The day was December 10, 1964. We were called to a roll call at five in the afternoon when suddenly, the commandant called out: "2001." That was my service number and I quickly responded "Afande (Sir)." I marched forward to join the other prison warders who had been called earlier. The rest were dismissed and the commandant turned to address us.

"Today is not an ordinary day for you. The colonial masters are leaving and we have to take over the management of the country and its affairs. Go home, put on your best uniform and come back to work. You are dismissed."

So it all began, just two days before Kenya became an independent sovereign state, a long journey that brought me misery, joy and satisfaction all at the same time.

I did not know what was going to happen as I was still very new at Kamiti Maximum Security Prison, coming from my previous posting at the King'ong'o Prison in Nyeri, only a few days before. Most of the Mau Mau freedom fighters detained by the British Colonial government and capital criminals were also jailed here, on flimsy grounds.

At about 8 pm, my colleagues and I were called to attention outside one of the special cells within the death row convicts' yard. A young Asian man emerged and I was ordered to tie his hands to the side of his body with a rope. I could feel my fingers and hands start to tremble as I tied the hands of the condemned man.

My knees started to shake and beads of sweat ran down my armpits. My heart pounded loudly inside my chest and in the silence of the night I could hear it beating faster and faster while I occasionally gasped for breath.

A corporal, who had become accustomed to hangings, noticed my agitation and screamed at me: "Jikaze. Usiwe dumekike (Be strong. Don't be a coward)."

When I was through strapping the convict's arms to his body I looked into his wet eyes and sympathized with him, despite the fact that in a fit of jealousy this man had killed his wife and three children.

His body was cold and he was trembling all over. He looked at me, fighting back tears and struggled to say something. "Tafadhali usiniue (Please do not kill me)," he pleaded.

This was my first execution and I was touched. Had the decision been mine, I could not have executed him. Unfortunately for him, it was never my decision; I was only following the orders of the court that had sentenced him to hang for killing his family.

I walked him to the execution area just a few yards from the cells and stood him on the trap doors of the platform. I put a black hood on his head and the rope around his neck. His time to die had come and there was no turning back. He continued to cry and beg for mercy, but no one said a word to him. To us, he was to be no different than a bull being led to the slaughterhouse. It had to be done and it was our task to execute.

At this point, I could not help myself any longer and I trembled even more. It was unbearable for me. My colleague noticed and whispered to me that this was just like any other job. It was a job, he said, and we were paid well by the government to do it. These people had taken away the lives of other people and now it was their turn to pay.

I composed myself and waited for the signal from the prison commandant, who oversaw all executions, to give the green light for me to push the lever of the execution machine at which time the trap doors suddenly fell open and the condemned man would drop through the hole while the rope jerked up to break his neck and squeeze the life out of him.

At this point, the silence within the grounds was tangible. It covered the area like a blanket. The prison commandant stood directly in front of the execution machine with his sword pointed to the sky, where we were about to send a soul. When he dropped the sword downwards, the orders were clear and I pushed the lever.

Within a fraction of a second the trap doors gave way and the Asian man disappeared. It happened so fast if you blinked your eyes you'd miss the show. The rope jerked up and broke his neck and we let him dangle for half an hour. This was to assure that the convict would be deceased by the time we pulled him up, but he died the second the rope jerked.

After we pulled up the lifeless body the prison doctor examined it to ascertain that the condemned man was dead and we then put him in a coffin, ready for burial the next morning. The records were then updated and where his name appeared it was written: RELEASED.

The body is never given to the family for burial. All the people who faced me at Kamiti have their graves within the grounds of the sprawling prison. By the time I left, there were more than nine acres of graves within the facility. Most of the Mau Mau fighters at Kamiti escaped my noose because they were held on insubstantial grounds, but those who killed or torched the British masters or were arrested in procession of live munitions or a gun, had a date with me.

After it was over and we were allowed to go home, I felt really bad for what I had done. I went to a local pub and drank myself stupid, all the while telling myself that it was a job like any other. It was my duty to perform at my work station to the best of my ability.

Being a Christian, I believed I was in the wrong, but the Bible says an eye for an eye and life for life. The man I had just executed, I told myself, had killed his wife and three children in cold blood and, were it possible, he should have been hanged four times.

Life, so says the Bible, is precious. It is something that human intelligence has never been able to understand or create. There are no lives for sale in village market places or in supermarket stores in the cities. It was given by God and it was my duty to uphold and obey His laws for those that govern this country.

As a man makes his bed, so goes the popular saying, he must lie on it. This man met his fate not because of me or the judge that gave the execution orders but because of his own actions.

As I became accustomed to the many executions at the prison, I stopped worrying and I did my job with diligence and gusto. I have no apologies to make for what I did and that is why I proudly share what I did for a living, just like you are proud to be a journalist and do not hide this fact.

My job was unique and I loved it. If the government would ask one more time for my services, I would happily accept.

I took many people to their graves; so many that I lost count of them- I estimate around a thousand people, maybe more. Some accepted their fate honorably, some went down shaking and trembling in fear and others remained defiant.

Some walked up to me, looked me in the eye and bravely shook my hand. "Mungu akipenda, tutaonana pande ile nyingine (God willing, I will see you in heaven)," they would say. Others were inconsolable and cried like babies to the end.

Some people can be spared within hours of execution if their appeal cases were successful. I remember one guy called Solomon, he was a good and chatty fellow and I had come to like him very much. It pained me to think that I would be the one who would take him down and I prayed that his appeal case would succeed. Indeed it did, and the pressure off me was quite a relief. I hugged him and kissed him when he walked out a free man. But very few succeeded in their appeal cases.

In my association with the condemned men, some said that they had done nothing wrong and that it was only circumstantial evidence that had condemned them to hang. Others, especially the Mau Mau, claimed to have been framed by jealous villagers or people wishing to settle scores with them, but that was just nonsense to me. I was not the one who decided on their case and I chose not to consider what they would say. I think it was the right decision because it allowed me to keep my sanity all those years.

The people I executed were tried by the courts and failed to prove their innocence. I do not think that I took down an innocent life. If there was, then it was not my fault.

I developed some strange relationships with the condemned men in the death row cells. I spent most of my days with them, talking and playing checkers.

When the time to be executed drew close, the Attorney General's office sent a picture of the man who was to face the executioner. I would study the image and get the man from the death row cells and lock him up in one of four special cells next to the execution yard.

I gave him a special uniform that was different from the uniform worn by death row convicts. He also got a special diet and he could eat whatever he ordered. This was some form of fattening cell, maybe, so that we could hang and bury a heavy body.

I was assigned to the man and took care of all his needs, from washing his hands and cutting his nails to asking for a barber to trim his hair and beard.

Preparing for an execution was a long and meticulous process and everything had to work perfectly and quickly. There was no room for failure. 24 hours before execution I would take his fingerprints and send them to the Attorney General's office, and the Criminal Investigation Department (CID), for verification on the identity of the man to be executed. The verification results would come back the same day and we would be ready to execute within 24 hours.

While this was happening, I would constantly inspect the execution machine to make sure that it was in perfect working order. I would oil and grease all the moving parts of the equipment before making a simulated execution. This I did by hanging a 200kg sack of sand in order to make sure that the machine could handle the weight of the condemned man. We then allowed him full and unlimited access to his family, friends and relatives, to say their last goodbyes.

The execution would take place between 2030 hours and 2100 hours local time and security at the prison would be tightened up. A few hours before execution, I would visit the condemned man to find out his religion and call for a religious leader to hold last prayers. I would also take the order for his last meal. When the clock struck 2030 hours, there was no turning back.

One of my most memorable executions was Grace and John. Grace was the only woman I executed at Kamiti. There were few female convicts at Kamiti and most of them held on lesser serious crimes. Many women with serious crimes were usually handed a life sentence, but Grace received the maximum capital sentence - death by hanging. She and her lover John had killed Grace's fiance in a love triangle gone sour. They were to be executed together; the execution machine was able to take down two people at a time.

When I asked Grace what her last wish was, she said that she would like to make love to John for the last time. I laughed because I had never encountered something like that before. But I granted her wish and I allowed them to make love in one of the cells.

After it was over, they said their goodbyes and I walked them to the execution machine and I took them down at the same time. They were, however, buried in separate graves.

At times, I came face to face with some people I knew very well, people from my village, and it was incredibly difficult for me. You know, I had to execute a village mate, a former head teacher from the village who was my son's teacher in school. It was incredibly difficult for me but I had to do it.

I also came face to face with a village mate's son. I had seen the boy grow up in the village and even attended his marriage. He had slashed his wife with a machete, but he was like a son and I really felt bad. I excused myself and requested that someone else execute him. I do not think that I could bear the sight of him dying before my very own eyes.

I went to him and said my goodbye to him and he wished me well.

But perhaps the saddest time for me came when I executed six brothers from Nyanza province who had beaten someone up in a street fight and killed him. I sent them to their graves in one night.

Now I am retired and it has been many years since I was the Executioner, but I remain proud of what I did. I sometimes do get nightmares, very scary nightmares that take me back to those days. In my head, I relive each and every execution I carried out and hear the voices and cries of the people who begged me not to do it. Due to this, I have developed high blood pressure and I therefore do not do much. Of course I do have some old friends with whom I spend most of my time. You can normally find me now hanging out with them and roasting some meat for one of my age mates. I also enjoy taking long walks on the edge of the forest. Word finally got out around this place about what my job was but people do not become afraid of me because of my past. I love living amongst these people because they understand that I was only doing the job I was assigned to do.

I sometimes wake up in the dead of night, my body drenched in sweat, shaking like a leaf because of the nightmares. Sometimes, I have dreams where I see myself at the execution machine, waiting to take my last breath as I stand before the executioner.

Oh - it gets terrible. It is terrible for me and I have developed a heart problem because of the dreams. They sometimes call me and invite me to join them in their graves, but I chase them away - "hii majini, kwenda" ("You ghosts, get out!"), I say to them. And they leave me in peace but I have to take something strong to forget them.

Still, I have no remorse for what I did. I did not send anyone to an early grave. I was only doing my job ... and it was a job I loved.