For more than a decade, Samuel Muchoki, known to millions as Samidoh, lived in two worlds. By day, he wore the olive-green uniform of the National Police Service. By night, he tuned his guitar and sang Mugithi ballads that carried the laughter, sorrow, and rhythm of Kikuyu tradition.
It was never an easy balance. The uniform demanded obedience, silence, and sacrifice. The stage demanded freedom, wit, and vulnerability. For years, he tried to hold both, standing at once as Constable Muchoki—badge number 112282—and Samidoh, the darling of Kenya’s countryside dance halls and international tours.
That duality has now ended. On July 20, 2025, his resignation from the police became official, confirmed by Inspector General Douglas Kanja. In the words of Mr Kanja, “The Service has accepted his decision. He is free to pursue his ambitions.”
A Career Under Fire
The exit followed months of controversy. Earlier this year, a video spread quickly online: Samidoh on stage, guitar slung across his chest, as the crowd broke into chants of “Wantam,” a slogan seen as a rebuke of President William Ruto’s re-election bid.
For the police, it was a line crossed. Regulations bar officers from political activity, and Samidoh suddenly found himself accused of abandoning duty and engaging in partisan theatre. The fallout was swift. He was transferred to the Anti-Stock Theft Unit in Gilgil and placed under disciplinary watch.
But Samidoh was not prepared to bow quietly. Through his lawyers, he secured anticipatory bail at the High Court, shielding him from arrest. In court, he produced travel papers signed by senior police administrators, authorising his trip to the United States. It was a direct rebuttal to claims that he had deserted his post without permission.
The evidence gave him breathing space. Still, the disciplinary process lingered, and so did the shadow of punishment. The resignation, when it came, was both an escape and a liberation.
A Journey That Began in Hardship
To understand the gravity of his decision, one must look back. Long before the roaring applause and the flashing stage lights, there was a young man from Ol Jororok in Nyandarua County, raised in modest means. His father, a police officer, died when he was still a boy, leaving behind both the burden and the legacy of service.
When Samidoh joined the Administration Police in 2013, it was more than a career—it was an act of continuity. His early postings were unforgiving: Dadaab, with its sprawling refugee camps and constant threat of cross-border incursions, and Eastleigh, Nairobi, where policing meant grappling with crime, suspicion, and resilience.
It was in those crucibles that Constable Muchoki learned discipline. Yet, after duty, he would retreat into music, strumming his guitar, writing lyrics, and dreaming of a different kind of stage. Slowly, the songs grew louder than the commands of the parade ground.
Music as a Calling
Samidoh began as a backup singer for veteran Kamande wa Kioi. From him, he learned the rhythm of Mugithi—songs built for long nights, storytelling, laughter, and dance. Soon, his own voice cut through. His performances were sharp, laced with humour, and rooted in Kikuyu culture.
By the late 2010s, he had become the face of Mugithi’s revival, taking a local sound onto global stages. Tours in the United States, Europe, and the Middle East followed. His music was not just entertainment; it was heritage, carried in the language and idioms of home.
And so the conflict deepened. The crowds wanted more of Samidoh, the star. The uniform required more of Constable Muchoki, the officer. Neither could give way without consequence.
The Road Ahead
His resignation closes one chapter, but the story is far from over. On one path lies music—his true love, now unhindered by curfews or duty rosters. With a growing international audience, his songs may carry him even further.
On the other lies politics, an arena that many already speculate he may one day enter. His popularity, his boldness, and his grassroots roots make the suggestion hard to ignore. Yet, for now, he remains silent about those ambitions.
What is certain is that the choice has been made. The uniform has been folded away, the badge returned, the oath of service fulfilled and released. In its place is a man stepping into uncertainty, but also into possibility.
Samidoh once lived in two worlds. Today, he walks into one—entirely his own.
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