Kenya's Big Man must answer for the catastrophe that has befallen his country

The worst crime of the Moi era remains unpunished: a piece of corruption so spectacular it stretches credulity to the limit

It was a delicious, if mildly terrifying moment. The time is five years ago and the place is the veranda of the Norfolk Hotel, in Nairobi. The elections which will see the end of his rule are still a long way away. Daniel Arap Moi is the undisputed ruler of Kenya. We have been waiting for several hours for the Big Man to emerge. The President is the guest of the Freedom Forum. Now those of you who know anything about Mr Moi might agree that he is an unlikely choice of guest for an organisation committed to the promotion of human rights, free media and good governance. Maybe they think the old monster can be persuaded on to a more righteous path by the earnest platitudes of the assembled delegates. I have been trying to get a interview with President Moi for some months, but he has never been available. Which is hardly surprising considering that I want to ask him about the two decades of corruption and gross human rights abuses over which he has presided.

By the time I get to the Norfolk Hotel veranda I have already interviewed numerous of his victims as well as a few of those who have helped him to destroy Kenya. The efforts of myself and the BBC production team haven't gone unnoticed by the Kenyan authorities. One night we are interviewing a newspaper editor who has made serious allegations about corruption involving Mr Moi and his family; as we sit in my hotel bedroom the editor's mobile phone rings. The man begins to shake. His head sags between his shoulders. The only words he says are "Yes, yes".

The conversation only lasted a few seconds, and when it was over the editor headed for the door. "Where are you going?" I asked. "I cannot talk to you anymore," he said. After some discussion, he told me the man on the other end of the phone was Gideon Moi, son of the President and a man with his finger in a few interesting pies. Gideon had told the editor that he knew he was in the hotel talking to the BBC. He did not need to say any more than that.

Anyway, back to the veranda of the Norfolk. I have positioned the camera crew behind a pillar, and when President Moi eventually appears, surrounded by his fawning retinue, we pounce. "Do you feel any sense of responsibility for the catastrophe that has befallen your country?" I ask.

For a few seconds he appears stunned. The flunkeys are livid but aware that the camera is running. Punching journalists at a Freedom Forum reception would, even by Kenya's standards, be poor piece of public relations. So the President rasps out an answer, something bland about all heads of state being responsible and concerned. And then he is swept onwards. He has said nothing of any importance but the Big Man has been embarrassed by our questions. In a very small way he has been held to account for the thievery, brutality and cynicism that has turned his country into a land of crooks and victims.

The worst crime of the Moi era remains unsolved and unpunished as Kenyans go to the polls. It was the crime that drew my documentary team to the country nearly five years ago, a piece of thieving and corruption so spectacular it stretched credulity to the limit. It is a story that tells you much about what Mr Moi did to Kenya and why the hunger for change is deep.

Back in the early 1990s, Kamlesh Pattni, an Asian businessman, came up with an ingenious scheme. He would export hundreds of millions of dollars worth of gold and diamonds from Kenya. Then he would go to the Central Bank and present export compensation claims (these were designed to promote the country's balance of trade.) Mr Pattni made a large fortune from his export business. But there was one small problem. Kenya did not produce gold and diamonds. He was exporting something that didn't exist. The scandal cost hundreds of millions. In a country where more than half the population live on less than a dollar a day, the impact of such a fraud was colossal.

I went to see Mr Pattni in Nairobi. He was surrounded by ex-Gurkhas who acted as his bodyguards. But Mr Pattni was a charming fellow. He never once lost his temper, not even when I suggested he was one of the biggest crooks in the history of modern Africa, a conspicuous honour given the many other candidates. This suggestion followed Mr Pattni's declaration that he was like Jesus Christ and Nelson Mandela, a man persecuted unfairly. But Mr Pattni had nothing to worry about. Mr Moi's government was up to its neck in Goldenberg, as the scam was called, and this ensured that the official investigation into the affair dragged on and on.

The last I heard of Mr Pattni, he was doing business quite happily in Nairobi. The suspicion is that Mr Moi's election campaign in 1992 was substantially bankrolled by the proceeds of the Goldenberg affair. A business partner of Mr Pattni who swore an affidavit to this effect was deported from Kenya and lost his businesses. The Goldenberg scandal finally helped to prompt the World Bank, the International Monetary Fund and Western donors to to cut the $500m of aid given to Kenya.

The Goldenberg scandal was only the biggest of many state-sponsored robberies. The corruption filtered all the way down to the policemen on the roadblocks around and outside Nairobi. Underpaid, untrained and brutal, they shook down motorists as a matter of course. It was one of the many implicit taxes of daily life. The majority of the population were left to fend for themselves in a nightmare of Hobbesian proportions. We must not forget that for much of Moi's period in office, the British government looked on him as a guarantor of stability. Some British diplomats in Africa spoke of the likes of Mr Moi (much as they did about Robert Mugabe) as the kind of strong man Africa needs. So they turned a blind eye while things got worse and worse. The authors of this policy must answer to their own consciences. Thankfully, today Mr Moi is about to start answering to the Kenyan people.

Kenya's last multi-party elections were a sham in which bribery, state-directed violence and opposition infighting allowed the Big Man to stay in power. This time it looks different. But an opposition victory that perpetuates the sins of the past under different rulers is no victory at all. The only thing that will make a difference is the principal of accountability. Mr Moi and the senior figures who helped him to destroy Kenya must be called to account. Where did the money go? Who robbed what? Who stole away hope? The opposition, led by Mwai Kibaki, is compromised by the presence of many of Moi's old cronies, who quit the President's side when they sensed a change in the wind.

Whoever runs this nation, the crisis in Kenya is staggering. No amount of aid will make any difference while corruption permeates every area of public life. Forcing Moi and his cronies to account for what they did to Kenya is the first step towards destroying that culture.

The writer is a BBC Special Correspondent