The Sacred and The Simple: A Portrait of Francis Atwoli

Written by Fr Kevin Kongowea

To sit beside Francis Atwoli, the titan of Kenyan trade unionism, is to prepare for a storm. One expects the thunderous rhetoric of workers’ rights, the lightning bolts of political commentary, the formidable presence of “Bwana” Atwoli, a name that evokes images of packed negotiation rooms and historic strikes. 

Yet, in a quiet moment, the tempest subsides, revealing not a cleared battlefield, but a cultivated garden—a space of profound faith, gentle humor, and disarming simplicity. It is here, in this intimate landscape, that one discovers the soul of the man, anchored not in power, but in prayer; defined not by title, but by tenderness.

The first surprise is the rosary. Worn smooth by a lifetime of devotion, its beads are a silent testament to a journey that began not at a union podium, but at a church altar. He speaks of being a Mass server, a boy in a surplice learning the rhythms of reverence. That early service seems to have laid a foundation for a different kind of servanthood—one translated from the sanctuary to the societal. 

The server of the Eucharist became the servant of humanity, his battleground shifting from spiritual to systemic, yet his underlying mission remaining curiously aligned: the elevation of human dignity. 

The rosary, he confides, never departs from him. It is his compass in chaos, his whispered dialogue amidst the shouts of the world. To bless this object, so intimate and worn, feels less like a ritual and more like honoring the very wellspring of his strength—a sacred spring hidden beneath the volcanic rock of his public persona.

Then comes the story that frames his horizon. He recounts a period of grave illness, a journey to the threshold where life trembles. In that liminal space, he describes a “trounce into heaven,” a phrase both startling and beautiful—a forceful, perhaps unanticipated, glimpse of the eternal.

 He does not dwell on fanfare or fantastical detail, but on the seismic shift it wrought within. That experience, he says, turned his faith “all heavenly.” It is the key that unlocks his perspective. The fierce negotiations, the political maneuvers, the very earthly struggles he champions are now viewed sub specie aeternitatis—under the aspect of eternity.

 His fight for better wages, safer conditions, and social justice is not merely a political act; it is a spiritual obligation, a down-payment on a celestial justice. The man who fights so passionately for the here-and-now does so with his eyes fixed on a hereafter that has, for him, been intimately glimpsed.

This heavenly orientation, paradoxically, grounds him in the most earthly of joys. Speak of his family, and the formidable leader melts. His eyes, so often sharp with analysis, soften with a light that speaks of a different kind of wealth. 

He is a man unabashedly in love with his wife and devoted to his children, proudly sharing their dedication to ministry, painting a picture of a domestic church that runs parallel to his public cathedral. His simplicity in this realm is indeed enviable. It is not the simplicity of lack, but of clarity—knowing what truly matters. The same man who can command a room of thousands finds his greatest contentment in the unscripted laughter around a family table, in the quiet rhythms of home.

 This duality is his balance: the roar of COTU and the rosary’s whisper; the strategist for millions and the patriarch of one small, cherished circle.

And underpinning it all is a great, rumbling humor. He laughs easily, often at himself, disarming tension with a well-timed joke or a self-deprecating anecdote. This humor is the hallmark of a man at peace with his contradictions, who need not wear his power heavily because his worth is secured elsewhere. It is the simplicity of a soul unburdened by the need for pretense.

To understand Francis Atwoli, then, one must hold these two images together: the public champion with the worn rosary in his pocket; the visionary who saw heaven and therefore fights for a better earth; the lion of labor who is, at heart, a devoted family man. He is a living tapestry woven with threads of sacred commitment and secular crusade, of celestial vision and earthly love.

 He reminds us that true strength often resides in vulnerability, that the loudest voice can be guided by the quietest prayer, and that the most impactful life on the public stage is often built upon the silent, steadfast altar of home and heaven. In his simplicity lies his complexity, and in his faith, we find the unexpected, beating heart of the struggle.