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Thomas Cholmondeley, Scion Implicated in Deaths of 2 Kenyans, Dies at 48 Thomas Cholmondeley, Scion Implicated in Killings of 2 Kenyans, Dies at 48
(about 3 hours later)
NAIROBI, Kenya — Thomas Patrick Gilbert Cholmondeley, the scion of one of Kenya’s richest and most fabled white families, was in excellent spirits last weekend, telling friends at a campsite outside Nairobi: “You know, Kenyans are now eating millions of chickens a year. I think I’m going to start doing chickens.” NAIROBI, Kenya — Conservationist? Adventurer? Aristocrat? Killer?
Mr. Cholmondeley, 48, seemed in good health, but he died on Wednesday in a Nairobi hospital while undergoing hip-replacement surgery. Doctors said he had a heart attack, and friends suggested it might have been prompted by a reaction to anesthesia. Thomas Patrick Gilbert Cholmondeley, the scion of one of Kenya’s richest and most fabled white families, was all four.
His death was front-page news in Kenya, and not only because Mr. Cholmondeley (pronounced CHUM-lee) was a great-grandson of Hugh Cholmondeley, the third Baron Delamere, a British aristocrat who came to Kenya more than a century ago on a lion-hunting safari, fell in love with the country and became one of its most powerful settlers. Friends described him as intensely patriotic about Kenya. So when it came time to make a major life decision — where to undergo hip-replacement surgery — Mr. Cholmondeley, 48, chose to do it here in Kenya, even though he had the money and connections to go anywhere in the world.
Many Kenyans knew him for a different reason: He was a killer. On Wednesday, he died in the hospital. Doctors said he had a heart attack, and friends said it might have been connected to a bad reaction to anesthesia.
Mr. Cholmondeley, an eccentric outdoorsman who liked fast horses, speedy bikes and guns, was implicated in two deadly shootings of black men. The first was an undercover wildlife officer whom Mr. Cholmondeley mistook for a robber in 2005. The second was a threadbare poacher who trespassed on his estate in 2006. Mr. Cholmondeley said he never meant to kill the poacher and was aiming at the man’s dogs. His death was front-page news in Kenya. He was widely hated and became a symbol of an unfair justice system after he shot and killed two men, both black Kenyans, more than 10 years ago in questionable circumstances.
Mr. Cholmondeley was not prosecuted for the first shooting, but he was convicted of manslaughter for the second. He spent three years in a grossly overcrowded Kenyan prison. Of 3,500 inmates, he was the only white man. The first was an undercover wildlife officer whom Mr. Cholmondeley mistook for a robber in 2005. The second was a threadbare poacher who trespassed on his estate in 2006. Mr. Cholmondeley said he never meant to kill the poacher and was aiming at the man’s dogs.
Both cases stirred deep-seated grievances and suspicions that white people in Kenya were still treated with greater deference and privilege than black people, more than four decades after Kenya’s independence from Britain. Mr. Cholmondeley (pronounced CHUM-lee) was not prosecuted for the first shooting, and he was convicted of manslaughter for the second. He spent three years in a grossly overcrowded Kenyan prison. Of 3,500 inmates, he was the only white man.
Many Kenyans were outraged that he wasn’t punished for the first killing and seemed to be lightly punished for the second one. His case provoked a debate over whether a person’s race and money could allow them to get away with murder, literally. The cases provoked an intense debate in Kenya over whether a person’s race and money could allow them to get away with murder.
Many Kenyans believed Mr. Cholmondeley was treated lightly because he was rich and white.
In a prison interview with The New York Times in 2008, Mr. Cholmondeley seemed contemplative and remorseful.In a prison interview with The New York Times in 2008, Mr. Cholmondeley seemed contemplative and remorseful.
“It’s like ‘Groundhog Day,’ ” he said. “You keep replaying those 10 seconds, those same 10 seconds, thinking what you could have done differently.” “It’s like ‘Groundhog Day,’” he said. “You keep replaying those 10 seconds, those same 10 seconds, thinking what you could have done differently.”
The Delameres were the Kennedys of colonial Kenya. They had money, power, social status, the best land and a noble pedigree going back to William the Conqueror. Kenyans who worked with Mr. Cholmondeley understood why he was such a reviled figure, but had a different take on the man himself.
Lord Delamere (1870-1931), known simply as D, rode horses through bars and shot chandeliers at fancy hotels. He and his cohorts settled on enormous ranches stocked with zebras and other exotic game in Rift Valley, soon known as Happy Valley for its gin-soaked parties and hedonistic lifestyle. “He was adored, he was intelligent, he didn’t hold grudges,” said Paula Kahumbu, a wildlife conservationist who worked on many projects with Mr. Cholmondeley. “A lot of people think Tom was a racist and an African killer, and his case stirred up all these things. But that didn’t represent Tom at all.”
Asked what it felt like to be part of such a storied family, Mr. Cholmondeley said: “I’ve been a Delamere my whole life. I deal with it.” Within hours of his death, messages were being posted on social media.
Born in 1968, Mr. Cholmondeley grew up on the family ranch in Soysambu (“place of red rock” in the Maasai language) and was eventually shipped off to Eton in England. He went on to help run the family’s dairy and cattle businesses. He was known for his passion to protect wildlife. He lived on the 50,000-acre ranch that his great-grandfather bought outside Nairobi. “Don’t wish death even on worst enemy but the Kenyan weak justice system protected Tom Cholmondeley,” one post said, adding that his death seemed “like justice served.”
He was hard to miss: 6-foot-6, broad-shouldered, strong-jawed and often dressed in linen suits and cowboy boots; sometimes he wore a cravat tucked in his collar. Recently, he walked with a cane; his hip had been bothering him for years. Mr. Cholmondeley was born in 1968 in Nairobi. His great-grandfather, Hugh Cholmondeley, the third Baron Delamere, was a British aristocrat who came to Kenya more than a century ago on a lion-hunting safari, fell in love with the country and became one of its most powerful settlers.
Friends say he loved Kenya. The words used to describe him were: charming, committed, intelligent and grounded. Lord Delamere (1870-1931), known simply as D, rode horses through bars and shot chandeliers at fancy hotels. He and his cohorts settled on enormous ranches stocked with zebras and other exotic game in the Rift Valley, soon known as Happy Valley for its gin-soaked parties and hedonistic lifestyle.
Even this past weekend, when he camped in a tent at a friend’s wedding, he seemed friendly and relaxed as he mingled with other guests. He often came across as a man who just wanted to be treated like anyone else, quick to smile and start a conversation. The Delameres became the Kennedys of colonial Kenya. They had money, power, social status, the best land and a noble pedigree going back to William the Conqueror.
He seemed confident about undergoing a major surgery in a country where health care is relatively good for sub-Saharan Africa but nowhere near the level of that in Western Europe or the United States. Friends say it was an expression of his patriotism. He was Kenyan and believed in Kenya, down to its hip-replacement surgeons. Mr. Cholmondeley was on track to be the next Lord Delamere and when asked what it felt like to be part of such a storied family, he said with a sigh in the interview in prison: “I’ve been a Delamere my whole life. I deal with it.”
He grew up on the family ranch in Soysambu (“place of red rock” in the Masai language) and was eventually shipped off to Eton in England. He helped run the family’s dairy and cattle businesses and spoke fluent Swahili. He was known for his passion to protect wildlife and lived on the 50,000-acre ranch that his great-grandfather acquired from illiterate Masai cattle herders.
Hard to miss, Mr. Cholmondeley was 6-foot-6, broad-shouldered, strong-jawed and often dressed in linen suits and cowboy boots; sometimes he wore a cravat tucked in his collar. Recently, he walked with a cane; his hip had been bothering him for years. He loved motorcycling and the outdoors.
Even this past weekend, when he camped in a tent at a friend’s wedding, he seemed relaxed as he mingled with other guests. He seemed healthy, happy and excited about his plans.
“You know, Kenyans are now eating millions of chickens a year,” he said. “I think I’m going to start doing chickens.” He often came across as a man who just wanted to be treated like anyone else, quick to smile and start a conversation.
He seemed confident about undergoing major surgery in Kenya, whose health care system is relatively good compared with others in sub-Saharan Africa but nowhere near the level of that in Europe or the United States.
“The man here has done thousands of these procedures,” he said on Saturday. “That’s what matters.”“The man here has done thousands of these procedures,” he said on Saturday. “That’s what matters.”
Mr. Cholmondeley is survived by his father, Hugh George Cholmondeley, the fifth Baron Delamere; his mother, the former Anne Renison; two sons; and Sally Dudmesh, his longtime companion.