usually, i have the luck of remembering what transpired in dreamland when i wake up. i find it intriguing that the mind can conjure up such extraordinary and weird experiences when not under conscious control. many a times i have toyed with the idea of having a cctv camera next to my bed. this would help me analyze the physiological reactions to my psychological night adventures.

so here i was, back in the village within the most serene and tranquil environment. clean air, tasteless water and quiet silence unlike the smoky, dense and dirty air that is at the capital. water has a funny taste -mombasa is worse- and the place is always breaking the decibel gauge in my eardrum. loads of noise pollution!

i relived a section of a day that happened over ten years ago, only that this time, in the dark of the night, it was twisted. i also had a second person in me who made me analyze the way i made decisions that day. it turned weird and i woke up in a sweaty mood.

in the course of the day i was flashing back on, i had been sent to deliver some message to the mum of a cousin of my dad. effectively, that’s my dad's aunt and traditionally, that's my granny. that is the best way to understand it without trying to split dnas. actually, the cousin is not a first cousin, but some form of cousin. the relations were explained to me but for my mind, it was too much to figure out the many levels of a cousin and how we came to share blood. we do use the cousin term generally and liberally anyway. it is common to pass of a suspicious relation in normal life as a cousin unlike previous generations where a true relation could be described without a sweat or 'cousinizing' him or her.

i had never been to that village before and i had to find my way from the scanty directions i was given. to get there, through the shortcut i was shown, i had to go up a hill, down the hill, cross a river and up another hill to the slopes of that hill where my granny lived. alternatively, i would have to use two matatus to get round to the village. it was an alternative but not an option, so i had to walk all the way, a journey that took close to two hours.

the drama part occurred when i was going back home. bearing in mind that i walked a lot in the morning and later got well fed at my host's place, i was tired, full, lazy and it was getting late. a son of my father's cousin -what do i call him, cousin?- offered to show me a route that would shorten my journey back by half. i obliged and we embarked on the journey home. just before he could show me the diversions to make, we met with our reverend's daughter who was walking home from a visit to my host's parish. she had attended some youth meeting and was headed back home. we weren't very close but we were a bit acquainted with each other.

in the village, there was something about a church minister's daughter, or a chief's daughter or a headmaster's daughter that would hold the breath of the village men. we thought in our nasty minds that it was beauty but in retrospect, i don’t think so. it was great pride to be associated with such a one. heaven on this occasion opened its doors to me, and i had a chance to cover good ground as we headed home.

her home was halfway through my journey. she happened to know the short-route home. i dismissed my cousin fast and started enjoying the much cherished company. after a few minutes of ice breaking, we were merrily chatting and laughing all the way home.

sincerely, we didn't laugh all the way home. the new route shortened the distance but like everything in life, there is no free lunch. as we went down the hill through the thick vegetation and tall indigenous trees, i was having a time of my life. soon we were at the foot of the hill and what lay in front shocked me. in front of us was the ferocious river i had crossed earlier in the day. it was wider now and seemed to have gained momentum, its rapids raging madly through the edgy rocks.

i had no problem crossing it in the morning since i had used a well constructed bridge. the reverend's daughter was unwary of what i now considered a huge predicament. i shook her back to reality. i did not have to. she was already in this world and was proceeding on to cross the bridge. she had used this route more than once, it was routine for her to cross the river.

"you call that a bridge?" i responded to her.

she had asked me why i looked startled and shaken. i pointed to the 'stick' she called a bridge. the bridge, that, in an instant spoilt my moonlight date. in my view, it was a stick and not a bridge. i had crossed rivers via log or tree trunk bridges but what was before us was none of the two. the tree trunks i had used before were huge and stable, several of them running in parallel to make a bridge. it was fun doing the balancing act on such trunks while carrying a load of grass or sack of maize or potatoes on your back. i was not phobic to water or to using such kind of bridges.

in fact i used to tease a primary school friend who would not use a bridge constructed using tree trunks. he would always fear falling and hitting a rock with his head despite the fact that we had rudimentary swimming lessons every sunday afternoon at the river. it would be so hard on him, such that we would always have to wait for him to go down or up the river looking for the nearest 'government' constructed bridge!

here i was, facing disaster in my eyes. the main issue at the moment was to be a man or not to be in village terms. if she went across, there was no way i could chicken out.

…to be continued...

kaburi bila msalaba loosely translated ‘a grave without a cross’ gave me the first true feel of what went on during the struggle for kenya’s independence. before that, the civics lessons in lower primary school just gave me recitals of what went on during the struggle. the national anthem and national flag colors significance maybe set a foundation but it never made me understand what really went on. i would confidently answer during those exams that the red in the kenyan flag symbolized the blood that was shed in the struggle for independence, now i know much more than that.

kenya attained its independence on 12^th december 1963 with jomo kenyatta as its first president. this was after a six month stint of having attained self internal rule on 1^st june 1963 marked by appointment of kenyatta as the first kenyan prime minister. kenya later became a republic on 12^th december 1964. today, kenya marks 43 years of independence.

kaburi bila msalaba, if my memory does not fail me was a story of how kenyan families suffered in the struggle for independence as many were detained, screened violently whether they belonged to the mau mau and separated form their beloved, many forever. a young bride was robbed off the joy of starting a family when her love went through the harsh hands of the british colonialists. she also had to go through the cruel process as she traced him and many other villagers suffered at the hands of the british, the maumau and their own sons nicknamed ‘kamatimu’ or homeguards for their loyalty to the british army. the story recounts the tribulations and agony of the lady as she tried to trace the grave of her man, a grave that had no mark and hence could not be traced.

reading this storybook at a young age and mostly in a tin-lamp lit kitchen besides a firewood fireplace, gave me the questioning mind that bothered my parents and grand parents. they had to explain to me what exactly happened during the state of emergeny. those stories created the fear and eeriness that they faced each evening either in detention at the concentration camp or at the villages they had been hounded into in order to curb their collaboration with the mau mau. every night they faced the reality that they might not see the sun rise again. my grandpa spent almost four years at the manyani detention camp where torture was the order of the day. my grandma would relive the sorrow of separation and mental agony of trying to balance double allegiance in order to live. loyalty to the british by day and duty to the maumau at night.

according to wangari maathai’s ‘unbowed one woman’s story’:

“new research indicates that in spite of the hysteria in the british press and the government, of the approximately four thousand people who died of mau mau activities, a total of thirty two were white settlers. in comparison, recent scholarship estimates that more than one hundred thousand africans, mostly kikuyus, may have died in concentration camps and emergency villages-on top of humiliation, loss of property, and trauma that families suffered. it is clear that terrorism was not confined to one side. interestingly, it is only very recently that the law in kenya has been changed so that mau maus are no longer described as ‘imaramuri’ (terrorists) but as freedom fighters”

in our young days we were told that the mau mau term is some form of a kikuyu anagram for ‘uma uma’ meaning ‘go go’ directed to the british settlers. the unbowed woman states thus: “in the early 1950s, frustrated by the slow pace of change, a guerilla war for independence was launched: the mau mau. while there are many theories about the origin of the term ‘mau mau’, the only one i find most interesting is this: in kikuyu, when beginning a list, you say, ‘maundu ni mau’-‘the main issues are…’-and then hold up three fingers to introduce them. for the mau mau, the three issues were land, freedom, and self-governance”

the sad bit of the jamhuri day story is that thousands of graves never got crosses, a sign of decent and honourable rights. the first government never compensated the freedom fighters adequately and most of the property was directed to the ‘homeguard’ oppressors. subsequent governments have failed to mark these graves effectively. not necessarily by erecting white crosses but living up to the ideals these noble men and women laboured for. neo-colonialism, corruption, greed and selfish leadership have failed to give millions of kenyans the full rights that these unsung heroes fought for. in retrospect, a lot has been achieved since the mau mau war. our foreparents fought their war, it is up to the current generation to fight the war that kenya faces. kenyans owe it to their forefathers and to history, to ensure that they no longer enslave themselves again economically, politically and socially.

for more about the untold struggle for independence grab caroline elkins “imperial reckoning: the untold story of britain's gulag in kenya”

sometime in the last half of the 90’s a group of ‘moralists’ stole the national lime light for their passion of undressing what they considered incompletely dressed women. women would not be allowed to wear trousers, tight fitting clothes or mini-skirts in the streets of kenya, they argued. many were quick to dismiss them as a group of rowdy touts but as their actions escalated to major towns, there was cause for alarm.

elaborate expose’ of the group’s ritual and initiation ceremonies hit our screens and many thought it was the ‘thaai’ sect led by ngonya wa gakonya, now deceased, that many were familiar with. ‘thaai’ was a kikuyu religious sect that advocated a return to the worship of the kikuyu god, ‘mwene-nyaga’. mwene-nyaga (he who owns the ostriches) was worshipped under the mugumo (oak?) tree facing the snow-capped mount kirinyaga (has ostriches), now known as mount kenya, the tallest mountain in kenya. you would recognize the ‘thaai’ group by the way they rebelled against modernism by clothing in hide-made clothes and sandals. they had long dreadlocks akin to the maumau liberation fighters and were committed to sniffing the traditional tobacco ‘snuff’.

kenyans were wrong, the new grouping on their screens was no harmless worshippers. they were zealous in their anarchy business and had taken over the matatu sector for a while by the time they became public. you had to pay up to 60,000 kenya shillings or more as entry fee to operate your matatu in the routes they controlled. in addition you had to pay a daily protection fee. they were available for hire to cause terror and scare during political campaigns. they were no longer jeshi la mzee or jeshi la embakasi. they were mungiki and they had their nairobi base at the heart of eastlands, mainly dandora.

mungiki according to michuki, the internal security minister is a kikuyu word pronounced ‘muingi ki’ meaning ‘all people without exception’. their initiation rites include taking ‘muma’ or ‘oath’which binds the recruits to the ideals of this terror group and includes high penalties for defaulters: their clean shaven head! mungiki is also notorious for advocating forced female circumcision, otherwise regularized as female genital mutilation. their insatiable thirst for blood ensures that once a mungiki follower draws out a sword in an attack, it cannot go back to its sheath without being soaked in blood.

a story is told of how they terrorized an upcountry town after one of their own was set on fire by the public. one mungiki follower met an old man who was fleeing, drew out a sword ready to go for the old man’s neck as trained but sympathized with the grandpa. however he could not take back his sword without blood, so he asked the old man which part of his body needed trimming. the man chose the hand and the sword executed the ruling. any village that has been visited by the followers remains traumatized for long, daily reminded of the havoc the sect lives behind in form of deaths and maiming.

the grapevine has it that the sect was formed during the mid eighties after the 1982 coup and got entrenched when the government of the time cracked its whip on mwakenya ‘dissidents’. a few years ago, i once sat and listened as a mungiki follower who was then a university student detailed how the sect operates and came into being. that was before the 2002 elections.

when in the early 90’s some parts of the rift valley were engulfed in tribal clashes which mainly affected the kikuyu community, the 80’s group was revived by young kikuyu men of the area in an attempt to forge a resistance to the blood shed that was being directed at the community.

they went into the forest where oath was administered by old men who participated in previous oaths. the mandate was to protect the community from further deaths. however, before the group had time to fully stamp their authority in the region, the clashes ended. unfortunately, many youths were still jobless as kenya faced an economic depression then. having no sources of income and with the rural urban migration turning a disappointment, the group turned to uncivil means of generating income. to survive, the group redefined its mission and coalesced around traditional religious teachings. it was to later redesign its mission to that of thuggery and extortionist, the matatu industry being a prime target for its lawlessness and loads of cash.

mungiki sect was able to attract the high and the mighty in the land with its following, penetrating the rank and file of key security sectors in kenya. politicians would hire them to cause fright and flight of their rivals. the police would not deter them as the group was worth tens of millions a day which was enough to keep the police on their side. it was no wonder to find that the 2003 government tried in vain to recover ex-army and ex-police land rovers which had being sold to the group prior to the 2002 elections.

ndura waruinge, became identified as the national chairman of the group and steered the group to more dreadful missions. oath taking became a serious affair and deserters were beheaded. ndura has since “seen the light” and is now a pastor of a church in nairobi. no doubt jesus saves lives. however, the question in the minds of many is how come he has escaped the wrath of his former servants, when they continue to behead other deserters? this will be his great undoing as he eyes and goes for the langata seat, currently being held by raila odinga. what a tall order?

maina njenga took up the mantle of revulsion from waruinge and is currently being charged in the courts while being held at the kamiti maximum prison. he and 30 others were caught last year in a kitengela ‘palace’ with illicit brew, oath taking paraphernalia and a flag belonging to the kenya national youth alliance (kenya) political party. the house has been under guard since then. ‘kenya’ party demonstrated last month for the release of what they termed as the only political prisoner in kenya today, maina njenga! how times change! maina njenga also ‘saw the light’ last week and is bent on following the footsteps of ndura waruinge. or is it meant to hoodwink the authorities? he truly came to save the lost and set the captives free.

what is the government doing to curb this group from unleashing more terror to hapless kenyans? 2007 is an election year when chaos and anarchy tend to thrive. this group needs to be stopped in its tracks. this year, it has been linked to the deathly confrontation of the police and the hawkers. the hawkers pay protection fee to this group and ‘licenses’ to operate in nairobi streets. the recent skirmishes in various nairobi slums have been linked to a clash of mungiki and other emergent gangs fighting over their turfs. slum dwellers have to pay this group to access basic facilities.

today, you cannot drive into dandora and some parts of kariobangi in eastlands without paying some fee. and you have to be out before dusk lest you encounter their wrath. some parts of central kenya are aware of the terror that the gang leaves in its wake whenever they go to bury one of their own. worse still the mungiki death signature of disembering various parts of their victim and leaving them in symmetric distance or a clean shaven head of a be-headed renegade is traumatic to all.

in 2003 when faced with the gigantic rise and rise of the mungiki, the then internal security minister, chris murungaru is rumoured to have authorized the “smoking off” of the mungiki followers in their bunkers. hundreds of mungikians suffocated to death in their foxholes! i leave that for the archaeologists to disapprove, prove and marvel at the history makers who turned into the millennium.

when all is said and done, who will protect the fearful kenyans from their own vicious, barbaric and heartless sons and daughters in the name of mungiki?