Kenya 2015 blog This is part of a larger story: My Life, My Deaths – Their Plans Failed (2001–2025). However, the section below covers events only up to 2015.
Kenya 2015 blog - There are some Tee's on Kenya a few mugs to. Now the blog is complete. i can create some art work. I have real life photos also to utilise.
Also Rest in Peace Murkesh Raja , Mtwapa.
This is part of a larger story: My Life, My Deaths – Their Plans Failed (2001–2025). However, the section below covers events only up to 2015.
It is written from a professional author’s perspective, supported by blogs and a range of products that each carry a story behind them.
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The Journey to Kenya
After years of chaos between 2001 and 2014 — my life, my deaths, and their plans failed, including three years in the mental health system — I had already confirmed three SAS links: connections between mental health services in Barmouth and Thailand. There were also elements of vigilantism, a £185 million drug framing, and other dark manipulations.
At the end of 2014, I returned to Egypt and travelled to Luxor, then flew from there to Nairobi, Kenya. I still had my “1 pence to one million” goal in mind and was seeking inspiration and opportunity.
When I arrived in Nairobi, I was optimistic — “bling,” you could say. I didn’t expect trouble, although I was always alert given my history. I went to an eco-lodge for a few nights, which inspired thoughts of a tropical oasis — tents, nature, simplicity.
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Mombasa, Encounters, and Danger
I created a custom travel package with help from locals and soon met a woman. Aware of how “they” historically use what you’re into against you, I stayed cautious. I stayed on the Mombasa coast, in a low-budget concrete-block treehouse near the Havana Club. A man I met took me to a bar, where I encountered the woman — Margaret.
That night, she asked if I was a police officer or came from a rich family. Things escalated quickly — another woman at the bar wouldn’t stop harassing me. Earlier that day, I had met another woman who was married. It was chaos.
That same night, I fell from the treehouse. The wooden plank I stepped on snapped under me like scaffolding. I cracked my ribs and smashed my head on the ground. Despite the pain, I climbed back up the ladder — gritting my teeth, suffering severe internal injuries. I used weed for pain relief.
Eventually, Margaret and I left Mombasa and moved to Nairobi, living on both sides of Githurai — 44 and 45. The relationship was volatile, full of highs and lows. Before returning to Mombasa, I took a quick trip to Tanzania and Zanzibar. Upon returning, I ended things with Margaret and planned to travel across Africa.
But I returned to Nairobi and then back to Mombasa. While going through Margaret’s phone, I found concerning messages. I knew she was a predator. I had seen the look before — under a white sheet, blood-red eyes, truly demonic.
To my shock, I discovered she was connected to two individuals — one from Barmouth, the other from Egypt — people I’d previously scored from. The connections were too much to ignore.
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Targeted by Terror and Crime
Back in Mombasa, I again went through Margaret’s phone and saw contact names like “Islam 1” and “Islam 2.” It confirmed what I feared — terrorism was lurking nearby, and this woman could not be trusted.
One day, I walked into a bar in Mombasa , Mwtwapa and immediately spotted a man I knew would approach me. He did — his name was Murkiest Raja. He jumped straight into conversation, saying, “South American weed, Rob.” I corrected him: “Don’t you mean South American cocaine?” He then mentioned Indonesia.
Then, things turned dark.
“Oh Rob, what about your daughter?” he said, with his head in his hands. Next to him was a 9mm handgun. His face was cold. He tried to scare me.
I calmly replied, “Indonesia? I’ve never been there,” and continued eating.
Later, back at my place, the pressure escalated. I sent Margaret away again, but another woman began hassling me — all over me. I brought Margaret back just to get rid of her.
Murkiest kept calling, wanting to meet. Once, we sat at a table. A terror attack was playing on a TV in the background. He said, “You’re not allowed weapons here, Rob,” and a tray appeared with a knife. He called someone — terrorists — asking if they had his back. There were six of them, plus me. Outside, a military ambulance waited.
I de-escalated the situation and returned to my place. But I didn’t yet know how deep the connections ran — through Barmouth, Egypt, and even top-tier Thai mafia (which came later).
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Attempts on My Life
I held my position for months. One day, I was invited to the beach by two men — one of whom Margaret had been texting. They didn’t show. But I got a call from a Kenyan mafia contact saying, “Tizz is a cool guy, Rob.” Murkiest called too: “It was nice meeting you, Rob. I’ll just call you Rob Irish.”
But it was getting too hot. A Nigerian woman tried to lure me into a “Mutate taxi” — full of large Somali men. I declined. Instead, I took a motorbike, grabbed essentials, and left. I booked a fake bus ticket to Nairobi and took a tuk-tuk to Mombasa airport.
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Airport Threats and a Narrow Escape
As I got off the tuk-tuk, a Kenyan soldier shook my hand. Inside the airport police station, I was warned: “No weapons allowed on the plane.” They threw two packs of white sheets on the table — a veiled death threat — and said, “Do you want to sleep?” Another man had a pillowcase full of torture tools. A soldier stood nearby with an AK-47.
I joked about the sheets, using humour to stay calm.
Then I was made to sit outside — on a table with a funeral wreath. Testing my nerves.
Upstairs, adrenaline still pumping, I missed two flights. Thai mafia had stormed in — high-profile figures. I could tell they were there for me.
Eventually, I flew to Nairobi and returned to the same eco-lodge where I’d stayed before. Officials asked if I needed help. I avoided getting them involved — I knew this was linked to Barmouth and beyond.
A Dutch guy said, “He’s British.” I confirmed. I stayed 12 days in a private safari tent, trying to wind down after months of chaos: organized crime, terrorism, spy games, and gang hits.
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Final Assassination Attempt
One night, I knew they were coming.
Fully clothed in bed, I saw two large fingers gripping my tent window. They thought I was asleep. I wasn’t. I waited for the right moment.
I moved silently, grabbed a bottle and an ashtray — anything I could use to fight. I stood by the tent entrance. As they stepped onto the platform, I took evasive action: light on, light off, zipped the tent, ready to strike.
They panicked. I broke their element of surprise.
Outside, I heard them walking away. I did a security check — pitch black. The whole eco-lodge was empty. No guards. I checked the cameras. No one. It was an inside job.
I cracked a beer, lit a cigarette, played Guns N’ Roses – Welcome to the Jungle, and savoured the moment — one leg on the table — knowing I’d just stopped an assassination attempt on my life.
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Return and Reflection
The next day, I walked to the nearby shopping mall. Two fully armed Kenyan soldiers stood outside. They gave me a thumbs up. I nodded — “Thanks, gentlemen.”
What I did in Kenya, I did for both the UK and Kenya — including the President of Kenya in April 2015.
At the lodge, they asked if I needed help getting to the airport. I took a taxi to the mall, then a motorbike taxi to the airport’s perimeter. I had to walk the rest of the way.
Behind a Kenyan presidential convoy, I rode through the streets. People stared at me, crossing themselves with Jesus Christ gestures. The taxi dropped me off at the airport cargo area. I walked the final stretch. Again, strangers gave me the same gesture — rest in peace — as if they knew.
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Final Thoughts
I returned to the UK exhausted. Kenya was like Bourne ultimatum on steroids , no joke.
Kenya began in blind optimism. What followed was organized crime, gang hits, terrorism, spy operations, and covert assassination attempts. Women were used to manipulate me — something I was reminded of about way back in 2004 in Thailand.
Despite the chaos, I did have good moments: I visited the elephant orphanage, Lake Naivasha, Mount Longonot, Tanzania, and Zanzibar. But ultimately, I returned to Kenya for the carnage.
Historically, this is A1 Who Dares Wins. The vulnerable adult exploitation ring in Gwynedd later stretched to Powys, Shrewsbury, Telford, and beyond. It was disheartening to see corrupt Kenyan elements infiltrating the UK mental health system to target me, alongside others.
This blog captures my Kenya experience — mid-January to early May 2015. I did my best to shield the locals from the chaos. That they came for me anyway is what’s most disappointing.
A1WhoDaresWins
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