A Phone That Stole a Life: How a Second-Hand Handset Sent a Neurosurgeon to Prison

Dr. Clement Munyao Katiku once saved lives in the operating theatre. Today he sits behind the walls of Kamiti Maximum Security Prison, convicted in a murder case that began with a KSh 2,000 second-hand phone…

For decades, Dr. Clement Munyao Katiku worked where the margin for error was measured in millimetres. As a senior neurosurgeon at Kenyatta National Hospital, he spent years operating on the most delicate organ in the human body,the brain where a single miscalculation could cost a life. Patients and colleagues trusted his steady hands and sharp mind. Medicine was not just his profession; it was his identity.

Dr. Katiku graduated with a Bachelor of Medicine and Bachelor of Surgery (MBChB) from the University of Nairobi in 1980. He later earned a Master’s degree in Human Medicine and Pathology from the same university in 1987 before traveling to Scotland, where he completed a Master’s degree in Forensic Medicine in 1991.

By the early 2000s, he had built a respected career in one of Kenya’s most demanding medical fields.Then a small decision one that thousands of Kenyans make every day changed everything. Around 2005, Dr. Katiku bought a second-hand mobile phone.

“It was nothing special,Just a simple handset.”

He bought it from a mortuary attendant he knew at Kenyatta National Hospital for KSh 2,000. The device was meant for his daughter, who was then a student at Moi University. Like many students, she needed a phone to stay connected with family. After some time, she passed the phone to her boyfriend. At the time, none of them knew the device had a violent history. The phone once belonged to Moses Gituma, a senior official at the Central Bank of Kenya and the brother of the then Commissioner of Police, Mathew Iteere.

Gituma had been brutally robbed and murdered. During the attack, the killers stole several personal belongings, including his phone. Investigators tracking the murder began tracing the device as part of their inquiry. Eventually, the signal trail led them to the boyfriend of Dr. Katiku’s daughter. Police arrested him.Under questioning, he said the phone had come from his girlfriend. Within days, detectives arrived at Dr. Katiku’s door in Nairobi.

“I told them exactly where I bought the phone and from whom.”

According to Dr. Katiku, he explained that he had purchased the phone second-hand from a mortuary attendant at Kenyatta National Hospital and had no knowledge that it might be stolen let alone connected to a murder. But the explanation did not end the investigation. Instead, the chain of possession became the centrepiece of the prosecution’s case.

Despite the absence of eyewitnesses linking him to the robbery or murder, and without physical evidence placing him at the crime scene, the case moved forward. The phone and the trail leading back to him became critical circumstantial evidence.

“I still do not understand why the chain ended with me,” he says.

The mortuary attendant he says sold him the phone was never charged. In 2009, the court convicted Dr. Katiku of the murder of Moses Gituma and sentenced him to 30 years in prison. Believing the verdict was a mistake, he appealed. But the appeal produced an even harsher outcome. The court enhanced the sentence to death.

Years later, following presidential clemency and broader policy changes affecting death-row inmates in Kenya, the sentence was commuted to life imprisonment. By then, the damage had already been done.

Today, more than two decades after his arrest, Dr. Katiku remains behind the walls of Kamiti Maximum Security Prison. Inside the prison, the former neurosurgeon has tried to rebuild some sense of purpose. He trained as a paralegal and now assists fellow inmates with legal paperwork, helping them navigate the complex appeals and petitions that define prison life. He also continues to practise medicine informally.

“When prisoners are sick or injured, they come to me,” he says. “I treat wounds. I offer medical advice. It is the only way I know how to serve.”

For a man who once operated in sterile theatres with sophisticated equipment, the conditions are vastly different. Yet the instinct to heal remains. Still, the cost has been enormous. Dr. Katiku lost his career, his freedom, and years with his family. The mortuary attendant he says sold him the phone was never prosecuted in connection with the case. The killers responsible for the robbery and murder were never fully tied to the phone’s path through the underground market. From his prison cell, he reflects on the chain of events that brought him there.

“I want people to be careful with second-hand phones,” he says. “What looks like a simple bargain can destroy a life.”

His story raises uncomfortable questions about circumstantial evidence, investigative procedures, and the risks of relying heavily on possession trails in criminal prosecutions.