From Audit Assistant to Empire Builder: The Grit of Esther Muchemi [Engage Series]

 

Esther Muchemi was a misnomer. That’s the only way to describe her. As she stood before us — a classy lady with a deep Kikuyu accent — you might have easily mistaken her for someone ordinary, someone who never tried to smooth out her voice with the usual corporate finesse. But soon enough, I learned why she was anything but ordinary. This woman was made from rare cloth.

From a young age, Esther was gifted. Not the kind of giftedness wrapped in dramatic genius or rebellious brilliance — no, hers was the quiet, disciplined, razor-sharp kind. She loved to study. Loved to excel. Loved to stand out without making a fuss. Her grades were excellent, so good that they took her to prestigious schools for high school, A-levels, and later even as she pursued her Certified Public Accountant credentials. She wasn’t the type to joke around in college either; she went in focused and graduated ready to build a career with seriousness and purpose.

Her entry point? An audit assistant. If you know audit firms in the 90s, you know this role was basically the human version of a donkey — overworked, underappreciated, and mostly treated like a glorified secretary with a calculator. But that was Esther’s beginning. Humble, almost laughable in status. Yet, it was the perfect setting for her drive.

She earned KSh 4,000 then. 4K! She promised herself she would double that in a year. She didn’t just double it — she tripled it within months. That’s who she was: a woman who made her own predictions bow in her direction. Before long, she had risen so fast and so far that she became a partner in an international audit firm. You don’t just stumble into that. You don’t “get lucky” into that. That’s sweat, discipline, mental sharpness, and a level of excellence very few possess.

But what made Esther exceptional wasn’t just her intelligence — it was her fire. She had an inner spark that refused to be confined by job titles, office politics, or unspoken barriers. She didn't sit quietly at the table; she outperformed everything set before her. Every matrix, every KPI, every goal. She was the kind of employee who made bosses nervous, and colleagues inspired—or jealous, depending on their temperament.

Now imagine this happening in the 90s — a heavily male-dominated world where women in corporate leadership were rare. And not just that: she started at the bottom, the donkey level, where nobody expected miracles. Yet she tripled her salary in months and ended up as a partner. That alone is extraordinary.

But Esther had another side — impatience with ceilings. She made partner, yes, but she soon realized she was not truly a profit-sharing partner. She had the title but lacked access to the “boys’ club.” And Esther was not wired to sit quietly in symbolic roles. So, in a burst of frustration and boldness, she quit, just like that.

She started her own firm — and, in genuine Esther humor, named it Esther Muchemi & Partners, even though it was just her, herself, and she. One woman. Three titles. Zero apologies.

Her office? A cramped, dingy space by a staircase. No glass walls. No fancy reception. Nothing like the international firm she had left. But she laughed about it years later, with that self-deprecating charm only she could pull off.

For five years, she operated almost entirely depending on one client. Just one. Anyone in consulting knows this is business suicide. One client can wipe you out, starve you, or crush your dreams with a single withdrawal notice. But Esther held on — wobbling like a village bridge that looks ready to collapse but somehow stays standing. And after all that, she walked away from those five years with a Mercedes-Benz and the relief of someone who had faced storms and survived.

But even as she was auditing and consulting, something else was growing in her life—a small shop in downtown Nairobi. A business she managed without a clear plan for the future, just to earn extra money. A 'side hustle' before the term was everyday.

Then came the early 2000s. Safaricom was entering the market, seeking dealers. Esther secured the dealership. Just like that, in a twist of fate, her life took on a completely different direction.

She spoke of those early days with a fond smile. She was now a woman on a mission — her entrepreneurial spirit had finally found a canvas big enough to paint on. And even though she hinted at her marriage, one quote from different sources emerged clearly:

“When my husband was alive, he allowed me to be. He took pride in my success; he never oppressed it. He was comfortable in who he was as a military person, so my success was never a threat to him.”

This wasn’t love defined by noise. Respect, acceptance defined it, and a man secure enough not to fear a strong woman. That support gave Esther something money cannot buy — peace of mind. And peace of mind is the soil where empires grow.

Her background in auditing gave her sharp business insight. She recognized early — very early — that mobile telephony and later mobile money were the next big frontier. In 2001, she made a bold decision: she accepted an offer to become an exclusive dealer for Safaricom, even when Safaricom was nowhere near the giant it is today. She dropped other providers and placed her bet on one horse.

That single decision established Samchi Telecommunications as one of Safaricom’s early and key dealers. First-mover advantage isn’t luck; it’s vision, bravery, and the ability to see beyond others. She grew rapidly—sixty shops nationwide, agents everywhere, products expanding, distribution networks growing.

Her husband, a respected military communications engineer, quietly supported her rise. He wasn’t threatened; he was proud. He allowed her to be all she could be. That kind of partnership is rare — a quiet wind beneath wings that were already determined to fly.

Then the storm.

In 2007, she lost her husband. And while she didn’t speak about it in depth in her presentation, the picture from various accounts is clear. His death was a heavy blow — emotionally, socially, psychologically. Many people assumed she would not make it. They saw her as dependent, fragile, unlikely to thrive on her own.

But Esther did what Esther always did — she transformed pain into fuel.

She said the time after his death was not just about sorrow; it was a “rebirth.” A reshaping of identity. A turning inward and forward at the same time. She didn’t deny her grief — she channeled it. She didn’t pretend she wasn’t hurting — she refused to let the hurt define her. She rebuilt emotionally. She thrived professionally. She grew Samchi into a powerful empire. She diversified. She expanded. She became a role model for rebuilding life after loss—not by forgetting, but by rising.

Esther was not just a widow. She was — and remains — a builder. A leader. A self-made entrepreneur. A living reminder that “after loss” can still mean “after growth.”

And all these experiences are what make her extraordinary.