BY BEN HUEGEL
You must stay alert. It could start in any part of the city; you’ll see it in the distance- a small crowd forming like Elijah’s cloud fist. They may be surrounding an old man, preaching against President William Ruto and the evils of neo-colonialism. They might be a group of journalists, simply carrying out their duty as the voice of the people. Police will surround the area, shields and weapons at the ready.
Keep your eyes and ears sharp. At any second, you’ll hear the faint sound of a metallic clip hitting the ground. Then you run. Rarely does one see where the grenade rolled off to. Run as fast as you can and hope that it’s behind you. The explosion will numb your eardrums, the chemical agent will surround you in a matter of seconds. A direct hit would tear your flesh to pieces.
On the eighth day of the eighth month, known officially as Nane-Nane, the mother of all protests was set to take place. Police launched a full-scale assault on downtown Nairobi and, like a cornered animal, attacked anyone in sight. Scattering every small group of people.
Speaking at the National Police Service Campus on the sixth of August, acting Inspector General Gilbert Masengeli stated, “Every Kenyan as per the law has liberty to demonstrate, picket, and assemble as per the law”. The day came, and not a single Kenyan flag or sign of Kenyan pride was displayed without severe punishment.
Innocent civilians were also caught in the violence. Lone vendors and boda-boda drivers were beaten with clubs while going about their business. Matatus were chased off, empty of any passengers. Ubers driving in were stopped and ordered to turn around. We witnessed one policeman reach into the passenger’s window, pull out a phone, and smash it on the asphalt.
But the police also carried out odd gestures of kindness, one of them was seen emerging from the back of the vehicle sharing his food ration and water bottle with a homeless person. Another was kind enough to push a disabled man in a wheelchair out of a small alleyway before blasting it with tear gas.
The face of a little boy, not older than twelve, could be seen running in and out of the action. His face bore a confused look, his eyes a constant glossy red from tear gas. He wore a dirty sweater and pants two sizes too small. After a short skirmish, one of the GSU officers took him aside, placed one hand on his shoulders, and shook the boy’s hand with the other. They shared a few words, then gently escorted the boy to safety and waved him away.
We know for certain that the police were aware of the massive media presence around them, whether these gestures were played for the camera or not, nobody knows. But they remind one of the depressing realities: that these officers are also human beings.
Heavy police presence feels like an understatement; there were at least a dozen of them on every corner of the city. Using any and every means they had to suppress, including ancient weaponry. On Kimathi Street, we spotted one of them using a Martini-Henry rifle. The same standard-issue rifle used by the British to conquer and subdue Africa in the late 1800’s. Here, more than 200 years later, it was quelling demonstrators on the street named after Kenya’s most renowned freedom fighter, the Late Dedan Kimathi.
“We would like to thank the fourth estate,” said the Inspector General in his speech on the sixth, “for the continued support they have given us.” It appears police have decided to display that warm gratitude by engaging in direct attacks on the fourth estate.
We had gathered in Moi Avenue, a large group of journalists waiting to report on the situation. Despite the lack of protestors, more and more GSU members were arriving on the scene. A white truck unloaded heavily armed policemen in civilian clothing. Some of the journalists began talking in a low tone. “That’s the one, we know his name,” someone said “you need to watch out for the one in grey, he wants to kill.”
No more than a minute later, the grenade clip hit the ground, and the grenade flew above my head. As if the signal had been rung, policemen from all corners turned their weapons on us in unison, firing their supply of grenades and teargas canisters. The sound was that of an artillery barrage. We ran for cover. Later, we discovered that in the confusion, they had cornered Cecilia Ngunjiri from Real Stories Media and beat her severely.
Kennedy Obara, a freelance journalist and proud Daystar alumnus, carried her to safety on his back. “I saw her being clobbered by police,” he said, “They were yelling at her to delete the photos she had taken. When I ran to save her, police apologized to me and said they had no idea she was a journalist.” In their rabid enthusiasm, they must have missed the large Media Council of Kenya vest that Cecilia wore over her jacket. Multiple journalists were harassed and injured, including another Daystar alumnus by the name of Larry Madowo.
The mother of all protests had failed to manifest. Any small group that managed to form was quickly silenced. But that did not stop the few activists and demonstrators from challenging police from morning till sundown. Kasmuel McOure presented himself and was forced to take refuge in the NMG offices to avoid arrest.
On Kimathi Street, activist Julius Kamau stood with a placard that read “Colonialism never really ended” on one side and on the other, “poverty is the modern form of slavery”. As he quoted Martin Luther King Jr.’s dream speech, journalists and citizens gathered around to document the ordeal. The little boy with glossy eyes stood beside him and listened keenly to his elder’s remarks.
It didn’t take long before a truck of policemen arrived, and at the feet of Dedan Kimathi’s statue, ripped his placard away and moved to arrest the activist. The boy ran for safety. Julius struggled to hold on to the metal railings but was eventually subdued and carried away. The protestor yelled, threw rocks at the car, and everyone ran for cover as the police responded. In the chaos, Julius managed to break free and pushed himself out of the moving vehicle. He picked up his crumpled placard and limped back to the statue of his revolutionary ancestor. Exhausted and hurt, he struggled to lift his fist to continue with his preaching. The little boy joined him again, lifted his fist high above Julius’s, and joined the chants of “Ruto must go!”.
Others were not so lucky. We witnessed a young man being forced into a police truck. “What have I done?” he cried as five officers struggled to silence him “all because I love my country!?” Once in the vehicle, he emerged from the side, and as the truck was about to drive off, cried to his countrymen, “Wa Kenya! Wa Kenya!” Unmarked Black and white Subarus were spotted kidnapping whoever struck their fancy. Police claim to have arrested 174 suspects in Nairobi alone who will probably be found guilty of demonstrating, picketing, and assembling, as per the law.
The Nane-Nane protests failed to manifest as it was anticipated. I however wish to commend the team of journalists from different media houses who endured the police chase and inhaled tons and tons of teargas. Freedom is truly earned and as the struggle continues, they’ve earned our respect for their bravery and love for our motherland– Kenya. I believe Kenya will still see its better days ahead. A luta continua; vitória é certa!
