Samidoh wanted 'alive or dead' to play music for goats in the wilds, as beautiful people wait

Opinion
By Peter Kimani | Jun 13, 2025
Mugithi star Samuel Muchoki aka Samidoh. [Photo/Courtesy]

‘Mugithi’ star Samuel Muchoki, aka Samidoh, is wanted “dead or alive”, according to hysterical notices I’ve seen from his employer, the National Police Service (NPS), allegedly for absconding duty.

They also declared to the world that his salary has been suspended, so I suspect they’ll inform Kenyans when it is restored. I wonder why they were telling us all this—if not to embarrass him—but I doubt that Samidoh is going to suffer pecuniary embarrassment. I don’t know what stopped them from disclosing his income level as well.

Anyhow, the energy expended on the “manhunt” for Samidoh would make one think he’s a top cop with a big belly, commanding battalions, and that the nation is under imminent threat from cattle rustlers, given his recent deployment to the Anti-Stock Theft Unit.

On the contrary, Samidoh is a scrawny chap whose shoulders can only bear the weight of a guitar—which he strums beautifully—hence the reason beautiful and not-so-beautiful folks flock to his shows. Incidentally, his employer wants him back in Gilgil, where he’s supposedly meant to play music for the goats recovered by colleagues from the Anti-Stock Theft Unit.

This is what we call fitina, pure and simple. How do you deprive Kenyans of Samidoh and banish him to the wilderness to sing for goats?

What I found both dumb and funny was that NPS deployed officers to Samidoh’s rural home in Nyandarua County. If anyone is interested in finding me in my rural home—reserves, as they were once called in colonial times—I’m only there for funerals. I haven’t spent a night in the village in a generation.

If the police are serious about intelligence gathering, I’d have thought the simplest place to start is our borders, to confirm whether Samidoh is even in the country, before wasting taxpayers’ money on trips to Nyandarua.

Well, perhaps such missions are useful—possibly even vital—as our officers get to earn per diems that help them shop for debes of potatoes and cabbages at Soko Mjinga, to keep their families going. They’re not fooling any of us.

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