In the quiet village of Karura, Mathira, Nyeri County, Halford Munene Murakaru and Charles Mwangi Murakaru were born into a humble family of farmers, the eldest and second sons of Titus Murakaru and Esther Nyaguthi. Though two years apart, the brothers were inseparable—a bond forged in childhood and strengthened through shared ambitions and struggles. From their modest beginnings, no one could have foreseen the dramatic twist that would make their names synonymous with one of Kenya’s most daring crimes.
Bright Beginnings, Dark Turn
The Murakaru brothers were not your typical criminals. Halford, a natural leader, cultivated a culture of academic excellence that Charles eagerly followed. Their hard work earned them placements at Nyeri High School, alma mater to Kenya’s third president, Mwai Kibaki. There, they excelled, scoring straight A’s that secured spots at Jomo Kenyatta University of Agriculture and Technology (JKUAT), where both graduated with degrees in Agricultural Engineering.
But life after graduation was a cruel awakening. Degrees in hand, they faced the grim reality of unemployment—a betrayal of the promise that education was the key to success. Frustration festered, and their shared determination took a dark turn. The brothers delved into money fraud, posing as car sellers in Nairobi to scrape by. But the small-time hustle wasn’t enough; they wanted more.
The Birth of a Master Plan
Unlike most bank robbers who rely on brute force and violence, the Murakaru brothers conceived a scheme that mirrored their intelligence and ambition. Inspired by tales of Brazil’s infamous bank tunnel heist and El Chapo’s dramatic prison escape, they devised a bloodless, meticulously planned heist that would target the KCB Bank branch in Thika.
Their target wasn’t chosen at random. The branch had a fatal flaw: a blind spot behind the building with no CCTV coverage. In June 2017, the brothers, joined by their accomplices Julius Ndung’u Wanaina—a University of Nairobi Electrical Engineering graduate—and Shem Kirimi, then a student at JKUAT, set their plan into motion. They rented three stalls just 30 meters from the bank, using fake IDs to cover their tracks. Under the guise of running a bookshop, they began their clandestine operation
Equipped with hoes, welding gas cylinders, gas masks, overalls, and even a spirit level, the team embarked on their most audacious venture. Over six months, they toiled in secrecy, digging a 10-inch-wide tunnel beneath the bank’s strongroom. By day, they ran their sham bookshop. By night, they charmed the building’s caretaker, claiming they needed extra hours to “package books.” In reality, they were discreetly transporting sacks of soil out of the premises.
The heist was as much a test of patience as it was ingenuity. Each detail was painstakingly executed: the tools, the lighting powered by a battery inverter, the silent precision of their digging. Even their choice of a one-bedroom hideout in Juja for stashing their loot was carefully calculated. Nothing was left to chance—or so they thought.
The Moment of Truth
On the night of November 19, 2017, after months of backbreaking labor, the tunnel finally broke through to the bank’s strongroom. Armed with oxyacetylene welding equipment, they breached the vault and walked away with a jaw-dropping Ksh 52 million in cash, along with foreign currencies, including Euros, Pounds, and US Dollars.
For a moment, it seemed they had pulled off the perfect crime.
The Fall
But arrogance would prove their undoing. Instead of disappearing, the group returned to Marurui Estate, Kasarani, to lay low. Their overconfidence attracted attention, and soon a suspicious neighbor tipped off the police. A week later, Halford, Charles, and Julius were arrested. Shem, who had tried to go rogue, was captured shortly after in Mtwapa.
The arrests led to the recovery of Ksh 17.1 million and various foreign currencies. Yet, over Ksh 20 million remains missing to this day, fueling speculation about hidden stashes and accomplices yet to be uncovered.
Legacy of the Heist
Though the Murakaru brothers and their team avoided violence, their heist left an indelible mark. It exposed vulnerabilities in Kenya’s banking systems and showcased a new breed of criminal masterminds—intelligent, meticulous, and daring. But their story is also a cautionary tale of wasted potential. Once promising young men, the Murakaru brothers now live in infamy, their dreams of success buried under the weight of their choices.
Somewhere, Ksh 20 million may still lie hidden. But for the brothers, their treasure hunt ended not in triumph, but in tragedy.
