The death of Professor The death of Professor Godfrey Muriuki in Nyeri on October 15, 2026, marks the passing of more than an eminent historian.
It is the loss of a scholar who helped establish African history as a serious academic discipline and devoted 54 years to building the University of Nairobi and nurturing generations of scholars.
Born in July 1937, Muriuki rose from humble beginnings, excelling at Government African School, Kagumo, before studying history at Makerere University College. He earned his doctorate at the School of Oriental and African Studies, University of London, between 1966 and 1969.
His landmark book, A History of the Kikuyu, 1500–1900, challenged colonial assumptions that African societies lacked meaningful histories worthy of rigorous study.
After beginning his career as a teacher in Mweiga in 1959, he joined the University of Nairobi, becoming a professor in 1987. He chaired the Department of History from 1975 to 1989 and held international appointments and fellowships at institutions including Stanford University, SOAS and the University of the Western Cape.
Despite his international standing, he remained committed to his academic home, retiring in June 2018 after 54 years at the university.
My relationship with Muriuki was deeply personal. When he retired, I was chairperson of the Department of History. Although I was young enough to be his grandchild, he treated me with warmth and respect.
One day, he found me sitting in the departmental chair he had occupied for years. Calling me by my first name, he announced his return to the “Republic of Nyeri”, his affectionate name for his hometown. He gave me his postal address in Kiganjo and promised to fatten a goat for us when we visited.
I never made that visit. Two years later, when we planned to go, I had bought him a present. The visit never happened. Today, that unfulfilled promise hurts. Historians preserve the past, but grief reminds us that some opportunities cannot be recovered.
After completing my PhD at the University of Cambridge in the early 2000s, I joined a private university. Muriuki personally called me, insisting that the department could not train its scholars only to lose them to other institutions. His message was simple: “Come home.” I returned.
When I later struggled to secure permission to spend six months at Cambridge’s African Studies Centre, his intervention helped resolve the matter. He encouraged me to learn and return, understanding that international exposure need not mean abandoning one’s institution.
His generosity extended into my personal life. When I decided to marry, he offered me a cow for dowry, urged me not to delay and later gave me a generous gift exceeding the value of an adult cow. His jokes about needing grandchildren quickly revealed the affection behind his authority.
Colleagues remember the same generosity. Dr George Gona recalls his lively, humorous lectures on African history, while Dr Mwiandi remembers his guidance during postgraduate research in Kenya and London.
Pamela Ngesa also recalls his selfless assistance with her master’s work.
Muriuki’s compassion was especially evident in his support for disadvantaged students.
Dr Gachihi remembers a man shaped by childhood poverty, raised by a struggling mother and sustained by a loving grandfather. Having experienced hardship, Muriuki helped needy students secure scholarships, meals and work-study opportunities.
He sometimes jokingly called himself a “professional beggar” when seeking assistance for them.
He understood that academic excellence meant more than producing graduates. It also meant ensuring poverty did not deny deserving students an education.
His openness to other disciplines was equally striking. Dr Nyanchoga recalls how Muriuki invited him, as an archaeologist, to explain to history students how archaeology could help establish historical knowledge. He understood that no single discipline could claim the past in its entirety.
Beyond academia, Muriuki kept his family largely out of public view. Many colleagues did not associate him with Mama Margaret Njeri Muriuki, who served for years as manager of the University of Nairobi bookshop.
Among close friends, however, he affectionately introduced her as his “permanent girlfriend”. Beneath the humour was a reminder that professional distinction need not diminish tenderness in family life.
Muriuki’s death leaves important questions about the kind of universities we want: institutions that value mentorship and compassion alongside publications, retain talented scholars and defend students whose futures are threatened by poverty.
He answered these questions through his life. The visit to the “Republic of Nyeri” and the promised goat will remain an unfinished memory. But his journey through Kenyan historiography, the University of Nairobi and generations of students continues through those he taught and inspired.
His greatness lay not only in the books he wrote, but also in the lives he transformed and the institution he left stronger than he found it. May his legacy endure in his scholarship, his students and the university he called home.
(Dr Ombongi is Associate Dean, Research and Postgraduate Studies, Faculty of Arts and Social Sciences, University of Nairobi)
