you.

All that was left was to do the job. Luckily, John knew a spot that was just 10 minutes away from where he lived in Nairobi. In January of the year 2000, John Kibera and his band of misfits headed to Langata Cemetery for their first heist.

Langata Cemetery.

Langata Cemetery is divided into three sections. This is a section for burying the very wealthy. This is a section for burying the millionaires, and the last section is for burying the poor.

They got there at 2:00 AM, so there were no guards around to watch them sneak into the wealthiest section of the graveyard. They picked a grave at random and shuffled off the top layer of soil. Underneath was a concrete slab.

The rich plastered the sides of the grave, and then they put the slab on top. The slab made the work easier because all you needed to do was just put it aside.

After Moving the slab aside, the team saw what they had come for, an expensive coffin. They hoisted the coffin out of the hole and set it on the ground. When they opened it up, So.

He had on a suit, a golden ring, chain, good shoes. I was ecstatic.

John and his team pulled the body out of the coffin, which was less foul than he thought it would be.

The corpse we are talking about is a rich person's corpse. It was very well preserved. It was like a sculpture.

Turns out, even in death, The wealthy sleep better than the poor.

So together with my team, we removed the suit, we removed the shoes, we removed the jewelry. Then we dumped the body back without any of the clothes or jewelry and without the coffin. They put the slap back so that people would not catch on. We were fulfilling the scriptures that say, A human being comes naked to the world, and they should live naked. And by 04:00 AM, I had taken the coffin to the businessman who owned the coffin shop, and he paid me my first 70,000 shillings.

70,000 shillings. That could get you something nice, like a top-of-the-line computer or television. And then John took the chain, suit, and shoes to a second-hand market called Gekomba for some extra cash.

From there, I felt business was really good because now I had found the shop, and my work was now to bring in the coffins.

But John is not even 20 years old at this point. Like a lot of people his age, he went through that cash fast.

You're in a bar, you need a drink, a woman comes in, you need a woman.

You don't want to embarrass yourself in your own local club.

John knew he had a good thing going. He just had to think more strategically.

I used to buy the newspaper every day to read the obituaries. If the obituary was a full page or a half page, I knew that the deceased was coming from a wealthy family. In the obituaries, they must state that the meeting is taking place at 6:00 PM, at this specific place. That's where the meetings to plan the funeral are happening.

John and his boys would put on suits to blend in, head to the funeral preparation meeting, and listen, the bigger the budget of the coffin, the more money they would make when they stole it.

Most days I could attend two meetings where people were moaning.

But they couldn't go to the graveyard until nightfall. So during the day, John and his guys would just hang out.

We would go to bars.

It's a river road, Nairobi. It to Uthiru.

Like one in River Road in Nairobi and another in Uthiru. I love playing pool, so we always would play pool, just waiting, waiting for time for us to do our work. It was our game.

One of these nights when they were out at a bar, John met someone special.

Margaret Wanjiru.

Her name was Margaret Wanjiro. We met in a bar in Nairobi. We were having fun and enjoying the one woman guitar show. She used to work in bars. In the course of our conversation and getting to know each other until the point of getting intimate, that's when I told her about what I did. And she understood.

She didn't just understand. No, no, no, no, no. Margaret invited herself into John Kibera's team, and she was in 200%.

When the priest or the pastor would be saying, It is time to lower the body, Margaret would be there and would really cry a lot. Some of the coffins were not sealed with nails, but had locks. And in that crying, she would take an opportunity to take a photo of the lock to help us know how to open it later. The lady was a hard core.

John's team grew to have eight people total. And over the next year, they would make around 150,000 shillings every time they dug up a coffin and sold the valuables. That was enough to buy a brand new car. And John's original hunch was right. This was much safer than holding a person at gunpoint or stealing a car.

It was a lot better than armed crime or armed robbery. The cops wouldn't ask you any questions.

It's true. A corpse wouldn't give you the same heat a living person would. At least not most of the time.

One time we went to steal from a grave in Nianza province. When we tried to, we all started trembling, and we couldn't do it. And this is the first time I started suspecting that corps could have evil spirits. I only used to hear about it, but I never used to believe it.

Okay, stay tuned. We'll have more for you after the break.

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You're listening to mind your own. The team wasn't even able to get the coffin out of the grave. That's how hard they were trembling. And over the next few days, John started to see visions of whom he could only assume was that poor soul that he was trying to rob.

When I went to sleep, I would see this person.

Like, literally, I would see this person. And when I felt that this dead body, this corpse, was tormenting me, I spoke to an elder and told him what was happening to me. And he told me that I had to find 50,000 shillings and go back to that community and ask for forgiveness. So I did to free myself from this problem.

Well, a restless spirit in an anonymous donation was not enough to stop John from keeping this operation going. Not when the money was so good.

Now I had money. I built an amazing house, a seven-story house in the neighborhood.

I bought myself a Pujet 504, which was renowned in Kenya.

I could pay to sleep in a nice hotel. I could visit different parts of the country. I could go to Mombasa, to the Coast. I was at the peak of my life.

It was like. A London lifestyle.

Not only was John's wallet happy, but he realized he liked being the boss. This was a level of security and comfort John had just never known.

So for each job we did, I had to get more money. I loved it.

. What was the patron?

They wouldn't go on any operation without me. It felt good to be the boss who many people depended on.

John Kibera could finally enjoy the little things in life, like dates with Margaret.

She was the first person to just take me somewhere where we could relax, like a recreational place, like one where there was lots of entertainment with Kikuyo musicians. Who am I loved? She was beautiful. I loved her She was really nice and I respected her.

She used to make me feel like a man.

She really used to encourage me and tell me, be strong, love. I did this work until it got to a point where the cops was really nothing to me. We just kept on doing our thing without fearing anything.

Which made John and his team more ambitious. They wanted to think bigger and bolder about their heists. Like when they went after the grave of Ibrahim Akashar, a drug kingpin who operated out of Mombasa.

Yo, who is your Akash'a?

He was a drag lord in a coffin worth 1.2 million shillings. When he was shot and buried, we got the coffin. After two days, word went round that Akash'a had been exhumed. But no one knew who had done it.

They had picked too big a target. News was starting to spread around Nairobi and other parts of Kenya that people were indeed stealing from graves. But the names and faces were still unknown. John and his associates continued to disturb the dead and tempt fate. Fearless, rich, and a little sloppy.

. We had gone to steal a coffin at a place called Githunguri.

Everything had been going as planned. They found a grave, dug out the slab. But before they could get the coffin out, a local spotted them.

..

And they started screaming, Thiefs, thiefs. We ran away, and they started chasing us. My four colleagues and I took off. And when we got to River Sagana, it was everyone for himself. At least I could swim.

I jumped into River to Ghana, and I swam for about 500 meters.

I got out of the river and onto the road.

John hailed down a vegetable truck that gave him a lift back to town. He rented a hotel room and tried to lay low for the night.

I was lucky to have gotten away, but I kept thinking, what about my colleagues? I was taking tea in the hotel when I heard it announced on the news. Thiefs had been burned in Maragua when they were trying to steal a coffin.

Some of John's guys had been caught by angry locals who wanted justice. They were taken to Maragua and executed. As the other hotel guests shook their heads at the news, John, for his own safety, played along and pretended like he didn't know anything. He knew he had to stay as far removed from this news cycle as possible, which meant he couldn't even go to their funerals.

I did think about it.

I would have wanted to, but the fear that I could go there and then the suspicion John. People would say this guy was with them or they used to be together. That fear stopped me.

And this isn't like that gang shootout that got John into grave robbing in the first place. No, this time John was the boss. John had spent time with them. John had brought each of them into the fold.

Familia's out yet, what we're doing. We're doing a They had families, and I knew their families.

I knew their wives. I knew their children. So I was really sad that I had brought them into this tragedy. I was heartbroken. I felt like I had no strength.

I would wake up and go to a pub.

I would play pool. I would play from 2:00 PM to 8:00 PM at night, and then I would go back home.

John and his team lay low, not daring to approach another grave. But after a few months, the money started running out. A few of John's men approached him and said,.

When the cooking stick breaks, that is not the end of cooking. Like you don't stop cooking because the cooking stick has broken. Again. So they said, Let's get back to work.

John agreed to continue the grave robbing spree. After all, it was the only source of income, not just for himself, but for his whole team. And they'd all gotten used to that London lifestyle. But before he could plan another heist, he had to tell a certain someone that it just wasn't worth the risk anymore. That person was Margaret.

I mean, she loved the work.

But you know, when I looked and saw that trouble was starting to crop up, I felt, no, there is no point for both of us to die. And that is why I asked her to step aside from this.

After a long and difficult argument, John agreed to give some of his earnings to Margaret so that she could step out of the coffin stealing game and start a business of her own.

You do this and let me hustle.

That marked the last time he and Margaret ever spoke. And John kept hustling, kept unearthing coffins and kept tempting fate.

We were Boxing Day, Mwakao, 2004.

It was Boxing Day of 2004.

Happened when we took our ganeza, Dania Kaboria, We were at Langata Cemetery, and we had dug this particular grave and we had taken the coffin out.

But the vehicle that was supposed to come and collect the coffin was late. You cannot carry the coffin on your back. You cannot put it on a motorbike.

Daylight was approaching and the team did not have enough time to put the coffin back where it came from. John knew that if they got caught with this coffin, it would be Maragua all over again. In a snap decision, he resorted to a skill he had sworn off what felt like a lifetime ago. To hijack. Car jacking. And the first van they saw wasn't just any van.

Kiovanya, NTV.

A van belonging to the Nation Media Group.

Probably the largest multiple a multimedia production company in all of East and Central Africa.

I switched off the van and grabbed the key. Meanwhile, one of my teammates pulled the driver out of the van.

The team left the newspaper employee on the ground and went back to the cemetery.

When we got to the cemetery, the coffin couldn't fit because there were still newspapers in the back of the van. So I quickly got into the back of the van. I removed all the newspapers. I dumped them on the ground, and they handed me the coffin.

After John pulled the coffin into the back of the van with him, his teammates closed the door and locked it from the outside. There were no windows, no screens to see the road or the driver's seat. So all John could really see was this golden coffin that they planned to sell. He heard his teammates get in the front and felt the van start moving. Now, Langeata Cemetery is very close to Nairobi's central business district, like 10 minutes stops. Surely they could get there, sell the coffin and ditched the vehicle. At least that was the plan. John was sitting in the back of the van in the dark when he heard...

That's when the shooting started.

John was thrown against the wall as the van swerved and then came to a screeching halt. He desperately tried to find shelter as bullets punched holes through the van's walls.

The van was like a sieve.

With the doors locked from the outside, John had nowhere to go. But daylight was bleeding through those bullet holes, and it was shining a light on his one saving grace. John Kibera cracked open the lid of that golden coffin, slid inside of it, and closed it shut.

After about three minutes of gun shots, there was silence. My colleagues, from the number of gun shots, I would not expect they had survived. So I knew they were dead.

John lay silent and sweltering in the heat. But he could hear voices approaching. Police.

I heard the door of the van being opened.

Someone must have reported the car jacking.

Police discovered that there was a golden coffin in the back, and they wondered what it was for. One of the police officers was asked to check what it was for. I lay completely still. I stiffened my body and opened my eyes wide and to fix them. In that panic, I cut off a piece of cotton wool from the side of the coffin, and I put it in my mouth so I would look truly dead. And I just prayed for God to save me any way he could. When the police officer opened the coffin, we saw each other face to face. My eyes were wide open, but they were fixed, trying to put on the look of a dead person. I played dead as best as I could. The officer slammed the coffin shut. He got out of the van and told the other officers that there was a corpse inside the coffin, and it was sweating. I could hear them discussing among themselves what to do. They agreed that the corpse needs to be taken to the city mortuary. So they agreed that they would carry the coffin and put it in the police landrover.

So six of the officers lifted the coffin, and they were carrying it on the termack of Kenyata Avenue. That's when my heart told me, Don't be slow. So just as they were about to put it in the landrover, I smacked the coffin loudly. The moment I hit the coffin, the police officers dropped it. I jumped out, and I saw a crowd of people. Everyone ran away, seeing an evil spirit had been seen in Nairobi. People were running, jumping into their vehicles, and trying to get away. Remember, there were three other corpses, and no one knew which one would get up next. A lady asked, What is happening? And I'm the one who answered, Can't you see a corpse's running?

Amidst the chaos, John took off. He knew that the police would not treat him any more kindly than they had treated the three corps in the van.

And I just felt time was up for this work. Ahead of me, I saw Kamukonji Police Station. I ran there and talked to the OCS, the officer in charge. I turned myself in and I said I was the one in the coffin on Kenyata Avenue. They took me to Makadara Court, where I was charged with exhuming dead bodies. That is when the police put my name in the newspapers.

John served six months in prison. After he got out, he tried to move back home to Kauangare, but he wasn't just John Kibera anymore. He was John Kibera, Kenya's most notorious grave robber. He found out that the papers and tabloys had been spreading his story all over town. A man who made a killing from digging up the dead. And that reputation followed him everywhere he went.

.

When someone hears that you deal with corps, they definitely fear you. This crime is one of a kind worldwide. If I walked into a bar, someone would see me and recognize me, and they would panic. If I interacted with ladies, they didn't want to associate with me. They were really scared of me.

I need a places, new places where people couldn't recognize me.

I gave away my house to a school for orphans. As for the cash money, I donated it to Langata Women's Prison. Bought them blankets and supplies. I've never gone back.

After that, John basically just attended church, did some volunteering, and kept it low-key. Maybe he thought he might be able to live a normal life now. Maybe his past was finally behind him, which could leave him room to build a future with someone.

I I met this girl in 2005.

She was an asia in a church that I used to go to.

Our wedding was to be in 2007, but on the wedding day, The father of the bride came with a newspaper showing me as a criminal. And he said he cannot allow his daughter to marry a criminal.

So...

.

He took her away when she was still in her wedding dress. They got into the car and they left.

John Kibera, thank you so much for telling us your story. These days, John is a preacher in Nairobi, as well as a motivational speaker telling kids that crime does not pay. For more about John, check out our show notes. And thank you for listening. It's been good to have you. I've really enjoyed going with you to Langeata, a cemetery. In the middle of the night, we looked left, then we looked right. The Coast was clear. Until it wasn't. It's time to play dead. We'll see you the next time you mind your own. Until then, here's a song from the continent, OTT by Rouge.

What you are done. She said, Chris D. Yeah. Because everything is, Hey, I'm done. Hey, I'm done. Guess qué Titi said. What you are done. She said, Chris D. Yeah. Because everything is, Hey, I'm done. Hey, I'm done. Guess qué Titi said. What you are done. She said, Chris D. Yeah. Because everything is, O mind your own is hosted and produced by me, Lupita Nyong'o.

This is a production of Snap Studios at KQED with sales and distribution by Lemonada Media. The executive producers are Glenn Washington and Mark Ristich. Our managing editor is Regina Beddiako. Our director of production is Marissa Dodge. Original music in my story, Comeuppins, was by Clay Xavier. The Story Graviard's Shift was produced by David Exame, translation by Salomen Duku, voiceover by Ndungi Nduku, original music by Laleen St. Just, and Sam Law. Special thanks to our fixer, Michael Kaluki. Our mind your own producers are David Exame and Priscilla Alabe. Our story scouts are Ashley Oquosa, Fiona Nyong'o, Jessica Carissa, and Lestedi Olucomoche. Our editors are Nancy Lopes and Anna Sussmann. Our story consultant is John Fisiel. Engineering by Miles Lassie. Our music supervisor is Sandra Lawson-Ndu, also known as Sandhu Ndu. She also created the Mind Your Own theme song with Peach Curls, featuring vocals from Ehirobo. Graphic design by Jemimah Eke. Original artwork by Mateos Sitole. Special thanks to Allen Coy, Jake Kleinberg, Samara Still, Sara Yu, Warner Music Group, and Afropods. Make sure to follow Mind Your Own and listen on Apple podcasts, Spotify, Amazon Music, or wherever you get your podcasts. There's even more to love with Lemonada Premium.

Subscribers get exclusive access to bonus content from across the network for only 4.99 a month. Subscribe now on Apple Podcasts. Now, go out, get together, and mind your own bodies.