It was there that he learned another lesson that would stick with him. “Realising that you don’t have to speak like a Nairobian to be clever,” he says. “Separating language and intelligence because you could easily overlook intelligence if you play up to stereotypes.”

When the vice-chancellor position at Strathmore University came knocking, he was reluctant to get to the door.

“I had all kinds of interesting adventures ahead of me as an academic,” he says. “I wanted to be a soldier, but they told me I’d be more effective as the general.”

He leads as he lives – with an ascetic simplicity, a layman of Opus Dei, shunning materialism for meaning.

The hardest part, perhaps, has been making it look easy. Before becoming vice-chancellor, he had served as deputy vice-chancellor (Planning & Development), vice-dean for Executive Talent Development at Strathmore University Business School, director of its regional academies in Uganda, Rwanda and Tanzania, founding director of the MBA for Executives programme, and deputy principal of Strathmore School.

His academic journey had already taken him far beyond the field where it began.

Dr Ogutu holds a PhD in Organisational Management from Rutgers University, an MSc in Financial Economics from the University of London and a BA in Economics from the University of Nairobi.

The boy from Pap Migwena, “the field” as he calls it, hasn’t done too badly for himself. “Everything that life throws at you is an opportunity; do not waste it.” That’s how you separate the great from the good. The world gives you gifts. What you do with it is your gift back to the world.

There are many crucial turning points in life. Being the first grandson on my mum’s side was one. I wasn’t doing anything, but I was getting all this attention from the adults, and I developed very fast because everyone wanted to teach me something [chuckles].

Then came the right schools and the right mentorship.

St Teresa’s Boys in Eastleigh was one of the best schools in Eastlands, with amazing teachers. That gave me advantages and access to scholarships to places my parents couldn’t afford.

I landed at Strathmore College, learning from talented teachers from all over the world — American, British, Spanish, Italian, Ugandan, Rwandese, Filipino. For a 14-year-old beginning to discover the world, the world had come to me.

The University of London taught me how to write, appreciate difficult texts, chew and digest them, and develop an appetite for complex reading.

Then I went to Rutgers on a Fulbright scholarship in the US. That exposure opened up parts of me I didn’t know existed. I learned to innovate and discovered I liked psychology more than economics. I became interested in understanding individuals, what motivates them, and what goes on in their heads.

But at any of these points, you can waste the opportunity. These are gifts that come to you. You don’t want it to be water running over a rock; you want to be a sponge absorbing things that become part of you. I love learning, and when you give me an opportunity, I take it.
Becoming vice-chancellor has opened possibilities for impact that I didn’t have before.

It has also made me face issues I would never have had to face — collapse or grow. Everything that life throws at you is an opportunity, really, not a tragedy

I’m one of the lucky people who met all four grandparents. We really bonded with grandma Rosa. And before I went to the States, I did a road trip to ushago just to be with her because I wasn’t sure I’d ever see her again.

Two years later, she died. She was an amazing, loving woman. And I guess she taught us how to love. We never left empty-handed when we visited…some sugarcane or something to take home. She’d make incredible ugali. The type that when you finish cooking, there’s that biscuit-like thing that remains, which we call odeyo, our appetiser as we were waiting for the main meal to be served.

William Ogutu was my grandpa, but he was known as Othacha.

He is one of the people who started the grounds now known as Migwena. So when people ask me where I come from, I just answer, I come from the field. And they ask which field. And I’ll say, how can you ask such a silly question? Migwena is the Olympic grounds of the Luos, where all important games take place.

I grew up in Eastlands at a time when there were hardly any people of mixed race. I didn’t realise I had a Goan father who left when I was a toddler, and that my mum had married the dad who raised me, who treated me completely as his son. I never had a stepdad experience because dad was dad. I speak Luo but in Eastlands, I had no one to compare myself with.

I looked different; people would call me Mzungu. And the children would give me celebrity treatment [chuckles]. It’s only when I went to secondary school in Lavington that I met mixed race individuals for the first time. It’s been an exotic life, being treated like a foreigner in your own country. I only get treated as Kenyan when I start speaking sheng.

First of all, I’m not married because at a certain point in my life, God asked me to make that sacrifice so that I could be available to be sent anywhere at any time, and I joined Opus Dei, which is an organisation in the Catholic church. But I see all my students as my sons and daughters, and I have that bond with them. What was the question again? [chuckles]

I was so lucky to have a dad like him. He was principled, an introvert, despite me being an extrovert like my mum. There are certain things I got from him. For instance, I don’t panic easily, because dad was around all the time. He’d come back from work by six o’clock, and on weekends he’d be at home.

So as a little boy, playing dangerous games, knowing that there’s someone who’s got your back, allows you to experiment where normally you’d be afraid. Unless dad looked worried, I wasn’t worried. And he was never worried. I tell fathers, it’s not even what you say; just being there can have an impact on your children.

The hardest part was giving up marriage because, like any ordinary boy, especially from Eastlands, you fantasise about meeting this princess, sweeping her off her feet, and fading into the sunset to live happily ever after.

What changed my mind was someone explaining that when God invites you to something, he isn’t forcing you. If you say no, you don’t become his enemy. It’s a friend asking you to go on an adventure, and you’re completely free to say no. I thought, “In that case, I say yes. In fact, he can make it as hard as he wants. Here’s a blank cheque.”

I realised I really value my freedom. I don’t like being told what to do or being forced to do anything. But once I know I’m free, I can choose the hardest thing. So I said yes, and I’ve never looked back. I’m lucky to still be very much in love with that decision.

And this was at 16. I’ve just celebrated my 40th anniversary.

It wasn’t a vow. In Opus Dei, we don’t take vows. The only difference is, as the Bible says, let your yes be yes, and your no be no. There are these turning points in life when you’re asked, “Now that you’ve been moving on this nice path, everything is nice and easy, I want you to take a sudden turn and do this new mission.”

And you’re like, “Why?” Usually, it takes me less than a day, one sleepless night, and then I say, okay, let’s give up all the plans I have made and take up this new assignment.

When I finished at the University of Nairobi, I had two job offers, from Nation Media Group and PricewaterhouseCoopers. I was one of only two in our class selected; the other was Peter Ndegwa, CEO of Safaricom.

He signed his contract, but I didn’t. Just when I was making up my mind, Strathmore School said, “We know you’re an idealist; you want to change the world. Why don’t you give up your corporate career and become a teacher?” It was hard, but it was one of the best decisions I ever made. I fell in love with teaching.

Later, when I was asked to be vice-chancellor, I wasn’t planning to. I had all kinds of interesting adventures ahead of me as an academic. I wanted to be the soldier, but they told me I’d be more effective as a general.

How does one transcend from good to great? For you to be great, you have to be doing something bigger than yourself. As long as your entire agenda is yourself, then you can’t be great. If your life touches other people’s lives, and the communities around you, then you become great.

As long as your ambition is just to be the best professional in your field, to earn as much money as you can get, to be wealthy, to have access to all these pleasures that you could get, then I think you’re playing in the little leagues, because if you’re talented and you work hard, you will succeed and you’ll make a lot of money and you will be comfortable. But with such talent, what impact could you have?

Can someone who is worrying about food and rent have time to really think about calling and purpose? Yes, because if you don’t, you don’t move in the right direction. None of us is guaranteed how long we have. If we wait for the perfect situation, when all our basic problems are solved, some people will never truly live.

They’ll spend their lives chasing basic needs, waiting for things to be perfect before they start moving.

God has a plan for you. There’s something you’re supposed to accomplish, and you should start working on it the moment you discover it.

Why did God give you the gifts? You shouldn’t rest until you know the answer, and then decide what to do with it.

Those who don’t believe in God call it the law of attraction. If you see something good you can do for the world and commit to it, opportunities start coming your way.

That’s a great way to look at it, because every generation I know had parents who tried to make their children live a better life. If your parents finished high school, then they want you to be a graduate.

They always want their children to surpass them. So a legacy is not people trying to be as good as I am but people being better than me, and in a sense, you’re going beyond yourself.

Authenticity is important, and that comes with knowing yourself. It is not letting yourself go, or doing whatever you want or saying whatever you feel like. That’s not authenticity. That could even be carelessness. You have to see your best possible self in your mind’s eye, and then you strive to become that best possible self.

You own your identity, so don’t get ashamed of where you came from, where you grew up, or which schools you went to, trying to hide it because it’s not good enough for the rest of the world. That will make you smaller because you’ll see yourself as smaller.

I’m not very organised. I identify a lot with the creatives, and I hang out on Friday afternoons with the students in the music room. I’ll pick an instrument, and we’ll jam randomly. I also love innovation, taking complex problems and then coming up with out-of-the-box solutions.

It’s said that the innovation space is a space where people who are playful thrive. It’s hard to be both very structured and very creative at the same time. In my case, I choose to be creative because it comes naturally.

And then I accept that I need help on the structured side, that I’m really chaotic, which is why I have a chief of staff and an executive manager, but I’m not sacrificing the part that’s truly me, which is the creative, playful side, because I can see how it will also inspire people and validate other creatives.

Marriage, which would have been nice, but it’s been replaced by having all these sons and daughters who are my students and mentees.

Then, of course, if I wasn’t doing administration, I’d be on the front lines, doing stuff like ethnographic studies, where I go and immerse myself in a community, take up a role in that community for several months just to see what happens there, and then write a book about it.

Those are the fantasies I have as a researcher, but this is not boring; I’ve made my work extremely interesting, connecting people to problems and to resources to make things happen. And then the creative side where I do music and sports with our students, because I’m a runner, an ultra-marathon runner. I fundraise for scholarships through performing as a musician or through running.

Having very clear values that anchor you. A value is a belief that is so deep, it controls the way you think, the way you feel, and therefore the way you act. My values are humility because you can learn from so many people, and whatever you do doesn’t go to your head.

Then there’s magnanimity. So not thinking small, dreaming of big things, chasing after huge, complex, crazy ambitions.

And you can see it side by side with humility—so you’re thinking great things, but you’re not letting it go to your head. Then there’s fortitude because you love to do many tough things. And courage, because you are not afraid of uncertainty and will take the risk of losing to do something great. Start by defining who you are, what kind of person you want to be, and the values that could create such a person and develop them.

And finally, I’d say a life of faith, because that’s where the greatest source of meaning can come from.

Last December, I decided to run 88 kilometres to Naivasha. I had no idea if I would make it. I had a notion that it was possible, that I had the basics to do it, and it was now more mental. I overcame many obstacles, and at View Point, 44km in, I felt like throwing up, but I kept trudging on, coaxing myself with a Coke.

My lesson from this is to do hard things and stretch your limits.

The moment you do that, the next biggest target becomes attainable. Now 100km is on the cards. It is possible. Pick a cause and do a fun thing that can contribute to the cause—sports, music…angle your passions to change the world; that is a nice formula for life.