“This is it”: Britam CEO Tom Gitogo finds comfort in the man he’s become

“I can count on one hand the number of meetings I’ve been late for in my entire working life,” he says. This precision appears in how he speaks; gingerly, as if walking barefoot across delicate ice. Each word is carefully weighed, his delivery tempered by thoughtful pauses.

Tom rejoined Britam Holdings as Group Managing Director and CEO in 2022 after a two-year hiatus. His career path has been deliberately methodical: five years at CIC Insurance Group, where he rose to CEO, before that helming Sanlam Insurance Kenya.

Now at Britam, which just turned 60 years old—four years older than Tom himself—both institution and leader have navigated demanding, but rewarding paths.

From his expansive all-glass office perched atop one of Nairobi’s tallest buildings, Tom reflects on his path, the cityscape sprawling in a 180-degree panorama below. It's the quintessential corner office, and perhaps a fitting metaphor for his station in life.

What are your expectations of this interview?

I think you will ask some deep questions and some of your usual silly ones. [Chuckles]. 

Here is a silly one. Your office is insane! All this sweeping 180-degree view of the city, in the tallest building in the region. Do you sometimes walk in here and pause…are you conscious of it and what it represents?

It’s easy to see the cozy and overlook the responsibility that comes with it. We’re celebrating 60 years of Britam, which means Britam has survived for six decades.

Imagine if something went horribly wrong now; wouldn’t that be something? So, I can’t afford for anything to go wrong now, certainly not from my own doing. There’s a significant weight on my shoulders.

Britam employs almost 1,500 direct staff and nearly 3,000 financial advisors, which means over 4,000 people directly depend on Britam for their income. Additionally, there are thousands of other stakeholders. We strive for excellence, so there’s a great deal of responsibility that comes with this office.

Are you sometimes surprised that you find yourself here?

I come from a village and am the firstborn son of schoolteachers. Given my background, yes, it sometimes surprises me that I’m here. That said, I’ve always worked hard. I was the child in the classroom whom teachers would say, “Oh, you might amount to something.” I’ve always had a curious mind, never content with the mainstream.

I can count on one hand the number of meetings I’ve been late for in my entire working life. I have quite a few initials after my name, accolades I’ve earned. From that perspective, I’m not surprised to be here.

What are some of these accolades?

I am a Fellow of the Institute of Chartered Accountants in England and Wales, a Fellow of ISPAR, and I hold an MBA. I’m also a BSc Civil Engineer, which I'm very proud of.

Which one are you most proud of, if you’re told to just run with one?

I feel a deeper connection with my engineering background. I think it's a way of disguising what might be my OCD (obsessive-compulsive disorder). I explain it away as engineering. If my office cleaner changes, I’ll know because items on my desk will be placed slightly differently.

I’ll know without seeing them. I think my engineering background explains my need for order. You know those people who fold towels so they’re all the same? That’s me. But I won’t visit your living room and start arranging things. Maybe in my head, I’ll correct them. [Laughs]

When have you ever felt that you had little control over things?

[Long pause] That’s an interesting question. Obviously, when I started my career, decisions about where I needed to be were often made by someone else, such as my manager.

At the university, during an MBA class, what the leader of the meeting emphasised would be different from what I thought needed emphasis, but I just had to sit and take it in. [Pause] In all honesty, there are not many instances.

How old are you now?

All of 56.

Which decade of your life did you find difficult to navigate?

The 30s. That disengagement from friends, family and marriage life was difficult. Young men naively think the two can effectively manage all the relationships. It’s a delicate balance. Also, the early 30s is when your career is taking shape, and I didn’t like the pace of mine; I’d feel like I was running out of time to shape my career. So, that was my most difficult decade.

When did you start getting comfortable with the man that you are now?

Early to mid-40s. First, at that age, you’ve accomplished a few things, so people listen to you because they see you have something to offer, not because they have to.

Secondly, you can afford a few things, so you don't have to beg anyone for anything. And thirdly, you realise that this is it—this myth of life, this is it. Because when you’re younger, you keep hoping for more, and in some ways, you get better, but then at 40, you also realise that this is it.

Also, by then, your children are teenagers, getting into their own, and nothing gives more contentment than seeing one’s children succeed in life. I am now sure that this is not the end of me because I’ve raised two upwardly mobile daughters and a son, and I am proud of each one of them. I’m no longer unsure what they will become or what their contribution to this planet will be.

My eldest, who’s getting married in a few weeks, is a senior manager at Deloitte in the UK. This is entirely her achievement. My second-born lives and works in Toronto, Canada, again, doing great stuff.

Her biggest task at the moment is becoming proficient in French because in Canada, speaking French in addition to English gives you an edge. And then my son just finished his second year at Manchester University. He is doing engineering. Did you hear that? He’s doing engineering and doing a good job of it. [Laughs].

I heard that.

[Laughs] I’ll tell you something that happens to every man who plays golf for what seems like an eternity. For two or three years, you outdrive your son, you hit longer than he does when he is in his teenage years, probably early 13 or 14. And then the day comes, and it surely comes, when effortlessly your son outdrives you by quite a distance.

It’s a mark of maturity when you don’t break your back trying to match your son but gracefully appreciate who he is becoming. So, the better my children become, the prouder I am as their father.

You engineered them well, wouldn’t you say?

To be honest, and I’m not trying to be politically correct or sound a certain way, but 90 percent of what my children are is because of their mother. I was busy making money for them to use. [Chuckles].

So the person who shaped them the most is my wife. She devoted more time to the upbringing of our children than I could, so she’s been great at it. They might have watched me and picked up my habits. For instance, one day when my son was young, I asked him what he wanted to be, and he said a CEO. Maybe I inspired them by example.

I joined PwC as a management trainee when I first started, and my daughter is with Deloitte. I didn’t ask her to. I think they observe. As parents, we give them wind assistance.

What’s been the wind on your back?

I’ve always been afraid of poverty, so putting great distance between me and poverty has been part of my wind assistance. I grew up in Ol Kalou, Nyandarua County. I am the firstborn of five children. In their own way, my parents were very hardworking. I strongly believe I inherited that from both of them. In their context, they were hard workers and positive towards life. They did not inhibit me.

You’ve put a great distance between you and poverty. Do you think there’s a chance you can be poor now?

[Pause] It would be very hard. [Long pause] It’s extremely hard for me to be poor now. A disaster of huge proportions would have to strike. Nothing is impossible, even in the realms of spirituality, like Job in the Bible, but I’m talking about practically; I think I’ve done my bit.

What do you seek now at 56?

Certainly not wealth. I suppose I’m driven by the desire to make an impact. If I know something that can be useful to someone else, especially younger people, I will gladly and happily share it.

Also, at this age, one worries about health. So anything I can do to be healthy, and also for others to be healthy. Legacy, I suppose, is another thing. Not a legacy to be on a pedestal, but a contribution to increasing either my organisation’s resilience and performance, or my community's resilience.

Many people work very hard, but for some reason, that effort does not necessarily translate to success. So, anything I can do to help out there translates to success, I’ll gladly do that.

When was the last time something really shook you?

The Covid-19 pandemic shook me. It was surprising that in this day and age, a pandemic of such proportions could arise without being forecasted or contained.

More recently, the level of hate in the world has increased. I mean, there are wars or near wars everywhere: India, Pakistan, Israel, Hamas, Iran, Russia, and Ukraine. It's as if the world takes one step forward and two or three back. That surprises me.

Any lessons from the course you want to share as an ardent golfer?

The one lesson golf teaches you is that strength matters, but less so when finesse and skill are required. A tiny teenager can hit the ball miles farther than you, certainly not from strength, but from finesse. So, there’s more to life than brute force.

There’s a reason why the human race is at the top of the pecking order; it’s certainly not our speed—any number of animals can outrun us. It’s certainly not strength; I think even a well-fed pig is stronger than a human.

So, the perspective with which you look at life is more important, and it opens up many more possibilities than what you know. I always admire people who listen more than they talk. If you speak, you’re likely to repeat what you know. If you listen, you may just learn something you didn't know. So that’s something golf has taught me.

What lessons can people learn from your 30-year-old marriage?

First, what you know about someone during courtship is nothing; it’s indicative, but nothing substantial. Secondly, it’s easy to assume that you are easy to live with, but you only start making progress the moment you start realising you’re not easy to live with.

I think I’m an extrovert— I have many friends, and I am outgoing. I used to enjoy going on joint holidays with my wife, the nuclear family and other people. But my wife is the opposite.

So, as a naive young man, you are likely to impose yourself more than you should on your spouse, and that’s usually a source of unnecessary friction.

So, my advice to people getting married is: don’t be too fixated on what you know. After all, you really don’t know much. It gets better.

What do you think your wife struggles with most when it comes to you? If you're to guess.

I guess she finds me obstinate. There are things I don’t do... and she’s wrong about this, but she thinks I work too hard, that I prioritise work over family. You and I know it’s not true, but, oh, we’ve come far... I mean, we are... I mean, 31 years.

When did you last cry?

You know, in my community, men don’t ordinarily cry, and that’s how I was brought up; that crying is a sign of weakness. So, I have certainly not cried since I was a little boy.

However, I find myself tearing up when watching or listening to something where I can tell that’s genius stuff happening right there, like when Coco Gauff (American tennis player) was hammering in her set, beating the French during the French Open.

When someone is performing at a level that ranks among the top one percent on the planet, you can immediately tell—especially if you’ve ever participated in any sport—the sheer quality and the extraordinary level of skill on display. It’s remarkable. It’s genius in action.

When Oscar Piastri overtook Max Verstappen in Miami, and Max clearly didn’t want to be overtaken, that was genius at work. I tear up in those moments. I get emotionally attached to people performing at their absolute peak.

When you see that tennis backhand and you know the player is giving it everything they have, I will tear up. Or when a Formula One driver delays braking until the very last possible instant, where only true genius can pull it off—that moves me deeply. You know, it’s finesse. It’s pure quality. I don’t know whether that makes sense.

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