Big eyes: Jirongo blames his love of many women for losing first wife to friend

Cyrus Jirongo has, with a rare honesty for a politician, confessed that his obsession with beautiful women led to the loss of his first wife to a close friend.

The former Member of Parliament and presidential hopeful admitted that his wandering eyes, always drawn to attractive women, contributed to the collapse of his first marriage.

His infidelity, he acknowledges, not only tore apart his relationship but ultimately caused his first wife, Carolyne, to leave him and marry none other than his close friend.

In a video that surfaced online, Jirongo spoke candidly about how his unrelenting attraction to beautiful women distracted him from his wife, whom he described as "too hot for the city."

He explained how his infidelity fractured his marriage, which led Carolyne to leave him and eventually marry his close friend, Munywa Waiyaki, a twist of fate that even the most seasoned observers would struggle to comprehend.

"Mama knew she had the prettiest girl in town at our time," Jirongo said, referring to Carolyne's beauty. "And with my big eyes, there is no way I wouldn't have seen her," he added, admitting with humour:

"I saw Carol, then I saw three others. My eyes were too big. And Carol left me for a friend."

This revelation came during an emotionally charged eulogy at the private funeral of his daughter, Lorraine Jelagat, in March 2025.

During the ceremony at AIC Milimani Church in Nairobi, Jirongo, known for his unapologetic polygamous lifestyle, reflected on the consequences of his actions with a mixture of humour and sorrow.

"We are still friends with Munyua," Jirongo said.

His confession, a blend of humour, regret, and irony, was later confirmed by Munyua Waiyaki himself, adding an unexpected layer of authenticity to Jirongo's candid words.

"You had about our history. Maybe he stopped focusing because alikuwa anaangalia kila mahali," Munyua explained, continuing in a mix of Kiswahili and English. "I have worked with him and tukafanya kazi and macho yake ikawa kubwa na akaona wengine. He stopped focusing. Nilisimama nyuma yake nikaona ameangusha mpira."

The dignitaries gathered in the somber atmosphere to mourn Lorraine's passing couldn't help but chuckle at Jirongo's confession. It was a moment of unexpected humour that lightened the heaviness in the room. There they were, grieving, and yet Jirongo was speaking as though he were at a casual family gathering rather than a funeral.

The room, which had been heavy with sorrow just moments earlier, suddenly lightened as a ripple of laughter spread. It wasn't laughter that mocked the grief but more a collective exhale, a reminder that even in the darkest moments, life often sneaks in a bit of lightness.

As he continued speaking about his infidelity, his wandering eyes, and the relationships that slipped through his fingers, the laughter grew. Some exchanged glances, some with genuine amusement, others in disbelief at how openly Jirongo was speaking.

Laid bare

For a brief moment, the tension in the room was broken. Even amidst their mourning, the dignitaries couldn't help but chuckle at Jirongo's refreshing, unapologetic demeanor. It was as though he had opened up a little too much, but in the best possible way. Even in the face of loss, Jirongo had managed to make them smile, reminding everyone that sometimes we all mess up, but it doesn't always have to be doom and gloom.

But the laughter didn't last long. It was soon replaced by silence, a silence that brought them back to the gravity of the moment. Jirongo, though, had done something few could; he had softened the blow of grief, even if just for a few minutes. In a room full of dignitaries, his words reminded them of the absurdity of life, love, and the strange things we find ourselves laughing about when we least expect it.

For a man of Jirongo's stature, such an admission was uncharacteristic, yet it painted a picture of vulnerability and regret. Or perhaps, as he suggested, it was the fun of chasing beautiful women that led him astray.

Jirongo didn't hold back in explaining how his wandering eyes pushed Carolyne into the arms of Waiyaki, a man who remains close to him.

"She took off because she couldn't stand this character. Yuko na tabia mbaya, akiona huyu anataka, akiona huyu anataka," Jirongo said, calling himself out for his "bad manners."

The confession continued, humorously revealing how Munyua, a long-time friend, took advantage of Jirongo's distractedness.

"After that, Carol married Munyua. He took over the ring. But just know, I was the first," Jirongo said, in a moment that blurred the lines between humour and regret.

Munyua's presence in the congregation added an unexpected twist to the situation. When invited to speak, Munyua, a man with a sharp wit, didn't shy away from addressing the situation.

"We worked together, me and Cyrus. But he had big eyes. They were looking everywhere. Maybe he stopped focusing. I was just behind him."

The two men's words, at first lighthearted, laid bare a complex history of friendship, betrayal, and love. Their bond, it seemed, transcended the typical boundaries of male rivalry. Instead of bitterness, they shared a mutual understanding of their past.

For Jirongo, the issue wasn't just about losing his wife to his friend. It was a deeper reflection on his shortcomings, expressed with a rawness few men, especially public figures, would dare reveal. His acknowledgment of his "bad manners" was not only an admission of fault but also an invitation for the younger generation to avoid the mistakes he made. "Don't have eyes like mine," he warned, offering a piece of advice that was both humorous and reflective.

As the funeral service unfolded, it became clear that Jirongo wasn't just grieving the loss of his daughter. He was also mourning the choices he made in his personal life, choices that had affected not only his family but the relationships around him.

Jirongo's reflections didn't stop with Carolyne and Munyua. He spoke candidly about his polygamous lifestyle, acknowledging that while many men live similarly, they often do so in secrecy.

"Many men do what I have done, but in secret," he said. "I prefer honesty. I have never written a will, but I know my children will divide things peacefully. I raised them that way."

This openness seemed to resonate with his children, some of whom were meeting for the first time at the funeral. Despite their complex family dynamics, they united to mourn their sister, Lorraine, together.

Lorraine Jelagat Jirongo, who passed away after a short illness on March 10, 2025, was laid to rest in a private ceremony at the family's Kitale home. Her death brought together not just relatives but a web of relationships, past and present, all centred around the woman who had brought them into the world and the man whose actions led to the unraveling of that same world.

Jirongo's remarks, both humorous and raw, revealed a man who had lived a life marked by mistakes but also by a rare willingness to admit them. His self-awareness, as he reflected on his "big eyes" and inability to remain faithful, was striking. He described his actions as a weakness, one that cost him not just his wife but a family dynamic that would never be the same.

At the funeral, amid the laughter and tears, Jirongo's unpolished, unfiltered speech broke the mold of typical eulogies. It was a moment of raw humanity, a man laying bare his past mistakes, admitting his weaknesses, and sharing the lessons he hoped others would learn from his errors.