For many in Kisumu, the name Maurice Oduor once brought to mind a picture of success. He looked every inch the accomplished businessman tailored suits, a shiny Mercedes-Benz, and the confidence of someone who seemed to have everything under control.
To those who met him, he appeared trustworthy and well-connected, a man with deep ties in county offices and among business elites.
Yet beneath this polished exterior was a man who had turned lies into his livelihood, using charm and pretense to steal from unsuspecting victims.
It all started with what seemed like a normal conversation about business. Oduor approached a woman, speaking with ease about a lucrative deal he claimed was in motion.
He told her that the Kisumu County Government owed him Ksh 20 million for a completed contract, but there was a minor issue some paperwork was slowing down the payment. If she could assist him with Ksh 2 million, he promised to return double the amount once the payment cleared.
The offer sounded convincing, and his calm, confident tone left little room for doubt. Believing she was investing in a sure thing, she transferred the money.
Days later, Oduor claimed there had been a new problem. He texted her saying the Kenya Revenue Authority required Ksh 500,000 to speed up his compliance certificate.
Still hoping to recover her money, she sent more funds. Not long after, he came up with yet another story a KRA officer had allegedly been arrested, and police needed Ksh 500,000 for his release.
By the time the woman realized it was all a scam, Oduor had disappeared, leaving her with empty promises and unanswered calls.
At the Kisumu Lands Office, his face is well known. Staff say he often roams the corridors pretending to process land documents for deals that don’t exist.
He talks big, drops names of senior officials, and behaves like a man who controls major projects. But behind the scenes, he is simply laying traps for his next victim.
Those who know Oduor personally describe him as a man living a double life. At his Lower Milimani residence near Kisumu Central Primary School, neighbors rarely see him. When he does appear, it’s often with a different woman in his car.
His wife of more than three decades lives quietly, seemingly unaware of his affairs. Not long ago, two of his lovers reportedly fought at a local Airbnb, both claiming to be his only partner.
Witnesses say Oduor ran away, leaving them arguing in confusion.
His social life revolves around Kisumu Golf Club, where he spends most evenings. There, he tells stories of million-shilling tenders and county deals, often posing with politicians or businessmen to maintain his image.
Regulars at the club say he hardly plays golf; instead, he uses the venue as a hunting ground to meet and impress new targets.
Those who have fallen for his schemes say he uses the same tricks repeatedly promises of quick profits, fake government connections, and forged land documents.
He is particularly known for selling non-existent plots in Riat Hills, convincing buyers with counterfeit papers and false assurances. Some of his victims include businesspeople and county officers, but many choose silence out of shame or fear of lengthy court cases.
Although he continues to move around the city, Oduor’s reputation has started to catch up with him. People who once admired him now avoid him. Business partners refuse to take his calls, and former friends walk away when they spot him.
Yet, despite the growing isolation, he still carries himself with the same confidence, always ready with another story, another lie, and another target.
Maurice Oduor’s life paints a clear picture of how deceit can thrive behind appearances. In a city where status and presentation often speak louder than truth, he has built a career out of illusion.
But like every performance, his act is beginning to lose its audience. His wealth, charm, and confidence now look less like success and more like the fading glow of a man whose empire was built entirely on lies.
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