In March 2024, Faith Odhiambo, 38, made history when she became the 51st President of the Law Society of Kenya (LSK), and the second woman to be elected President after former Cabinet Secretary Raychelle Omamo. Since then, she has been the most visible and vocal woman, fighting injustices and defending rights crusaders.

During the June 25, 2025 Gen Z protests, she is among those who boldly stood in the gap for the youth. She remained the voice for the voiceless and the reason to reaffirm oath and the commitment of Advocates to defend the independence of the Judiciary, compliance with court orders. 

In an interview with the Spice FM, Ms Odhiambo said the Gen Z uprising reminded everyone that eternal vigilance is not poetic wallpaper; it is a civic muscle that atrophies when unused. 

“Gen Z forced courts to speak faster, parliamentarians to apologise something we had never witnessed and the President to retract positions. They re-energised a Constitution that had started to feel ornamental,” she said.

Take us back to the first day you stepped into that role as “street lawyer in chief”. What happened at Central Police Station? 

That was June 18, 2024. Tear-gas drifted over the gates. We insisted no advocate would leave until every detainee was booked in the Occurrence Book or released. Hours later, senior officers gave the word: everyone goes home. I realised that if we had not stood there, some of those kids would simply have vanished.

The public saw you, cape billowing in the tear-gas, but few know about the machinery behind you. How did you turn individual outrage into a nationwide legal response? 

Two things: delegation and solidarity. I convened an emergency Zoom meeting at 11pm with 35 young counsel across the counties and told them, “Each of you is Faith tomorrow”. We created a colour-coded spreadsheet of police stations, set up a signal group that pings when anyone is arrested, wrote a one-page bail-application template, and agreed that whoever filed first would dump the precedent in the group for instant reuse.

Branch chairs pledged vans, stationery, cash. Big corporate firms formed silent drafting cells petitions at two in the morning, sworn affidavits couriered by boda-boda to whichever court opened first. Civil-society partners supplied medics and psychologists; journalists mapped safe corridors out of danger zones. The tapestry was miraculous, woven overnight by people who had never shared a room, only a purpose.

Leadership textbooks rarely discuss fear. Were you afraid? 

Every time my phone rings after midnight I brace for a voice saying, “We have your colleague”. But fear is not an exit clause. Leadership is fidelity to duty in spite of tremors in the knees.

You also faced institutional pushback court orders ignored by police commanders, threats against judges. What convinced you the legal route could still bite?Two landmark decisions. First, Justice Odunga’s order that held former DCI boss George Kinoti personally liable for contempt. Second, Justice Mwita’s ruling against Acting IG Masengele for defying bail directives. Those orders hang like portraits in every police corridor. Even when ignored, they stain careers; HR (human resource) files never forget. 

Let’s talk command responsibility. You’ve sued not just arresting officers but their superiors, even the Inspector-General. Why is that principle so important?

Because impunity is a ladder. Remove the top rungs, and the lower ones dangle in mid-air. When a regional commander realises he might personally finance damages from his pension, the calculus changes overnight.

Critics say you’ve politicised the Law Society of Kenya. What is your response? 

The Constitution is not partisan. If defending Article 37 the right to assemble casts me as political, then the drafters of 2010 were the original politicians. Our mandate is to protect the rule of law, not court favour.

International observers are watching Kenya for possible crimes against humanity. Under what circumstances would you endorse taking evidence to The Hague?

The threshold is high - widespread or systematic attacks against civilians, State complicity, exhausted domestic remedies. If KNCHR (Kenya National Commission on Human Rights) and independent pathologists can corroborate patterns of lethal force or enforced disappearances across counties, then we would have a dossier worth the ICC’s time. But first we must protect the local bodies that collect that evidence as they are being starved of funds and vilified as rumour peddlers.

You’ve mentioned the financial squeeze on oversight agencies. What can ordinary citizens do besides tweeting outrage?

Petition their MPs during budget hearings, demand line-item answers. Parliament rubber-stamped the illegal clauses in the cyber-crime law nine months after the High Court struck them out. Public pressure can reverse that. MPs are suddenly humble when constituents record them live and ask why National Cohesion and Integration Commission’s investigative budget is lower than their travel votes.

Let’s pivot to gender. Kenya has never had a female Chief Justice and a female LSK president at the same time until now. Does that symbolism matter on the street?

Symbolism opens doors but competence keeps them open. When a girl in Kibra sees Martha Koome and Faith Odhiambo occupying podiums traditionally reserved for men in dark suits, she recalibrates her horizon. That is not soft power; it is scaffolding for ambition.

A year later, what has surprised you most about Gen Z?

Their humour under fire. They turn court rulings into TikTok skits, quoting Latin maxims between dance moves. Satire is a survival tool; it diffuses fear but also archives memory.

And what disappoints you?

Short attention spans. After a victory they drift to new hashtags. Eternal vigilance is, well, eternal.

You’re writing a book, or so social media claims. True?

At the moment the “book” is a Google Drive folder labelled “Someday”. But I meticulously keep diaries, dates, names, and places. When the dust settles, I’ll stitch them into a narrative of law, courage and the audacity of the young.

Before we wrap, walk us through the checklist for demonstrations so no one is lost in the fog of tear-gas.

One, know your legal observer’s number and your emergency contact’s number; memorise them, phones get smashed. Two, carry national ID and a power bank, nothing sharp. Three, if arrested, do not resist; ask the officer to state his name and station on camera. Four, friends must record the time, place and vehicle plates. Five, once in custody demand the Occurrence Book number; LSK cannot move without it. Six, medics are stationed at designated safe houses share the pins widely. Seven, when your comrade is bundled into an unmarked van, do not waste precious minutes theorising online—tag the hotline, ping the nearest advocate, and plant yourself at the last known station. Bodies get moved; paperwork does not. Speed is salvation.

Final words?

The Constitution begins with “We, the people”. Powers are delegated, not surrendered. Keep the struggle alive. By Mike Kihaki, The Standard

Dimitrov Mirchev, a prolific arms trafficker from Bulgaria, who once supplied weapons to Russian arms dealer Viktor Bout, is said to be the head of a weapons trafficking network that supplied the CJNG military-grade using falsified documents in Africa. 

The group also met with cartel members in Europe and Africa to conspire to provide the CJNG with machine guns, rocket launchers, grenades, night vision equipment, sniper rifles, anti-personnel mines, and anti-aircraft weapons. 

The U.S. Department of Justice unveiled the indictment against four foreigners, led by one from Bulgaria and three from Kenya, Uganda, and Tanzania, accused of drug trafficking and providing military weapons to the Jalisco New Generation Cartel (CJNG).

 

CJNG Weapons Deals

The court file alleges that since at least September 2022, Peter Dimitrov Mirchev of Bulgaria, Elisha Odhiambo Asumo of Kenya, Michael Katungi Mpeirwe of Uganda, and Subiro Osmund Mwapinga of Tanzania provided the CJNG with weapons including military level arsenals.

On Feb. 20, 2025, the CJNG was designated a Foreign Terrorist Organization under the Immigration and Nationality Act and as a Specially Designated Global Terrorist under Executive Order 13224. Arms sales to transnational criminal organizations like the CJNG are prohibited by virtually every country.

 

Leading the operation was Mirchev, a veteran arms trafficker based in Bulgaria, with an estimated 25 years of experience in illegal weapons sales.

 

Mirchev once supplied arms to notorious trafficker Viktor Bout.

 

According to court records, Mirchev was previously implicated in supplying arms to Viktor Bout, who was arrested following a DEA operation in 2008, and convicted of conspiring to kill US nationals and law enforcement by supplying weapons to narco-terrorists, conspiring to acquire and export anti-aircraft missiles; and conspiring to provide material support to a designated foreign terrorist organization, the FARC. Bout was released from prison in the US and sent back to Russia in late 2022 as part of a prisoner exchange between the two countries.

 

The Bulgarian maintained a list of military weapons requested by the CJNG, valued at approximately $58 million.

 

Mirchev has became known as the "Bulgarian Viktor Bout." Mirchev also allegedly coordinated meetings with representatives claiming to be from the CJNG.

 

Among the military grade weapons these four suspects allegedly delivered to the CJNG, the Department of Justice highlights machine guns, bazooka launchers, grenades, night vision equipment, sniper rifles, anti-personnel mines, and anti-aircraft weapons.

 

As proof of shipment, Dimitrob Mirchev and others exported 50 AK-47 assault rifles from Bulgaria, accompanied by magazines and ammunition.

 

The Bulgarian recruited Asumo, Mpeirwe, and Mwapinga to obtain official weapons import certificates known as EUCs (End User Certificates) issued to them in the United Republic of Tanzania for the acquisition of AK-47 rifles.

Asumo obtained a DVP, purportedly signed by the permanent Secretary for the Ministry of Defence National Services of Tanzania, reflecting that the Tanzanian military had received the weapons, even though it had not. 

 

Payments for these forged documents flowed through Kenyan bank accounts linked to Asumo, with tens of thousands of dollars wired from US bank accounts. The DEA has located various payments linked to this first batch of weapons, including one made in November 2023 by Mirchev of nearly $38,000 from a U.S. bank account to that of a Bulgarian arms manufacturer.

 

Following this shipment, Mirchev discussed plans to supply the cartel with more devastating weaponry, including surface-to-air missiles, anti-aircraft drones, and the ZU-23 anti-aircraft system, capable of firing explosive rounds designed to shoot down helicopters and other low-flying targets.

 

“In and around April 2024, Katungi attended a meeting in London regarding the planned arms deal. He offered to illegally obtain firearms for future sale to the CJNG as part of a planned arms deal between the governments of Russia and Uganda.

Katungi also explained that he could "use his connections throughout Africa and the Ugandan government to easily obtain EUCs for future arms deal in exchange for a 2% commission.”

 

With assistance from Tanzania’s Mwapinga, they allegedly forged official documents falsely stating that the shipped weapons were destined for African militaries, yet they were intended for CJNG.

 

Meetings negotiating the weapons sales were also held in Capetown, South Africa according to the indictment.

Mirchev was arrested in Madrid, Spain on April 8 by the Central Operative Unit (UCO) of the Spanish Civil Guard at the request of the DEA, which had classified him as a “priority target.”

 

Asumo was arrested that same day in Casablanca by Moroccan authorities, Mwapinga was arrested by Ugandan authorities in Accra and extradited to the United States on July 25, while Mpeirwe remains a fugitive.

 

Ugandan national Michael Katungi Mpeirwe has denied U.S. charges. Mpeirwe has dismissed the accusations, responding “Ignore with contempt deserved. Mere accusations.”

 

Katungi served as a policy advisor in the Ugandan government and previously worked as deputy head of mission and security logistics officer with the African Union Commission. 

 

His government experience and network allegedly enabled him to facilitate illegal arms deals by helping to corruptly obtain official documents known as end-user certificates (EUCs) and delivery verification protocols (DVPs).

 

Katungi told New Vision Online in an interview on Monday, August 11, 2026, that he had not received any formal information or notification from any official authority regarding the indictment.

“I am unaware of any such proceedings or allegations as reported in the media related to an alleged illegal arms deal. I take all allegations of this nature very seriously and believe in the importance of due process and the presumption of innocence,” he said.

 

Katungi, a leader in the Patriotic League of Uganda, a civic organisation, argued that without formal notification or details of any such indictment, he was unable to comment further on the specifics of the allegations reported.

 

General Muhoozi Kainerugaba, Chief of Defence Forces and chairman of the Patriotic League of Uganda (PLU), has dismissed Michael Katungi Mpeirwe from his positions as Commissioner of External Affairs and Central Committee member following the US indictment.

 

“I am also compelled to note that a certain narrative appears to be aimed at maligning my reputation,” he said. Sources DOJ, Proceso, Kenya Insight

In March 2024, Faith Odhiambo, 38, made history when she became the 51st President of the Law Society of Kenya (LSK), and the second woman to be elected President after former Cabinet Secretary Raychelle Omamo. Since then, she has been the most visible and vocal woman, fighting injustices and defending rights crusaders.

During the June 25, 2025 Gen Z protests, she is among those who boldly stood in the gap for the youth. She remained the voice for the voiceless and the reason to reaffirm oath and the commitment of Advocates to defend the independence of the Judiciary, compliance with court orders. 

In an interview with the Spice FM, Ms Odhiambo said the Gen Z uprising reminded everyone that eternal vigilance is not poetic wallpaper; it is a civic muscle that atrophies when unused. 

“Gen Z forced courts to speak faster, parliamentarians to apologise something we had never witnessed and the President to retract positions. They re-energised a Constitution that had started to feel ornamental,” she said.

Take us back to the first day you stepped into that role as “street lawyer in chief”. What happened at Central Police Station? 

That was June 18, 2024. Tear-gas drifted over the gates. We insisted no advocate would leave until every detainee was booked in the Occurrence Book or released. Hours later, senior officers gave the word: everyone goes home. I realised that if we had not stood there, some of those kids would simply have vanished.

The public saw you, cape billowing in the tear-gas, but few know about the machinery behind you. How did you turn individual outrage into a nationwide legal response? 

Two things: delegation and solidarity. I convened an emergency Zoom meeting at 11pm with 35 young counsel across the counties and told them, “Each of you is Faith tomorrow”. We created a colour-coded spreadsheet of police stations, set up a signal group that pings when anyone is arrested, wrote a one-page bail-application template, and agreed that whoever filed first would dump the precedent in the group for instant reuse.

Branch chairs pledged vans, stationery, cash. Big corporate firms formed silent drafting cells petitions at two in the morning, sworn affidavits couriered by boda-boda to whichever court opened first. Civil-society partners supplied medics and psychologists; journalists mapped safe corridors out of danger zones. The tapestry was miraculous, woven overnight by people who had never shared a room, only a purpose.

Leadership textbooks rarely discuss fear. Were you afraid? 

Every time my phone rings after midnight I brace for a voice saying, “We have your colleague”. But fear is not an exit clause. Leadership is fidelity to duty in spite of tremors in the knees.

You also faced institutional pushback court orders ignored by police commanders, threats against judges. What convinced you the legal route could still bite?Two landmark decisions. First, Justice Odunga’s order that held former DCI boss George Kinoti personally liable for contempt. Second, Justice Mwita’s ruling against Acting IG Masengele for defying bail directives. Those orders hang like portraits in every police corridor. Even when ignored, they stain careers; HR (human resource) files never forget. 

Let’s talk command responsibility. You’ve sued not just arresting officers but their superiors, even the Inspector-General. Why is that principle so important?

Because impunity is a ladder. Remove the top rungs, and the lower ones dangle in mid-air. When a regional commander realises he might personally finance damages from his pension, the calculus changes overnight.

Critics say you’ve politicised the Law Society of Kenya. What is your response? 

The Constitution is not partisan. If defending Article 37 the right to assemble casts me as political, then the drafters of 2010 were the original politicians. Our mandate is to protect the rule of law, not court favour.

International observers are watching Kenya for possible crimes against humanity. Under what circumstances would you endorse taking evidence to The Hague?

The threshold is high - widespread or systematic attacks against civilians, State complicity, exhausted domestic remedies. If KNCHR (Kenya National Commission on Human Rights) and independent pathologists can corroborate patterns of lethal force or enforced disappearances across counties, then we would have a dossier worth the ICC’s time. But first we must protect the local bodies that collect that evidence as they are being starved of funds and vilified as rumour peddlers.

You’ve mentioned the financial squeeze on oversight agencies. What can ordinary citizens do besides tweeting outrage?

Petition their MPs during budget hearings, demand line-item answers. Parliament rubber-stamped the illegal clauses in the cyber-crime law nine months after the High Court struck them out. Public pressure can reverse that. MPs are suddenly humble when constituents record them live and ask why National Cohesion and Integration Commission’s investigative budget is lower than their travel votes.

Let’s pivot to gender. Kenya has never had a female Chief Justice and a female LSK president at the same time until now. Does that symbolism matter on the street?

Symbolism opens doors but competence keeps them open. When a girl in Kibra sees Martha Koome and Faith Odhiambo occupying podiums traditionally reserved for men in dark suits, she recalibrates her horizon. That is not soft power; it is scaffolding for ambition.

A year later, what has surprised you most about Gen Z?

Their humour under fire. They turn court rulings into TikTok skits, quoting Latin maxims between dance moves. Satire is a survival tool; it diffuses fear but also archives memory.

And what disappoints you?

Short attention spans. After a victory they drift to new hashtags. Eternal vigilance is, well, eternal.

You’re writing a book, or so social media claims. True?

At the moment the “book” is a Google Drive folder labelled “Someday”. But I meticulously keep diaries, dates, names, and places. When the dust settles, I’ll stitch them into a narrative of law, courage and the audacity of the young.

Before we wrap, walk us through the checklist for demonstrations so no one is lost in the fog of tear-gas.

One, know your legal observer’s number and your emergency contact’s number; memorise them, phones get smashed. Two, carry national ID and a power bank, nothing sharp. Three, if arrested, do not resist; ask the officer to state his name and station on camera. Four, friends must record the time, place and vehicle plates. Five, once in custody demand the Occurrence Book number; LSK cannot move without it. Six, medics are stationed at designated safe houses share the pins widely. Seven, when your comrade is bundled into an unmarked van, do not waste precious minutes theorising online—tag the hotline, ping the nearest advocate, and plant yourself at the last known station. Bodies get moved; paperwork does not. Speed is salvation.

Final words?

The Constitution begins with “We, the people”. Powers are delegated, not surrendered. Keep the struggle alive. By Mike Kihaki, The Standard