After coming from your field excursions, you would sit on your desk, with a snack bought along the way, and probably a drink, though you weren’t much of a fan. You had a strict personal menu, food wasn’t just food to you, no wonder you never took lots of soda or soft drinks as we might call them. Back to the routine for a moment now, back to the point where you’ve sat down and done the bit you can do before 2 pm, then your generous heart opens up and you tell everyone in the office, “Let’s go for lunch, I’ll pay!” Well, if only memories could be relived in actuality, it would be amazing, for am sure everyone in the office would cherish those free lunch hours, the laughs and stories told on the tables that set us on the edge. I loved the local food shop just miles from our office, in the streets we call it ‘Kibandaski’, and in these specific streets we call it ‘Migingo’.
Our routine trips there won’t be forgotten, and along with that a heart that was amazingly generous, and a great personality to match with. Many may say, “We know Denno, a journalist, blah blah,”well, folks, he wasn’t just that. You never know a man by his proffesison, his ideologies or by first meetings. First meetings leave impressions for sure, but they never leave a deep connection, and they never reveal who a person is.
In my few years at West Media, I encountered a man who could touch your life without trying to show of and tell you that he is doing it, and most important of all, a man who could be part of your struggles, intentionally crouching to our level to help you with whatever problem you had. No wonder there was a very sad atmosphere all over the media industry and from contemporaries who knew him well, when he was diagnosed with Acute Leukemia. We wondered, how could we crouch to that level and help him also? He is an amazing workmate, how can we support him through these tough times?
Even before we stretch further, one memory pops up, that endeared him to other journalists, his fearlesnsess. On a certain day, police are engaged in running battles with protesters on the outskirts of Nairobi, and Dennis is busy with his camera in hand, recording. A cop didn’t have time to negotiate and he hit him with a club, but the journalist didn’t back down and stood up for his rights. It sounded so funny, especially after Denno’s image was all over the media, but one could only admire the bravery that encapsulated what journalists go through in the line of duty.
We can’t forget the people who’ve gone through your tutorship, students who came in as timid as ever but left the station with tonnes of experience. Interns who stopped through the West FM doors with fear and a dominant lack of knowledge but left with great media minds. You left us abruptly and thinking what could’ve been, but there is no doubt the impact you’ve left behind. Till we meet again, Dennis.