Mau Maus Daughter: A Life History 9781685859169

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MAU MAU'S DAUGHTER

MAUMAU'S DAUGHTER A

LIFE HISTORY

Wambui Waiyaki Otieno edited and with an introduction by

Cora Ann Presley

L~E

RIENNER PUBLISHERS

BOULDER LONDON

Published in the United States of America by Lynne Rienner Publishers, Inc. 1800 30th Street, Boulder, Colorado 80301 www.rienner.com and in the United Kingdom by Lynne Rienner Publishers, Inc. 3 Henrietta Street, Covent Garden, London WC2E 8LU © 1998 by Virginia Edith Wambui Waiyaki Otieno; Introduction © by Cora Ann Presley. All rights reserved by the publisher Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Otieno, Wambui Waiyaki, 1936– Mau Mau’s daughter : a life history / edited and with an introduction by Cora Ann Presley. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 978-1-55587-722-4 (hc. : alk. paper) ISBN 978-1-58826-150-2 (pbk. : alk. paper) 1. Otieno, Wambui Waiyaki, 1936– . 2. Politicians—Kenya— Biography. 3. Women politicians—Kenya—Biography. 4. Kenya African National Union—Biography. 5. Kenya—Politics and government. 6. Women, Kikuyu—Biography. 7. Otieno, Silvano Melea, d. 1986—Death and burial. 8. Customary law—Kenya—Nairobi. 9. Burial laws (Luo law). I. Presley, Cora Ann. II. Title. DT433.582.075A3 1998 967.62'03'092—dc21 [B] 98-10980 CIP British Cataloguing in Publication Data A Cataloguing in Publication record for this book is available from the British Library. Printed and bound in the United States of America The paper used in this publication meets the requirements of the American National Standard for Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials Z39.48-1992.

To my late husband, Silvano Melea Otieno, with love

A Lion among ladies is a most dreadful thing; For there is not a more fearful wild-fowl than your Lion living. -Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night's Dream Tho' marriage makes man and wife one flesh, it leaves them still two fools. -William Congreve, 1694 God forbid that any book should be banned. The practice is as indefensible as infanticide. -Dame Rebecca West, 1892 A nation without regard for its history is a dead nation. - Wambui Otieno

Contents

xi

Foreword, E. S. Atieno Odhiambo

Introduction: Memory Is a Weapon, Cora Ann Presley

1

1

Family Origins

11

2

Childhood

25

3

Early Days in the Mau Mau Movement

33

4

Party Politics in Nairobi

49

5

Detention at Lamu

77

6

Release and Marriage to S.M. Otieno

87

7

Gender and Politics

103

8

S.M. Otieno's Death and Joash Ochieng's Betrayal

131

9

The Burial Saga

157

10

The Biography of S.M. Otieno

193

11

State Trickery

203

12

Planting the Seeds of Freedom

225 241 247 251 253 255

Acknowledgments Chronology Glossary Selected Bibliography About the Book

vii

Illustrations

My great-grandfather Waiyaki wa Hinga My grandfather Munyua wa Waiyaki My father, my grandmother, and my brother My mother, Elizabeth Wairimu Waiyaki My father, the first African chief inspector of police Wambui Waiyaki in 1955 S.M. Otieno, advocate Wambui Otieno in Moscow, 1972 My father-in-law, Mzee Jairo Ougo Oyugi Joash Ochieng' Ougo and John Omondi Ougo Coming from court Joash Ochieng' with his lawyer, clan spokesman, and relatives Wambui, alone Otieno's children with a letter to the president Crowd outside after the judgment of the Court of Appeal S.M. Otieno's burial at Nyamila Inauguration service at S.M. Otieno's memorial Returning to FORD headquarters after the attack at Ngong

IX

10 10 24 30 31 48 86 102 109 130 156 156 170 173 175 183 202 224

Foreword: A Critique of the Postcolony of Kenya E. S. Atieno Odhiambo African historiography, like modem historiography everywhere else, has of late had to deal with the problems of memory, remembrance, forgiveness, and commemorations of the past. In the beginning, and that means since the 1960s, Africanist nationalist historians have had to tell the story of the nation's birth, with the narrative of the triumph of African initiatives, with the connections between the primary resistances of our grandfathers, and with the later mature nationalisms of our own fathers. Colonialism was a brief episode-it lasted a mere sixty years. We, the grandchildren of the resisters, have been privileged enough to be both the heirs of independence-Uhuru-and the radical pessimists. We are discontented with the neocolonial trap into which our hard-won independence has been betrayed by the successor comprador elites and the bullyboys from the barracks-the African armies that the social scientists of the 1960s somehow designated as the most likely agents of modernization through their discipline acquired at Sandhurst, the Mons Cadet School, and St. Cyr. Not much history of the postindependence period has been written by historians: they left that province to the politically oriented social scientists. This intellectual beholdenness left some urgent lacunae unattended, including the story of the Mau Mau struggle in Kenya: not so much about how it should be known, but rather about how it should be told. Fortunately, there was an enabling environment for the combatants to tell their own story to a listening historical and publishing academy. The combination of an East African Academy founded in the early 1960s and an East African Publishing House allowed unsurpassed numbers of former Mau Mau combatants to publish their memoirs. It was fortuitous that the historian Bethwell Allan Ogot was the chairman of the EAPH board of directors. In the meantime, another collaborative effort between Mau Mau secretary Karari Njama and political scientist Donald Barnett opened another outlet xi

xii

E. S. Atieno Odhiambo

for the publication of Mau Mau biographies and memoirs through the Liberation Support Movement in Canada. The result was that by the late 1970s Mau Mau had become one of the most written-about guerrilla movements in sub-Saharan Africa. But not in all of its aspects. For some time now we have known the outlines of the Mau Mau agenda and the doings of its main partisans, including quite a lot about such women as Wanjiru Nyamarutu, Mama Future, and Sera Serai. What we have not had so far is a story of a life of a woman by a woman initiated into Mau Mau as a neophyte, integrated into mainstream political party activism in the late colonial period, admitted into the sweet properties of euphoria, power, and recognition during the Kenyatta regime, and denounced at the personal and public levels during the Moi regime since 1978. This book is a pioneer. Its outlines will be familiar to the ear of the early dependency critics, but not its lived experiences. African history is saturated with women's life stories, and Luise White has expressed her frustrations with their limitations.! This is not just another one of them. It is a story of one woman, born Virginia Edith Wambui Waiyaki in Kiambu in 1936, Mau Mau member and later politician in Nairobi, and from 1963 wife of Silvano Melea Otieno, who was born a Luo but who was an urbanized Nairobi citizen and a modem Kenyan until his death in December 1986. It is a story of spectacular success at those achievements the Kenyan upper middle classes cherish: profession, property, recognition, for each individually and for them as a family. In her recent book on TANU women,2 historian Susan Geiger reminds us of the need to see the participation of women in the nationalist struggles as the key performance in any nationalist discourse, not as the second fiddle dancing at receptions for the important big man-a Julius Nyerere or a Tom Mboya in the present context. It is African women who gave content and character to the independence struggle, while Nyerere and Mboya communicated with the colonial imperium. In Geiger's terms the women were the movement. Wambui Otieno's work attests to the appropriateness of Geiger's prescription. The Kenya story over the past century has been a rapid march from the creation of the conquest state-through its high noon of settler dominance, the challenge posed to it by the Mau Mau, and the brief period of mass nationalisms between 1957 and 1963-into a contested statehood whose future continues to be uncertain. Throughout the period, four strands or historical themes have intersected. The first of these has been the high politics of the state, revolving around the issue of state power and who controls state power; its subtext has been tribalism, currently baptized as ethnicity. Second, there has been the tyranny of property, pitting the haves against the have-nots and informing the nature of class formation in the land. The third theme has been the deep politics of the clan, pitting insiders against out-

Foreword

xiii

siders, clansmen against foreigners, original landowners against sojourners. And finally, there has been the theater of world citizenship, linking individuals and state simultaneously to an international moral order through the observance of the modem protocols on human rights, nondiscrimination against women, the UN Women's Decade, and the regime of international law against all forms of discrimination. The life of Wambui Otieno has been intertwined in all four strands. She is the descendant of Maasai refugees, Kikuyu frontier settlers, and autochthonous Dorobo hunter-gatherers. Her great-grandfather, Waiyaki wa Hinga, is the Abraham of modem Kikuyu nationalism. Through a series of marriages she was also related to Jomo Kenyatta, the Moses of Kenyan nationalism, who became Joshua to the Kikuyu after independence. By choice she was an early rebel and became a Mau Mau, remembered now as the radical nationalists who lost the war in the forest and lost the argument for the control of state power in independent Kenya. She wears her nationalist credentials proudly. She is a woman, which led her into the depths of male exploitation and gendered restrictions on her liberty and her property, legal, and human rights. Simultaneously and not in contradiction, these restrictions have opened for her almost unimaginable doors into the experience of leadership in her country and in the world. Kenyans speak of self-made people. At the level of intellect there are few Kenyan women of her generation to compare with her in terms of global experience, responsibility, and citizenship. Wambui Otieno is a worldly wise person in these pages. It is because she has lived on the world stage that the pivotal story of her life, her contestation for the right to bury the remains of her husband at a place of her choice, is particularly gripping. It is a mosaic of her subjectivity in the good sense of the word. This story has a historiography all its own. It has been told first as news about the death of a prominent Kenyan; in the Western media as a contest between modernity and tradition; by the academy through legal, linguistic, and moral prisms; through feminist binoculars; and as a critique on the politics of knowledge and the sociology of power in Africa. Wambui Otieno's version is best interpreted as a critique of the banalities of the postcolony of Kenya.

NOTES

1. See Luise White, "Cars out of Place: Vampires, Technology and Labour in East and Central Africa," Representations 43 (1993), pp. 27-50, and also "Between Gluckman and Foucault: Historicizing Rumor and Gossip," Social Dynamics 20, 1 (1994), pp. 75-92. 2. Susan Geiger, TANU Women: Gender and Culture in the Making of Tanzanian Nationalism (Portsmouth: Heinemann, 1997).

Introduction: Memory Is a Weapon Cora Ann Presley

Memory is a weapon. I knew deep down inside of me, in that place where laws and guns cannot reach nor jackboots trample, that there had been no defeat. In another day, another time, we would emerge to reclaim our dignity and our land. -Don Mattera

Wambui Waiyaki Otieno's memoir is a unique narrative, singular as an authentic nonfiction account of a Kenyan woman's role in politics from the 1950s to the 1990s, authored by herself. The Otieno narrative is one of two autobiographies by Kikuyu women describing the Mau Mau era. The other autobiography of the period is Charity Waciuma's Daughter of Mumbi (Nairobi: East African Publishing House, 1969). However, Daughter of Mumbi is written almost exclusively from a child's point of view and does not yield the kind of reflection and analysis of mature women. Most important, Waciuma was not involved in the political struggle. She was a schoolgirl at the time and did not, as did Wambui Waiyaki, choose to abandon her home and family to join the nationalist struggle. Mau Mau's Daughter is the sole narrative produced by a woman who participated in the Mau Mau rebellion. Autobiography as a genre is rare for contemporary African women to attempt, although since 1980 African women writers have produced a growing body of novels, poems, and plays. Wambui's story, told by herself to an international audience, thus becomes an important political tract for those interested in African women's voices, political strife in contemporary African states, and postcolonial deconstruction. Wambui's book is in the tradition of the memoir of a historic figure who transforms herself into an oral historian, revisioning her own role as a historical actor. For those of us who are observers and students of her life and the history she helped to make, the recital allows us to share her vision and reflect on how we shape our own image and representation.

2

Cora Ann Presley

As she explains in her narrative, the humiliation to which Wambui was subjected during the protracted controversy over her husband's burial compelled her to write her own story. From 1986 to 1993, Wambui both wrote out in longhand and typed this manuscript, producing over six hundred pages. At various times it was read by E. S. Atieno Odhiambo and Ngugi wa Thiong'o, both of whom urged her to continue with the project. Ultimately the manuscript landed in the offices of Lynne Rienner Publishers. Lynne Rienner recognized the story's importance and sent the manuscript to Marshall Clough, who was preparing his own study of Mau Mau memoirs and who recommended that I review the Otieno manuscript for them. As I began to read the opening chapters, I was riveted by the events of Wambui Otieno's life. Embedded within the wandering, sometimes bitter narrative was a story of immense value to Kenyans and non-Kenyans alike. When I informed Lynne Rienner that this important historical narrative should be published, I was asked to take on the task of editing the manuscript. Over the next two years, Wambui and I worked on the manuscript, exchanging drafts and, during nine months of her visit to the United States, speaking on the telephone several times a week. Our conversations and correspondence helped add clarity to the narrative and added to its strength by filling in explanations of Kenyan, Kikuyu, and Luo cultures and histories. This process where I, as editor, worked with a completed manuscript, consulting with the author on line-by-line revisions, sets this narrative apart from other Mau Mau memoirs that were ghost-written. The Otieno narrative is also singular in that it is a story deeply interlaced by conflicts of race, gender, and class. Wambui's story unfolds from her childhood, a world of innocent children at play in the village, being socialized by their parents for future roles that are fast disappearing. Soon the thunderclouds mass and the tempest of the Mau Mau rebellion sweeps up Wambui and transforms her into a freedom fighter. The lessons she learned from those years in the armed resistance movement have remained with her throughout her life.

*

*

*

Wambui Waiyaki Otieno. The very combination of these three names evokes a rush of Kenya's history that is more than the personal narrative of Virginia Wambui Waiyaki Otieno. The name Wambui comes from one of the original Kikuyu clans-a female name that, according to legend, comes from a time when a matriarchy ruled the Kikuyu. Wambui's great-grandfather Waiyaki was the well-known nineteenth-century Kikuyu leader whose dealings with the British have resounded throughout the country's past and present. The colonial version of his place in Kenya's history had it that Waiyaki was a collaborator and that he attacked the agent of the Imperial British East Africa Company in a drunken brawl in 1892. The Waiyaki family and Kenyan nationalists claim that Waiyaki had several times

Introduction

3

opposed British agents and their employees because of their conduct. Their soldiers molested the women and stole the people's crops. Waiyaki led a battle against them and it was primarily for this that he was imprisoned.l Scholars today still debate the role Waiyaki played, but there is no question his memory was a motivating force for Wambui.2 Otieno-a Luo namewas famous in Kenya because of Silvano Melea Otieno's prowess in the court. He became, arguably, the most prominent Kenyan lawyer. After the controversy over his burial, one Kenyan pundit said that S.M. Otieno was made famous by his wife.3 When SM died suddenly in 1986, without a written will, Wambui intended to bury him on some of their property in Nairobi. She was prevented from doing so, however, by the legal actions taken by elders of SM's lineage, who claimed that under Luo customary law, his body had to be returned to his patrilineal homeland in rural western Kenya for burial. The SM Burial Saga, as the resulting court case came to be called, rent Kenya asunder. Scholars portrayed it as a trial about Kenya's choice to be traditional or modem, to oppress women or to join other modem states that recognized women's rights.4 The case was represented in the press as being a contest between Luos and Kikuyus, and as being about an uppity, immoral woman and her attempt to distort Kenya's traditions.s There were many cases-and Wambui Waiyaki Otieno was, in a very real sense, put on trial as well. As tragic as that ordeal was for her, it has been fortuitous for anyone interested in Kenyan affairs. The trial experience, its representation in the press, and the historical and anthropological literature about the case made Wambui determined to tell her own story, to break the silence and passivity Luo traditionalists demanded of her. What has emerged is the story of colonialism, the nationalist movement, the women's movement in Kenya, and the inner workings of the Kenya African National Union (KANU). Wambui's life experiences as a schoolgirl, Mau Mau fighter, and one of the few women in the KANU assembly yields a unique view of Kenya. The narrative is rich in information on many issues. It addresses intimate family issues as well as larger political issues. Her narrative helps the reader appreciate the difficulties of interethnic marriage, the consequences of jealousy between family members, the fate of women who defy traditional norms about marriage, the stigma that even prominent single mothers carry, the challenges of an upper-middle-class, African, working mother, and the minutiae of family life, especially contemporary burial arrangements. However, before one explores those aspects of Wambui's experiences, one meets Wambui, the Mau Mau fighter. As a Mau Mau organizer, Wambui was involved in the nationalist movement in the 1950s. As a former participant, she comments on the labor movement's relationship to the political movement, race and ethnic relations within the nationalist movement, the strife caused by conflicting loyalties, the links between Kenyan

4

Cora Ann Presley

nationalism and Tanzanian nationalism, and the ways in which cultural imperialism compelled the Mau Mau movement to use Kikuyu culture as a weapon to defeat the British. For me, as a student of the Mau Mau rebellion, the most compelling parts ofthe narrative are Wambui's discussion of women's roles in the Mau Mau movement and her own ordeals. Like the Mau Mau movement, there are many meanings for the Wambui Otieno narrative. One meaning that emerges is how the colonial state used violence as a weapon to control women activists. What emerges is a story of state violence against women, where rape is an antinationalist tool. Wambui attempts to claim women's voices by chronicling the efforts of these Mau Mau women and linking their struggles in the 1950s to their economic struggles (the cooperative movement) and struggles for equal rights in Kenya. Throughout the narrative, Wambui is concerned about deconstruction: deconstructing the colonial version of Kenya's past (i.e., the Waiyaki saga), deconstructing the spin British propaganda placed on women's roles in the rebellion, and deconstructing the Kenyan government's purported commitment to women's issues. The final sections of the narrative address the challenges for a woman politician in Kenya today and issues of corruption in electoral politics. These chapters are an indictment of the Moi regime, from one who was formerly allied with it. In light of the political violence in Kenya during the movement for multiparty democracy in the mid-1990s, Wambui's pungent comments take on new meaning. Wambui Waiyaki is well situated to traverse these issues. She was born in 1936 into a prominent Kikuyu family in Central Province. Her greatgrandfather Waiyaki was one of the first political martyrs in Kenya. After having collaborated with British agents who had established trading stations in Kikuyu territory, Waiyaki became critical of them. According to Wambui Waiyaki Otieno, his protest and confrontation with an Imperial British East Africa Company agent led to his arrest and death in exile. The next generation of Waiyakis were associated with the colonial state; Tiras Waiyaki became a member of the colonial bureaucracy. His children attended mission schools. For the young Wambui, this set up all kinds of contradictions. The mission education was designed to disrupt Kikuyu traditional life and teach girls their proper place in the new world. She describes how she reacted to the sexist, imperialist education the missionaries and her African Christian parents provided. She also explains how the issue of female genital mutilation affected her life and that of her peers. Wambui's days as a schoolgirl were the beginning of her rebellions. At school, she learned a version of history that glorified the colonial state; at home, her father's peers and friends gathered to discuss politics. The young Wambui overheard these conversations, which criticized the colonial system and explored ways of ending it. By the late 1940s Wambui had made her choice. When the Mau Mau

Introduction

5

oathing began, she took it. When the State of Emergency was declared in 1952, she joined thousands of her generation who fled to the forest or the cities to become a comrade in the struggle. As a freedom fighter, Wambui served as a courier. Later she organized women in a wide network of spies and smugglers. Her work for the party also included leading the women's wing and organizing the party choir, which demonstrated and sang at political rallies. All of these activities made Wambui a target of the security forces. She was arrested several times, sent back to Kiambu, and made to report to the district official each day for interrogation. Once those orders were lifted, she resumed her activities in Nairobi. Toward the end of the Emergency, Wambui was arrested and sent to a detention camp on the coast. When independence came, Wambui was back in Nairobi, where she met her future husband, Silvano Melea Otieno. Their partnership produced a very successful law firm and one of the most prominent families in Kenya. As a member of the nationalist struggle, Wambui assumed a place in the new government as a representative from her area. She was one of the first women to run for elected office. In the 1980s Wambui became involved with the cooperative movement, representing the organization in national and international forums. The 1980s was also the decade in which the family suffered the tragedy of the loss of S. M. Otieno. The controversy surrounding his burial and the fight Wambui waged to secure her rights made her more infamous than her Mau Mau activities ever had. The nation reacted to her stand with passionate support or passionate opposition. The case became the "trial of the century," absorbing the press and the family's attention for a year. The case itself was not merely an issue of family conflict; it has been interpreted by scholars as evoking a national debate on issues of women's rights and widows' and children's inheritance.6 This is a very personal narrative, the voice of a woman who came from a "good" Kikuyu family. Mrs. Otieno writes with passion and a sense of mission. She wants to change the interpretations of Waiyaki's place in Kenya history, the verdict in the S. M. Otieno burial case, political corruption in postcolonial Kenya, and the character of the Moi regime. She is particularly interested in paying tribute to those who were involved in the political struggle and about whom little has been written. These include women and Asians and Europeans who covertly helped the Mau Mau fighter. After Mau Mau, this courageous woman did not step aside. She continued to be a voice for women in national politics and represents Kenya's women and their concerns in international forums. Her personal struggle following the death of her husband has sparked a controversy (reflected in other countries) about other African states' minimal commitment to issues that affect women and their children, producing conditions where widows are dispossessed of their property.

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Cora Ann Presley

The laws and social formations of contemporary Kenya are rooted in two traditions, one of which is the British colonial past. Black dispossession and white privilege were the twin attributes of Kenya's colonial state and shaped the history of the country from the beginning of official colonialism in 1895 until its demise in 1963, when the independent Republic of Kenya was established. In the wake of military conquest and punitive expeditions, which lasted until the 1930s in some areas, systems of local administration were established, based on British district officials, with the assistance of African chiefs and headmen. In Kenya, the Africans' role was to provide a pool of cheap labor for the state and the white settlers. Additionally, the rhetoric of imperialism called for "uplifting" Africans to the higher state of civilization claimed by Europeans. In essence, this produced an assault on African cultures to transform those cultural features deemed immoral or un-Christian. The state in Kenya was buttressed by its laws: communal labor, taxation, reservations, social segregation, land alienation, and pass ordinances were among the many aspects of a legal system that supported white domination. Moreover, white nationalism was encouraged and African nationalism discouraged when European residents were allowed to vote and participate in an elected assembly, a right it took Africans over fifty years to achieve. The result was a segregated, divided society that created a leisurely lifestyle for European settlers, missionaries, businessmen, government officials, and their families. For the vast majority of the African population, a spiral of impoverishment was produced. Over the years, African rights were eroded, and political and cultural pressures to transform and eliminate colonialism grew from the 1920s. The first African nationalist association, the East African Association (EAA), led by Harry Thuku in the 1920s, attempted to compel the state to liberalize its labor and education policies. This effort was crushed with the arrest of the leadership in 1922 and the banning of the organization. A successor organization, known as the Kikuyu Central Association (KCA), was founded in 1925, taking up the call for less stringent labor conditions for Africans and relief from the domination of the government-appointed chiefs, whose control of the peasant populations caused widespread resentment.? Until 1939, the KCA was the major voice of African nationalism in Kenya, with modest goals of eliminating the most unjust of the colonial laws. After World War II, Kenyan nationalism took a more radical tum. The Kenya African Union (KAU), the successor organization to KCA, which had been banned during the war, pressed for greater African participation in the government and African membership in the legislative assembly, as well as labor and education reforms. As was true in other parts of the continent, the new generation of African nationalists demanded independence. Within Kenya, this was expressed by the radical wing of KAU, which came to be known as the Mau Mau. They advocated armed resistance against the colonial regime.

Introduction

7

In 1952, a State of Emergency was declared after the assassination of African collaborators. For the next seven years, the colony was racked by arrests, detentions, and armed conflicts between the rebels and the security forces. The conflict centered on the Kikuyu provinces, though the security measures applied to the entire colony. The Waiyaki family, like other Kikuyu families, was tom apart by the emergency. Suspected "terrorists" were summarily arrested and detained. Even those who were merely suspected of sympathizing with the resistance movement were subject to unannounced searches and arrests. The draconian measures of relocating the entire Kikuyu population to new villages-behind barbed-wire fences and under guard-succeeded in isolating the indigenous support of the resistance. By 1958, the rebellion was virtually suppressed. However, although the Mau Mau forces lost the military conflict, political independence was achieved. Negotiations with moderate politicians resulted in a transfer of power to the Kenya African National Union (KANU) in 1963. From 1963 until1978, Kenya was ruled by KANU under the presidency of Jomo Kenyatta. After Kenyatta's death, Daniel arap Moi, who had been Kenyatta's vice president, ruled the state. Since the early 1980s, Moi has faced escalating economic problems, increased poverty, and a growing demand for democratic rule. His government has resisted the demands of the prodemocracy forces with repression and violence. Ethnic conflict has also marked the Moi years, and some would argue that forces loyal to him have deliberately inflamed those tensions as a means of retaining power.s Wambui Otieno's life as a politician has involved her as a player in KANU politics and in the opposition to the Moi regime. The autobiographies of Kenyan males don't explore the struggle as intimately as does the Otieno narrative.9 Wambui reveals a more intimate portrait of Africans' lives and her narrative is best compared to South African women's narratives and their experiences in the antiapartheid struggle. These include the narratives of Mary Benson, Bessie Head, Helen Joseph, Ellen Kuzwayo, Janet Levine, Winnie Mandela, Emma Mashinini, Mamphela Ramphele, Maggie Resha, and Helen Suzman.JO Winnie Mandela and Emma Mashinini 's narratives share common themes with Wambui's life history. These themes illuminate the role of women in the political struggle, their political philosophy, gender conflicts within their societies and political movements, the use of state terrorism against them, and their depiction as "wicked women." These autobiographies discuss childhood, marriage, their relations with husbands, children, white women, and other black women. Throughout their narratives, they are concerned with community relationships, the welfare of society's children, and the moral authority of the political order. The autobiographies of Winnie Mandela and Emma Mashinini have startling parallels with Wambui Otieno's story. All three of them committed to the struggle early in their lives, were exposed to terrible abuse while they

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Cora Ann Presley

were political prisoners, and, in spite of incarceration, continued their work as activists after their release. They show leadership roles, exhibit physical courage, and, through their articulations of struggle, are sophisticated commentaries on the structure of the state, the tools of oppression, and the social consequences of the state's racist policies. Through their activism, they deconstruct the state; through their activism, they re-envision the state and themselves, becoming "indigenous feminists" who refuse to accept the gendered constructs in their own societies as sacrosanct. They are critical of traditional gender constraints, those perpetuated by the colonial regimes and those imbedded within their organizations. These autobiographies differ from men's political narratives in many ways. First, they are more personal, giving intimate details of family life. They dwell lovingly on the minutiae of family life and with sorrow comment on how children are affected by the state's oppression. The narratives show the human face of apartheid or colonialism in Kenya. They describe human relations, their ugliness as well as the acts of altruism committed by people across the race line and across the line between resister and collaborator. And finally, for the historian, these narratives sweep away the veil that obscures women's struggles, demonstrating that women became revolutionaries and freedom fighters on their own. Their lives and sacrifices, and those of the millions of unnamed women who resist oppression, have transformed their lives and our own, birthing new daughters.

NOTES

1. See Chapter 1. 2. See, for example, John Lonsdale and Bruce Berman, Unhappy Valley: Conflict in Kenya and Africa, Books 1 and 2 (Athens: Ohio University Press, 1992), p. 320; Cora Presley, Kikuyu Women, the Mau Mau Rebellion, and Social Change in Kenya (Boulder: Westview, 1992), p. 41; Thomas Toulson, "Europeans and the Kikuyu to 1910: A Study of Resistance, Collaboration, and Conquest" (M.A. thesis, University of British Columbia, 1976), pp. 139-140; Godfrey Muriuki, A History of the Kikuyu 1500-1900 (London: Oxford University Press, 1974), pp. 143-153, 158-163, 174-175; John Lonsdale, "The Prayers of Waiyaki: Political Uses of the Kikuyu Past," in Revealing Prophets: Prohecy in Eastern African History, ed. David Anderson and Douglas Johnson (London: James Currey, 1995), pp. 240-291. For the official British version of Waiyaki's character and actions, see Kenya National Archives, KBU/81, PRB 1890-1916, p. 30. 3. Interview with Wambui Waiyaki Otieno, March 1996. 4. See David William Cohen and E. S. Atieno Odhiambo, Burying SM: The Politics of Knowledge and the Sociology of Power in Africa (Portsmouth: Heinemann, 1992). 5. The Daily Nation (Kenya) reported on every aspect of the trial and the judgments. The New York Times, Washington Post, and other Western papers also carried features on the outcomes of the trial.

Introduction

9

6. In addition to Cohen and Odhiambo, Burying SM, some of the principal accounts of the burial saga includeS. M. Otieno: Kenya's Unique Burial Saga (Nairobi: Nation Newspapers, 1987); J. B. Ojwang and J. N. K. Mugambi, eds., The S.M. Otieno Case: Death and Burial in Modern Kenya (Nairobi: University of Nairobi Press, 1989); John Van Doren, "Death African Style: The Case of S. M. Otieno," American Journal of Comparative Law 36 (1988), pp. 329-350; Patricia Stamp, "Burying Otieno: The Politics of Gender and Ethnicity in Kenya," Signs 16 (1991), pp. 808-845; Blaine Harden, Africa: Dispatches from a Fragile Continent (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1991). 7. Summaries of the nationalist movement in Kenya can be found in Carl Rosberg and John Nottingham, The Myth of "Mau Mau": Nationalism in Kenya (New York: Meridian, 1966); William Ochieng', ed., Politics and Nationalism in Colonial Kenya (Nairobi: East African Publishing House, 1972); Robert Edgerton, Mau Mau: An African Crucible (New York: Free Press, 1989); Tabitha Kanogo, Squatters and the Roots of Mau Mau (Columbus: Ohio University Press, 1987); Frank Furedi, The Mau Mau War in Perspective (London: James Currey, 1989); Lonsdale and Berman, Unhappy Valley; Wanyubari Maloba, Mau Mau: Analysis of a Peasant Revolt (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1993); Greet Kershaw, Mau Mau from Below (Athens: Ohio University Press, 1997). One of the few historical accounts of women's roles in Mau Mau is Presley, Kikuyu Women, the Mau Mau Rebellion, and Social Change. 8. Ethnic conflict between the Luo and the Kikuyu was increased during the colonial period by the government's policies, when each group's interest was pitted against the others'. For example, more government services-such as schools or hospitals-were available in Central Province, where the Kikuyu lived. On occasion, Luos were brought in as laborers to break Kikuyu strikes and Luos served in the police forces that combated the Mau Mau. During the Kenyatta regime, Kikuyu politicians monopolized power, limiting Luos' access. After Daniel arap Moi became president, the Kikuyu complained that they were discriminated against and the Kalenjin were promoted. 9. See, for example, Tom Mboya, Freedom and After (London: Andre Deutsch, 1963); Jomo Kenyatta, Suffering Without Bitterness (Nairobi: East African Publishing House, 1968); Harry Thuku (with Kenneth King), Harry Thuku: An Autobiography (London, Oxford University Press, 1970); and Ngugi wa Thiong'o, Detained (Nairobi: Heinemann, 1984). Interesting comparisons of the best known Mau Mau-centered autobiographies can be found in Marshall Clough, Mau Mau Memoirs (Boulder: Lynne Rienner Publishers, 1998), a book in production at roughly the same time as this manuscript. 10. Mary Benson, A Far Cry: The Making of a South African (London: Penguin Books, 1990); Bessie Head, A Woman Alone: Autobiographical Writings, ed. Craig Mackenzie (Portsmouth: Heinemann, 1990); Helen Joseph, Side by Side: The Autobiography of Helen Joseph (New York: Morrow, 1986); Ellen Kuzwayo, Call Me Woman (San Francisco: Spinsters/Aunt Lute, 1985); Janet Levine, Inside Apartheid: One Woman's Struggle in South Africa (Chicago: Contemporary Books, 1988); Winnie Mandela, Part of My Soul Went with Him, ed. Anne Benjamin (New York: W. W. Norton, 1984); Emma Mashinini, Strikes Have Followed Me All My Life: A South African Autobiography (New York: Routledge, 1991); Mamphela Ramphele, Across Boundaries: The Journey of a South African Woman Leader (New York: Feminist Press, 1995); Maggie Resha, My Life in the Struggle (Johannesburg: Congress of South African Writers, 1991); Helen Suzman, In No Uncertain Terms: A South African Memoir (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1993).

My great-grandfather Waiyaki wa Hinga, whose Maasai name was Koiyaki ole Kumale. This photo was taken between 1890 and 1892, before his death in exile at Kibwezi.

My grandfather Munyua wa Waiyaki

1 Family Origins

We Kikuyu trace our families' descent on the paternal side, so my family has no idea of the life of our courageous ancestress who walked from South Kinangop with her son to Kikuyuland in the eighteenth century. We can only recount our family history beginning with her young son, whose life she was saving. She is simply known as Nyina wa Hinga, "mother of Hinga." Had her origins been preserved and her history handed down, we would today be referred to as the Kaputiei lineage rather than the Waiyaki line. I find it to be very discriminatory that a person is referred to as "son of Mr. so-and-so." I prefer that people be referred to as "son or daughter of Mr. and Mrs. so-and-so," except in cases of single parenthood. Because of this belief, I will show both sides of my family as I write about my genealogy.

The Genealogy ofWambui Waiyaki Otieno Lemotak:a m. Nyina wa Kumale, and they begat Kumalel I Kumale Ole Lemotak:a m. Ngina (or Nyambutu),2 and they begat Koiyak:i I Koiyak:i Ole Kumale3 m. Tiebo (an Ndorobo), and they begat Munyua I Munyua wa Waiyak:i m. Gladwell Wathoni, 4 and they begat Tiras I Tiras Waiyak:i m. Elizabeth Wairimu Kimani,5 and they begat Wambui I Virginia Edith Wambui Waiyak:i m. Silvano Melea Otieno

11

12

Mau Mau's Daughter

THE COMING OF KUMALE OLE LEMOTAKA, OR "HINGA''

The earliest knowledge I have of my ancestors is of my great-great-grandfather Hinga. When I was a young girl, my father told me the story of how Hinga came to Kikuyuland. Sometime early in the eighteenth century, a Maasai woman who was fleeing with her only surviving son from their village, where a war was raging between clans, sought refuge in the homestead of Gatheca wa Ngekenya at Thare near Thika. Gatheca wa Ngekenya was the grandfather of the late Senior Chief Muhoho.6 The woman was accompanied by her son, Kumale Ole Lemotaka, who wore his hair in the traditional moran (warrior) style.? They were from the Kaputiei Lemotaka clan in South Kinangop (known today as Nyandarua). Kumale's seven brothers had been killed in the clan wars. Another version of the story explains that Kumale Ole Lemotaka's family belonged to the Ilaikipiak clan, which terrorized other Maasai clans in the intratribal wars. The Ilaikipiak were known as furious, skilled fighters and good strategists. The other clans felt that if the Ilaikipiak were allowed to continue defeating one section after another, then they would conquer them all, subjecting them to slavery or domination. The Ilaikipiak persecuted the other sections of the Maasai until they had alienated them all. The other clans became determined to extinguish them from the face of the earth and combined to defeat them. The combined army defeated the Ilaikipiak in one day. Thereafter, many Ilaikipiak became absorbed in the main body of the Maasai, but some ran away to Kalenjinland and Kikuyuland. Those who ran to Kalenjinland now live in Kericho. Kumale Ole Lemotaka and his mother fled to Thare. After considering their case, Gatheca wa Ngekenya accepted both the woman and her son. The woman became one of his wives. Kumale Ole Lemotaka, now known as Ole Kumale, was adopted according to Kikuyu customs. Once the ceremonial goatskin was tied around his wrist, he no longer belonged to the Kaputiei clan. Henceforth, he belonged to Achera clan of Mbari ya Muturi. As is the Kikuyu custom, his descendants became known as Achera a Mbari ya Hinga. The clan is now widely known as Mbari ya Waiyaki, but in essence, they are Mbari ya Hinga. Ole Kumale's Kaputiei family is spread all over Maasailand, including Dol-Dol in Rumuruti, Laikipia District, but they are mostly concentrated in Saigeri behind the Ngong Hills and in Olchoro/Onyore in Kaputiei North (in Kajiado District). Ole Kumale retained his Maasai name, settled down, and soon became friends with the young Kikuyu men of his age. However, he often visited his people in Maasailand. As one of many Kikuyu warriors, he would often raid Maasailand for cattle and women. Ole Kumale obtained the name "Hinga" as a result of one of the trading expeditions between the Kikuyu and the Maasai. One day a group of Kikuyu women went into Maasailand

Family Origins

13

to barter for food and beads. Assuming that Ole Kumale was a Maasai, Kikuyu women conversing among themselves remarked that Ole Kumale was so fat he could provide as large a meal as a warthog would. Ole Kumale, who overheard them, strongly objected to the derogatory remark. The women were quite surprised to realize he had understood them. Ole Kumale said he would forgive them, but on his own terms, otherwise they would be in danger. Each woman was to produce a bead from each one of her necklaces until there were enough to form a new one, which they were to put on his neck, then spit on it as a sign of blessing, removing their curse.s The Kikuyu traders did not like this kind of surrender, but since they were only women, they had to comply with Ole Kumale's wishes. When the ceremony was concluded, Ole Kumale told the women about his background. The Kikuyu women renamed him Hinga, exclaiming "Kai ukiri Hinga-i!" ("He's a cunning one"). From then on, the name stuck and today several hundreds of his grandchildren, both in Maasailand and Kikuyuland, bear this name. Now known as Hinga, Ole Kumale returned to his father Gatheca, with whom he continued to live. Eventually he married six wives; among them was Ngina (also known as Nyambutu) who gave birth to Waiyaki wa Hinga (Koiyaki Ole Kumale) and his brother Githieya. Ngina was Binga's second wife. Gatheca feared that Hinga might return to Maasailand with his Maasai wife if he were not married to a Kikuyu woman as well. At Gatheca's request, Hinga married a girl from his adopted Kikuyu family. Hinga moved with Gatheca from Thare to Kibicoi in Ng'enda. Later on, Hinga and his wives and children moved to Mukui,9 where he purchased a piece of land from the Ndorobo.lO Near his new home there was a waterfall on Theta River. The falls were named after him, Hinga Falls (Ndururumo ya Hinga), a name they retain to this day. In keeping with Kikuyu custom, Binga's first son by his Maasai wife was named after his adoptive Kikuyu father, Gatheca. Binga's second wife, Ngina, bore him his second son Koiyaki (or Waiyaki), who was circumcised with the "Nguo ya Nyina" age group around 1866.11 Waiyaki was my great-grandfather. Hinga fathered many children. Their grandchildren and great-grandchildren are part of the Maasai/Kikuyu clan of Kaputiei/Achera. Some of the descendants of Hinga intermarried with the Ndorobo. Many of the clan of Kaputiei/Achera speak Maasai fluently, a fact that will be explained later on in this chapter. It is said that Hinga died of heartbreak when Waiyaki was exiled to Kibwezi because he was closest to Waiyaki. Other than the story of his flight from Maasailand, the acquisition of his name, and his move to Kabete, nothing else is known about Hinga by our generation. My great-grandfather Waiyaki wa Hinga (or Koiyaki Ole Kumale) married five wives. His first wife, Tiebo, was an Ndorobo. She bore his first son, who was named Hinga but was better known as Munyua.

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Mau Mau's Daughter

Munyua, whose story I shall come to later, had several stepbrothers and one sister Njeri (or Tiri). Great-grandfather Waiyaki's personal history is well known in Kenyan history, for he was the first Kikuyu to be exiled by the British. The first Europeans arrived in Kikuyuland when Waiyaki was the muthamaki (king or ruler).I2 It is difficult to tell how far Waiyaki's rule extended because the country was not so open in those days. Communication was minimal and records of events unavailable. The Europeans gave Waiyaki the title of "paramount chief." But who gave them the Kikuyu leader's title? There were no chiefs in our system, but if muthamaki is properly translated into English, it would mean "king" or "ruler." Some people claim that the Europeans made Waiyaki powerful since he collaborated with them. However, Kikuyu oral history contradicts this since it is evident that Waiyaki already had power when the first Europeans arrived. Waiyaki was elected by the Kikuyu as their leader after successful raids into Maasailand. . In those days there were constant raids and wars between tribes. The Kikuyu raids were often against the Maasai because they were neighbors. To plan and execute these raids, the Kikuyu established a war council, consisting of both middle-aged and younger men. Old men also sat on the council as advisors. The duty of the war council was to organize and coordinate wars and form teams of Kikuyu fighters. Waiyaki was a well known, respected, and successful warrior. Both before and after the Europeans' arrival, he led forces into Maasailand on raids. In the constant fighting, the Kikuyu often won but experienced many defeats when the Maasai were under the command of a fierce fighter called Naleo. To offset the defeats caused by Naleo's leadership, the Kikuyu conferred to find a suitable man who could lead them to victory. Waiyaki, one of the most active fighters, was called upon and he agreed to lead them. He swore before the war council never to return to Kikuyuland until he had killed Naleo. Under Waiyaki's command, the Kikuyu raided the Maasai. He came face to face with Naleo on the battlefield, and in a bloody confrontation, he managed to spear Naleo to death. The Kikuyu won the battle and it was a personal victory for Waiyaki. He returned home a hero. Later, as warrior commander, he led many other victorious war activities, among them the famous battle against the Maasai at Gwa Gicamu near Kikuyu (a location near Kiambu), where hundreds of the Maasai perished. It was after this fight that Waiyaki was elected as the people's ruler (muthamaki). Waiyaki's homestead contained several buildings. There were separate huts for Waiyaki, one for each of his wives, and one for his personal porter, who would carry Waiyaki's ceremonial stool when he visited other homesteads or attended meetings. The whole homestead was surrounded by a fence with a gate. Outside the gate there was another hut with a servant to take care of any visitor who arrived too late to see the muthamaki. No one was allowed to enter Waiyaki's homestead at night; however, late visitors

Family Origins

15

were able to receive food and shelter in the hut outside the gate; the servant would take care of them. On the morning after their arrival, the visitors' names would be given to Waiyaki's personal porter, who would inform Waiyaki of the visitors' presence and their purpose. This was the prevailing situation in Kikuyuland when the first Europeans arrived under Captain Frederick Lugard, leader of the Imperial British East Africa Company expedition. When Queen Victoria sanctioned the IBEAC, Lugard was appointed its agent in East Africa. He was charged with creating friendship between the Kikuyu and other East African peoples and the British people. Captain Lugard and his party were on their way to Uganda and they had to pass through Waiyaki's territory. He was escorted to Waiyaki's homestead by his warriors.13 Captain Lugard begged Waiyaki to allow him to establish a station in Kikuyuland. This was to be used as a halfway stopping place for caravans en route to Uganda. Waiyaki granted Lugard permission and gave him a piece of land on a spot known as Gataguriti (Dagoretti). A local planter later renamed the site Kiamuthungu (the place of the European). This spot in Muthiga near Kikuyu is also known as Kiawariua. In 1890 at Gataguriti, Waiyaki and Lugard entered a blood relationship by drinking each other's blood, which was supposed to bind them into a kind of brotherhood. They signed a treaty that stated, among other things, that no land or any other property of the Kikuyu would be taken by force. Lugard also agreed that his men would not touch Kikuyu women and that there was to be no interference with Waiyaki 's rule. In return for the station, Captain Lugard gave Waiyaki five guns with which to guard their territory and assured him that the treaty would not be broken. The station was later deserted after a fierce fight between Captain Lugard's men and the local people. Captain Lugard's men had violated the treaty. They wanted to occupy land and Waiyaki ordered a battle against them. Many lives were lost in a bloody fight, especially by Captain Lugard's Swahili and Indian porters. Waiyaki's forces won, using the weapons he had obtained from his blood-brother Lugard. Because the Kikuyu never stayed on a spot where blood had been spilled, Waiyaki ordered that his people move to Mbugici-later named Fort Smith. Lugard's men moved with him to Fort Smith. On August 14, 1892, Waiyaki ordered his warriors to wage a second battle against the IBEAC porters. The porters had attacked the Ndorobo, who were Waiyaki's relatives through marriage, and several Ndorobo had been killed by the Swahili and Indian porters. The fight was incited by Sergeant Mukhtub, the commander of the Swahili porters and a close friend of Mr. Henry Purkiss, the man in charge of the new station. Mukhtub was notorious for trying to seduce Kikuyu and Ndorobo women. This violated the treaty between Waiyaki and Captain Lugard. Sergeant Mukhtub and 100 Swahili and Indian porters were killed in the battle. Waiyaki's people's

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celebration of their victory angered Henry Purkiss, who now commanded the porters. While Waiyaki, his warriors, and the war council were drinking their celebration beer, Purkiss requested a meeting to discuss peace. Realizing that Waiyaki was drunk, Purkiss ordered the porters to seize the guns from Waiyaki's hut. He also ordered Waiyaki's arrest and clubbed him on the head. Waiyaki realized that without these weapons, there would be great loss of life, for the European weapons were very powerful. He ordered his men to surrender without a fight. Brigadier General Herbert H. Austin claims to have witnessed the incident. Years later, he recalled it as evidence of my great-grandfather's treachery: Memories carried me back 30 years to tragedy of which I was a witness within the precincts of Fort Smith in Kikuyu. This concerns the murderous attack made by Waiyaki, the then ruler of the Kikuyu, on a Mr. Purkiss, the representative of the Imperial British East Africa Company in Kikuyu. That unprovoked attack resulted in the downfall of Waiyaki and the installation by us [the Europeans] of Kinyanjui wa Gathirimu, then a young man, to reign in his stead. It is my purpose in this article, however, to relate something of turbulous times in Kikuyu before the advent of the Uganda Railway and during the treacherous ways [days] of Waiyaki. That Chieftain had from the beginning been largely instrumental in stirring up the tranquilent Agikuyu to oppose the British occupation of this remote and fertile region which was situated 350 miles from Mombasa on the main route to Uganda.14

Readers can draw their own conclusions about Austin's attitude toward my great-grandfather! Later, J. W. Gregory expressed similar sentiments about the Kikuyu in The Great Rift Valley when he wrote, "As a tribe the Agikuyu are probably as treacherous and fickle as they are represented to be."15 Waiyaki was arrested in retaliation for the battles the British had lost at Dagoretti and Fort Smith. Waiyaki ordered that British forces be killed after he realized that they wanted to take his people's land, despite pretensions that they merely wanted safe conduct through Kikuyu territory. Waiyaki was exiled to Kibwezi on August 17, 1892, the day following his arrest. This occurred during the circumcision age group of "Ngoma na Muro" (sleeping with the weeding stick). While under arrest, he was treated brutally. He was clubbed on the head, resulting in a skull fracture. He bled profusely from the wounds but received no medical attention from either his British or Indian escorts. For the first night of his arrest he was tied to the British flagpole at Fort Smith. Handcuffed and under heavy Indian escort, he was marched down to the coast to Kibwezi. His last words to his people before he left were, "You must never surrender one inch of our soil to foreigners, for if you do so, future children will die of starvation." Those wise words are still remembered in Kikuyu country and were often sung by nationalists.

Family Origins Waiyaki wa Hinga niakuire Na agitutigira Kirumi Ng'undu ici ciitu tutikendie Na ithui no guciheana

Waiyaki s/o Hinga died He left us a curse That we do not sell our lands And now we are giving it away.

Chorus Bururi uyu witu Gikuyu Ngai niaturathimiire Na akiuga tutikoima kuo.

Our country of the Kikuyu God blessed it for us And he said we shall never leave it.

17

In memory of his death and burial, they composed the following verse: Waiyaki niakuire Na agithikwo Kibwezi N a haria aathikiruo Ni h11handiruo irigu

Waiyaki died He was buried at Kibwezi And on the spot where he was buried A banana tree was planted.

Waiyaki died a hero on September 6, 1892. There are two versions of the cause of his death. The Kikuyu believe he was buried alive with his head in the soil and legs sticking up in the air while a white man who died at the same place was buried on his feet, his body upright. We believe this means that the whites took an oath to seize leadership from the Kikuyu. According to the British, Waiyaki died by his own hand on the way to Kibwezi. Either way, the British were responsible for his death. Purkiss's actions angered Queen Victoria, who had wanted friendship between the IBEAC and the local people. She summoned some of the Company officials back to England to explain why they had behaved this way. After Victoria's death in 1902, the East Africa Protectorate was proclaimed, taking over the powers of the IBEAC. At this time the British aim was to oppress the Kikuyu in order to make their rule felt. They continued taking land and by 1907 they had claimed almost all the fertile land in Kiambu District. In 1920 they changed Kenya's status to that of a proper colony, and by 1930 white settlers had taken almost all the fertile land in Central Province.16 Purkiss, who had delivered the death blow to Waiyaki, continued to work in Kikuyuland and Uganda for the IBEAC for two more years before he was taken ill in 1894. He died at Kibwezi while on his way home to England. Waiyaki and Purkiss-these two enemies in life-sleep a long, peaceful sleep in the Kibwezi Mission station churchyard, their graves facing one another. Our family has not exhumed Waiyaki's remains for reburial at home because we could not distinguish his grave from Purkiss's grave. Even though modem archaeological techniques now make it possible to identify the remains separately, our family has not done so because a lot of politics and beliefs have hindered us from exhuming Waiyaki. We Kikuyu have a saying, "Rui rutiumaga mukaro" ("Once a king always a king," or "The kingdom will return"). Kenya's current leaders live in fear that the children ofWaiyaki, whom

18

Mau Mau's Daughter

they believe have the potential to unite the nation, will take leadership again. Jomo Kenyatta, Kenya's first president, was no exception. Jomo Kenyatta was raised by my grandmother, who was his aunt, a member of the Ambui family. He established even closer ties with the Waiyaki clan when he married Ngina, daughter of Senior Chief Muhoho wa Gatheca. Waiyaki's mother was Ngina of the Gatheca wa Ngekenya family. After Kenyatta went to visit Senior Chief Muhoho wa Gatheca, Kenyatta married his daughter Ngina. Mama Ngina was a very successful first lady. She was articulate and polite, carried herself with dignity, and was a good example of the saying that behind every successful man is a successful woman. Jomo Kenyatta fared very well as a president because of her influence. Once at a luncheon in honor of the delegates to the United Nations Decade for Women (Nairobi, 1985), I discussed with Her Excellency Mama Ngina how President Kenyatta reacted when provoked by ministers and civil servants. She confided in me that sometimes the president would be very angry and would vow that a particular person who had wronged him would feel his anger the next morning. She would be quiet about it, but before he started the day's work, she would talk to him, asking him why he should think of harming a helpless person. She would politely tell him that this was not good leadership. Even if he was still angry when he left the house, he would do no harm to the person. She told me, "A president needs a wise wife to calm him down." Today, the children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren of Waiyaki wa Hinga have erected a Presbyterian church on the grounds where Lugard's station once stood. The church is known as Kihumo (the beginning). Waiyaki's first son by his first wife, Tiebo, an Ndorobo, was named Hinga but was popularly known as Munyua. He was my grandfather. When Waiyaki was exiled to Kibwezi, Munyua was still very young. His circumcision ritual was conducted by his father's brother, Githieya wa Hinga. He was circumcised with the Mutung'u (smallpox) age group in 1894. His circumcision group was given this name because there was an epidemic of smallpox disease during that period. Eventually Munyua took over the leadership of the family. When the first missionaries arrived, they asked for his permission to establish a church, hospital, and schools. Munyua agreed and donated four square miles of land for the use of the Church of Scotland Mission, led by Dr. John W. Arthur. Another missionary, Mr. Watson, had already asked to camp there. However, Mr. Watson died and left a young wife. Later, Mrs. Watson was nicknamed Bibi wa Ngambi (the wife of the camp man) by the locals. She was a brave woman. She and Dr. Arthur established the first boys' and girls' school, known as Mambere. They also built the Church of the Torch and Hunter Memorial Hospital. Later, they cooperated with the Church Missionary Society and built Alliance High School.17 Mrs. Watson started the Women's Guild of the Church of the Torch in 1922. She died in England and was cremated. Her ashes were

Family Origim

19

brought for burial at the cemetery of the Church of the Torch, where she had started a girls' school. The missionaries never converted Grandfather Munyua; he remained a polygamist. However, he did support the missionaries in some important ways. One day Dr. Arthur visited him and said that now that Munyua had given him land, for which he was very grateful, Munyua should give him at least one of his sons to educate. Munyua told Dr. Arthur to take Waiyak:i wa Wathoni (nicknamed Karinde). And thus Karinde, my father, was given to Dr. Arthur and became a boarder at the mission school. Munyua died in August 1928 at Muthiga. It is said that he was poisoned by his friend, Mugaciku wa Mbari ya Kinoo. After Mugaciku invited Munyua to a feast, he fell sick as soon as he returned home. After telling his family what he suspected, Munyua died. His last words were that none of his descendants should intermarry with the Mbari ya Kinoo family. He was given a Christian burial with a eulogy by Dr. Arthur, who said that although Munyua had not converted to Christianity, he had done more work for God than most people. Munyua had given most of his land to the mission and thus he had indirectly helped convert many people to Christianity. Munyua's concession of land to the Church of Scotland Mission has been linked to the politics of land ownership in Kenya for the last seventy years. Before Dr. Arthur left Thogoto, he said that, as part of the land was not being utilized for God's work, it should be returned to the Hinga family. Currently there are about 726 acres of land that are rented to individuals instead of being utilized for missionary work. It would be a good gesture to Munyua to return the land to the descendants of Hinga who have no land. This position was supported by Reverends MacPherson and Mcintosh in a memorandum on the mission estate to the Church of Scotland Mission Counci1.18 One of Waiyaki wa Hinga's sons, Rev. Benjamin Githieya Waiyak:i, and my father, Tiras Munyua Waiyak:i, argued for the return of the land and gave evidence before the Kenya Land Commission, headed by Judge Morris Carter, in 1932 and 1933.19 Judge Carter recommended the return of the land as an exceptional case. Years later, my stepgrandfather, Rev. Benjamin Githieya Waiyak:i, told me that when he testified before the Commission, he repeatedly reminded the missionaries that even Mr. Watson had approved the return of this land before his death. It would also honor Dr. Arthur's memory. The Church should honor its obligations. For if a church cannot do so, who can? Munyua is buried at Muthiga, on a piece of land owned by his late son, Lawrence Waiyak:i (Waiyak:i wa Nungari). Formerly all the land had been owned by the Hinga family as one unit; each person could cultivate any plot as needed. After land demarcation took place in 1956, the piece of land where Munyua was buried was allocated to his son, Lawrence Waiyaki. On those grounds stand many schools, a hospital, and the Church of the Torch,

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Mau Mau's Daughter

which was built by "Erastus Tharuba" Munyua in 1928. Erastus's true name was Waiyaki Munyua. He was my father's stepbrother, whose mother was Dorothy Wambui. Erastus's good works are acknowledged by an inscription on the stone wall next to the vestry. Munyua's transfer of land to the church and the Hinga family's attempt to have it returned symbolize a larger struggle for land in Kenya. Judge Morris Carter was appointed to investigate land issues involving the Kikuyu. It was thought that this would restore the friendship between the British and the Kikuyu that had disappeared after Waiyaki's arrest and death. The Carter Commission did not recommend that land taken from other clans be returned. Thirteen years before the Carter Commission's reports to the government showed that the British would ignore our interests and keep our land, the British government changed the country from a protectorate to a colony. A British governor was appointed. This completed the enslavement and conquest of our people. We had no say in how our country was run. The uprising by Harry Thuku in 1922 was a result of the British behavior, for their intentions could no longer be disguised. In short, the uprising against the white invasion continued from time to time since 1890.20 The Europeans made my father, Tiras Waiyaki, the first African chief police inspector to compensate the Waiyakis for the loss of their grandfather. Tiras's mother was Wathoni, who hailed from the Ambui family of the Mbari ya Mbuu, the Ambui clan. In 1898 she was circumcised with the Nuthi age group (also known as the Ndutu or "Chiggers" age group). Later christened Gladwell, Wathoni became Munyua's fifth wife. She was very helpful to her husband's first wife, Wanja wa Ndonyo. One of the family's tragedies was the death of Wanja's first four children in a house fire started by one of Munyua's wives, who was born in Nyeri District. Wanja was circumcised with the 1891 Ngigi (locusts) age group. Originally Wanja was to be the bride of Waiyaki wa Hinga, who had paid her bridewealth (or dowry), but he was exiled and died before taking Wanja as his wife. It was then decided that she would marry his first son, Munyua, although she was older than Munyua. He and Wanja completed the Kikuyu legal ceremony for marriage. She was psychologically affected by the death of her first four children and was unable to take care of the younger ones. Wathoni cared for these children along with her own. My mother also took great care of Wanja's son Gathagui when she was a young wife to my father. My father was Wathoni's first son. Her second son, Mugo, was sickly and died. Her third son, Gichuhi, died soon after birth. For this reason she was very possessive of my father, her only surviving son. She hardly let him out of her sight, keeping him indoors most of the time. My grandfather Munyua wa Waiyaki sensed Wathoni's attitude and started to dislike her son. He was nicknamed "Karinde," meaning the hidden one. (Later, my father would file a case in court giving people six months in which to stop

Family Origins

21

calling him Karinde or face a jail teim not exceeding six months). The missionaries had by then established themselves at Thogoto on a piece of land given to them by my grandfather. My grandfather, who resented Wathoni's possessiveness, straightaway gave her only son to the missionaries as a way of punishment. My father was admitted to Thogoto Mission School as a boarder. He studied up to Form Two, the highest one could go at the time.21 He taught for some time before joining the Railways Department. Soon after that, he was trained to be a police inspector. Therefore, my grandfather's resentment became a blessing in disguise because my father became the best educated of his generation in the whole family. Being one of the eldest, he assisted in the education of his younger stepbrothers; through his initiative, his mother became a Christian and was baptized Gladwell. She died in 1956 from shock and subsequent ill health after her only son, Tiras Waiyaki, was detained during the Mau Mau Emergency. When she was told about his arrest, she collapsed and never recovered her health. Tiras Waiyaki married my mother, Elizabeth Wairimu (Muhito ), daughter of Kimani and Nunga wa Thini (Karungari wa Thini). My grandmother Karungari's mother (Njeri) was one of Gatheca wa Ngekenya's sisters. Like my great-great-great-grandmother, Elizabeth left Naivasha, her home area, and came to Kikuyu on foot; she was accompanied by her sister Njeri and a stepbrother, Wanyoike. She was then a young girl whose hunger for the white man's knowledge drove her to walk that long distance. In Naivasha, the Kikuyu people were mostly squatters; this included many from my mother's family, since their land around Limuru had been taken by the Europeans.22 My mother became one of the first girls to be admitted to Mambere, a girls' school near Thogoto Mission, where my father was enrolled. That was how the two met; and in 1925 they became man and wife in a Christian marriage. Their first child, Frederick Munyua Waiyaki, was born in 1926. He would later become Dr. Munyua Waiyaki, a medical doctor and a politician. He was once Kenya's foreign minister and was the late Mzee Jomo Kenyatta's personal physician. Tiras and Elizabeth had fifteen more children, who all became highly educated. I, Virginia Edith Wambui, am the seventh child and the third girl in our family. The children of Tiras and Elizabeth have become scientists, lawyers, judges, nurses, and doctors.

NOTES

1. Kumale ole Lemotaka was adopted by Gatheca wa Ngekenya. 2. Ngina was a relative of Gatheca wa Ngekenya; with her begins our clan's first blood relationship with the Kikuyu. We adopted her clan name, Achera. 3. Koiyaki ole Kumale was popularly known as Waiyaki wa Hinga. 4. Wathoni wa Mugo was from the clan of Ambui, Mbari ya Mbuu; these are

22

Mau Mau's Daughter

the descendants of Wambui, one of the daughters of Gikuyu and Mumbi. She was later baptized as Gladwell. At this juncture, the clan name changed to Achera a Mbari ya Hinga. 5. Elizabeth Wairimu (Muirimu wa Mbari ya lcaciri) came from the lcaciri clan; these are the descendants of Wairimu, another daughter of Gikuyu and Mumbi. 6. Muhoho was a colonial chief and the father of Mama Ngina Kenyatta, the fourth wife of President Jomo Kenyatta. (His first wife was Grace Hahu; his second, Edna Kenyatta, a Briton; and his third wife was Wambui wa Koinange.) 7. Maasai moran were the young warriors. They traditionally wore the distinctive hairdress of braids stained with red ochre and all sorts of ornamental jewelry. 8. According to Kikuyu belief, if a person says something bad but later spits on his hands and touches or shakes hands with a person who has said something good, they will be blessed. The effect of the original bad pronouncement will be removed. 9. Mukui is located south of Kiambu, near Lower Kabete. 10. Gikuyu was the original ancestor of the Kikuyu. He was given dominion over the land by Ngai (God) while praying on top of Mt. Kirinyaga (Mt. Kenya). Gikuyu was told to establish his home at a place that came to be called Mukurwe wa Gathanga (in Murang'a District) where fig trees (mikuyu) grew. There, he found Mumbi (kumba means to mold), whom he married. They begat nine daughters, who became the ancestresses for all the Kikuyu clans: Wachera, Wanjiku, Wairimu, Wambui, Wangari, Wanjiru, Wangui, Warigia, and Waithira. Another version of our origins says that the lands surrounding Gikuyu's patrimony were occupied by Athi or Ndorobo, who were hunters. They sold the land to the Kikuyu, who were farmers. When the land was cultivated, the Ndorobo had to leave as the game began to disappear. But by then, many of them had intermarried with the Kikuyu. My greatgrandfather married an Ndorobo woman known as Tiebo (see genealogy chart). 11. Both males and females were circumcised in our traditional culture. Girls were circumcised between the ages of twelve and fourteen. Boys were circumcised later. Age groups were named according to big events that happened around the time of circumcision-thus the Ngigi age group (1891) was named for the locust invasion that took place that year, the Nyutu age group (1905) was named for the invasion of lions, the Njege (1907) got their name from the fact that in that year porcupines dug up Kikuyu gardens, and so on. 12. A muthamaki was a ruler or king elected by the council of elders when his generation ruled the council. 13. The ffiEAC received a royal charter from the British government to establish a trading monopoly in eastern Africa. Like other royal charter companies in the era just before colonization, it did not merely conduct business with Africans; it also acted as a government and interfered in local politics to gain economic advantage. During Waiyaki's contact with them, the main purpose of the ffiEAC was to build a railroad from Mombasa to Uganda. 14. H. H. Austin, "The Passing of Waiyaki," The Cornhill Magazine (1923), pp. 613-622. 15. J. W. Gregory, The Great Rift Valley (London: John Murray, 1933), p. 196. 16. Editor's note: Wambui's analysis articulates several widely held views among the Kikuyu: that Queen Victoria's formal expressions of friendship and good intentions were sincere, that Kikuyu chiefs ruled justly together with the Crown, and that conditions for Africans worsened after white settlers came to dominate the

Family Origins

23

colonial government. By 1920, some 5.5 million acres of African land had been taken for white use. The Kikuyu lost 120 square miles of their territory alone in the great confiscation that rewarded British "soldier settlers" with land for their service in World War I. 17. Alliance High School, which produced much of Kenya's educated African elite during the colonial period, sits on ground donated by Munyua to the Church of Scotland Mission. Most of Kenya's African ministers, permanent secretaries, and provincial commissioners were educated in this prestigious high school. The school is still famous today and always ranks among the top ten schools offering the Kenya Certificate of Education (equivalent to a high school degree, or the English "0" level and Cambridge School Certificate). 18. See: Report of the Kenya Land Commission, Cmd. 4556 (1934), p. 20; Dr. John W. Arthur, Church of Scotland Mission Council, Memorandum on the Mission Estate, pp. 192-198, 457-459; Rev. MacPherson, Presbyterian Church of East Africa (1970), pp. 26, 27, 35, 39. 19. The Kenya Land Commission was appointed to investigate African claims that land had been taken away from them and to draw up a boundary between native reserves and the White Highlands, an area set aside solely for European occupation. The African people rejected the Commission's findings and recommendations, arguing that Europeans had no rights to any land. In Kiambu, the Kikuyu argued that the land issue had triggered the fierce confrontation between Waiyaki and representatives of the IBEAC. Land was also seized in the Rift Valley Province and throughout Central Province. 20. In 1922 Harry Thuku led the uprising under the East African Association. He worked closely with Jesse Kariuki, Joseph Kang'ethe, Elizabeth Wairulru, and Mary Wanjiru Nyanjiru, among others. Thuku was arrested and locked up at the Kingsway Police Station, Nairobi. The Kikuyu revolted against the arrest. They demonstrated outside the police station. On the second day, Mary Wanjiru Nyanjiru told the demonstrators that peaceful demands for the release of Harry would bear no fruit. She said that they should all storm the police station, with locked arms, to release the captive by force. She was shot and killed by the police when the demonstrators tried to carry out her suggestions. Thuku was detained without trial and exiled to Kismayo. 21. Equivalent to completing high school. 22. Squatters were people whose lands had been taken away by the white settlers. They were left with no place to cultivate or raise their herds of cattle and goats. Left with no alternative, they agreed to work for the white settlers for meager pay. The white farmer would provide them with quarters to live in, in a small village within the farm. He allowed them to cultivate small gardens on his land near the living quarters. The settlers appointed overseers, nyapara. Riding on horseback, the settlers patrolled their farms and whipped those squatters they found idle or resting. The squatters lived a life much like that of slaves.

From left: my father, Tiras Waiyaki Munyua; my grandmother, Gladwell Wathoni Munyua; and my brother, Frederick Munyua Waiyaki. This photo was taken in 1946 when my brother was leaving for further studies at Fort Hare College in Natal, South Africa.

2

Childhood

I was born on Sunday June 21, 1936, at 8:30P.M. and was baptized Virginia Edith in December 1936 at the Church of Scotland Mission, Thogoto. Fifty years' legacy of colonialism created a curious contradiction in the way I was reared. As a Kikuyu and a Christian, I was brought up to be a part of both cultures, yet I rejected many of the restrictions imposed by each. I grew up exposed to both a Christian way of life and Kikuyu daily chores. On Sundays I would attend Sunday School, but like any traditional girl, before and after school I assisted my mother in caring for my younger sisters and brothers. I would help in the household chores of fetching water from the river, fetching firewood, cleaning the house, and washing clothes. These were duties every girl was expected to perform and I became good at them, though not necessarily fond of them all. I also worked with my mother on the family farm.l I became very good at cultivating crops. To encourage me, my parents assigned land for my crops and a special area in the granary for me to store my produce. My parents believed in protecting their daughters. I was under constant surveillance, whether I was fetching water from the stream, getting firewood from the forest, or going to and from school. My authoritarian mother saw to it that we toed the line. In fact, when coming home from school I used to sprint in order to beat my mother's deadline. That might explain why I later became good at running in the three-mile races. I never finished lower than third in all our village contests. All this strictness was supposed to keep us girls away from boys' temptations. Ironically, the only boys we were likely to meet were our first cousins, since Muthiga was inhabited exclusively by the Waiyakis. We were also kept from visiting relatives who were non-Christians, lest we learn from them our Kikuyu culture and folklore. I strongly resented this parental attitude and almost rebelled, though my parents did not know it. Outwardly, I was the ever-obedient Wambui. 25

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Mau Mau's Daughter

Some parts of my childhood, such as the amount of labor our parents expected of us, left lifelong negative impressions on me. We had to look after a herd of about 250 cattle, take them to drink water at the river, and make certain they did not trespass on neighbors' farms. We were also taught milking and would be assigned a milk cow. The custom was that one drank the cow's first milk (known as githana) as a sign of a closer bond to the animal. Once I was given a cow named Nyameni. When I drank Nyameni's githana, I was so nauseated that my stomach churned. Since then I have not been able to drink any kind of milk except with tea. When a cow had a calf, the calf was given to one of us to "adopt," to learn how to take care of animals. We also had goats. Each child would be responsible for the care of one or more goats. One would, in the long run, get attached to such animals after feeding and fattening them and feel proud when they looked healthy. What would make me mad was that my dear father, without even asking, would pick a goat he liked and herd the animal into the bush where he and his friends would slaughter and roast the goat and feast on it. Only later, when we asked about the goat's absence, would we be told it had been slaughtered. One time he did that to my black-and-white goat, Ngoto, and I cried the whole day. To this day, I do not think I have forgiven my father for this. Men generally looked down upon women and children. My father was no exception when he killed the goats we children looked upon as our special charges. The worst childhood memory I have is of the many hours I spent carrying water to our homestead. Since there was no piped water system, we fetched water from a nearby stream known as Kiharu. The path to Kiharu was very steep, rough, and winding, yet we made as many as ten round trips each day carrying big five-gallon tins full of water. These trips had to be completed before ten in the morning because other duties would be waiting. Only the rainy season, when running water was caught in a big tank under our corrugated tin roof, brought relief from Kiharu 's drudgery. I came to dislike Kiharu so much that I have not returned there since I left home in 1954. Still, our parents also worked at these hard tasks; we always had a domestic servant in our household, but the tasks to be performed were too many for one or two people. Children also had to work in order to learn how to take care of their own homes when they grew up. People were also forced to do communal labor such as digging bench terraces to control soil erosion.2 The British may have meant this work to stop soil erosion, but an alternative way should have been found. Even pregnant women were forced to dig the trenches. But remember, at this time we were colonized. In the Kikuyu community of those days, circumcision of girls was as acceptable as it was for boys. Yet the ritual was anathema to missionaries,

Childhood

27

who usually expelled any girls in their schools who were circumcised.3 The issue drove a wedge between the Kikuyu themselves; some sided with the missionaries, but the majority chose to join independent or Karing'a churches and create independent schools. The division resulted in fights and insults between the two groups. Kikuyu Christians barred their children from associating with the circumcised ones, while those who believed in clitoridectomy assumed that the uncircumcised were not complete and regarded them as children. This conflict brought about new religions and sects. The Karing'a or Kikuyu independent churches said their prayers to God (Ngai), who they believed lived on top of Mt. Kenya. Instead of "Amen," they would end their prayers with "Thai thathaiya Ngai thai" ("Praise be to God"). They prayed and gave sacrifice to Ngai under a sacred mugumo tree, offering a lamb as sacrifice. Families were also affected by the split between Christians and traditionalists. Often girls whose families sided with the missionaries were teased by their cohorts with mocking songs (muthirigu), which derided the uncircumcised girls, calling them kirigu (pl., irigu). The songs suggested that uncircumcised girls were uncultured, because it was during circumcision ceremonies that the young boys and girls were taught proper Kikuyu behavior and culture (kirira). The Karing'a religion started its own independent schools, such as Kenya Teachers' College at Githunguri, which had a dormitory (kiriri) for circumcised girls. The most prominent teachers at the Kenya Teachers' College were Jomo Kenyatta and Mbiyu Koinange; the kiriri for girls was headed by Mama Rebecca Njeri. The building of the Teachers' College also evoked the prophecy (urathi) of Chege wa Kibiru, who had said, "Thingira uria wi Kiawairera ugakwo noguo tukona wiyathi" ("It is only when a building is put up at Kiawairera/Githunguri that freedom will be won").4 When I came of age for circumcision, my Christian mother refused to let me have anything to do with the ritual. This presented problems for me among my age-mates, who would not stop teasing me. On many occasions, I had to fight my way to school physically through roadblocks erected by the circumcised against the uncircumcised. Because of this, I became hostile and learned Kikuyu judo (mitego). I successfully fought my schoolmates-boys and girls-until they left me alone. However, derogatory songs were constantly sung to remind me of my unwholesomeness! One such song was: Kirigu ni kiaganu5 Na umenye ni Kiaganu (2x) Kihaicaga miariki.

The uncircumcised girl is evil For you to know that she is evil She climbs the castor oil tree.

28

Mau Mau's Daughter Na umenye ni kiaganu Kimwo ni iri na irire Mwana eguitwo ni irigu Gikagwa na mitheko.

For you to know she is evil Cursed by our ancestors A child chokes on a banana She falls down with laughter.

Chorus Kirigu, kirigu giki Kirigu gild Giikagwa na mitheko

This uncircumcised girl This uncircumcised girl She falls down with laughter.

In time, I got so frustrated that I would hide myself and cry bitterly. I wanted nothing more than to be circumcised and hated my mother for not allowing it. It was not until I went to Mambere and was taught mothercraft in our domestic science classes that I appreciated her stand.6 My mother was a shy woman in the sense that she could not teach us sex education. Although both my parents had quick tempers, I found my father more accommodating, for I felt closer to him. This may have been because I did not thitik of myself as weak because I was a girl. I merely wanted to be recognized as a human being. I remember when I first menstruated at the age of fourteen. I had not the least idea what was happening to me. I thought it was the eighteen-year disease I read about in the Bible. I ran to my mother in fright but instead of consoling and reassuring me, she angrily chased me away and told me to talk to my elder sister, Gladwell. When I told Gladwell of my "disease," she laughed for five minutes before she could even talk to me. This was complete cruelty. I had no clue as to what was happening, and yet these two ladies were unkind to me.

SCHOOLDAYS

I entered primary school at Rungiri in 1943 when I was seven years old. However, I withdrew from primary school in order to help my mother with the younger children. It was not until 1944 that I resumed attendance. Every day I walked long distances to and from school. At school, classes were convened under a tree. On the rare occasions when the grass-thatched, dust-filled classroom was available, we had to water down the floor to avoid being choked by the dust. At school I was bright and I easily passed the Common Entrance Examination, which allowed me to join Mambere Girls School in Kikuyu. This opened a new phase in my life as it marked my breakaway from parental domination. I would later go on to Kikuyu Girls' Secondary School and then attend Tengeru College in Arusha, Tanzania, where I graduated with a diploma in community development, political science, and leadership. I was very gifted at school. I never struggled with any subject except mathematics, which I abhorred. I could not make any sense out of algebra, geometry, or graphs because they did not

Childhood

29

relate to my everyday life. I was interested in accounting, however, and I was good at domestic science, nature study, English language, Kiswahili (in which I obtained a distinction in the final examination), and community care. It is not surprising that I was later on in life so good at maintaining accounts for my husband's business, and on my own too. Subjects like accounting were not the only topics taught in the missionrun schools. All reticence adults had shown about speaking to us about sexuality disappeared at Mambere. One of our subjects was domestic science, in which I took a keen interest. For the first time I could freely discuss matters that were taboo at home. Our headmistress, Miss J. J. Brownly, was very understanding and trustworthy. She answered all our questions and told us how a girl got pregnant, how the community reacted to such a pregnancy, and how the pregnancy ruined a girl's life. We were hearing these things for the first time, and we all grew very close to Miss Brownly, who became like a mother to us. But, like my mother, Miss Brownly also had her version of strictness. Whenever we returned to school from holidays, we would be checked for virginity. Whoever was discovered to have lost hers would immediately be expelled from Mambere. That, and the fact that in those days boys were brought up to respect girls, helped us keep our virginity. At Mambere, I started to be politically aware-the rebel in me started to emerge. First, I was of an age to start questioning some of the things I hated most; and also the school's version of what happened between my great-grandfather and the white man motivated me. Another reason is that I loved, and still love, my name Wambui and consider it a beautiful name. But such was not the case with Miss Brownly. To her, our African names did not exist. At roll-call time we were supposed to answer "Yes, ma'am" after our names. She would call out "Virginia Tiras" and I would get choked with anger. The "Yes, ma'am" I was supposed to answer would get stuck in my throat. Consequently, I was often punished for being rude and not answering to my name. I was frequently detained in school while others went home on weekends. Another thing I could not accept was what I saw as bias against my culture. I went to Mambere with the notion that tribal dances were repugnant and sinful. My Christian mother was responsible for putting this belief into my head. She never missed a chance to point out the sinful ways of the tribe vis-a-vis the Christian teaching. During the circumcision periods, we were locked indoors so we could not witness the songs and dances. You will therefore understand my surprise and indignation when at Mambere I found Scottish dance being taught with pomp and glory. We were taught the dance and became so good that we often performed for visiting dignitaries. In my mind, however, nothing could convince me that the Kikuyu dance was inferior to the Scottish one. In defiance, I rebelliously learned all the

My mother, Elizabeth Wairimu Waiyaki, in 1940.

My father, the first African chief inspector of police, in the 1930s. This uniform was mainly for European officers; he and a few other high-ranking African officers were allowed to wear it.

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Mau Mau's Daughter

tribal songs and dances, including Gitiro, a very difficult dance reserved for older women. I was sixteen and still in school when the State of Emergency was declared on October 20, 1952. All the contradictions of my Christian upbringing and the cultural bias I experienced in school led me, inevitably, toward the rebellion.

NOTES

1. Editor's note: The Kikuyu word for the homestead farm is mugunda. During Wambui's childhood, these "gardens" would have supplied most of the family's food. 2. Although the terracing policy was meant to teach Africans how to control soil erosion, it was imposed as forced labor. When the Emergency regulations were in force, the Kikuyu, guarded by the Home Guard, had to dig these terraces as communal labor. This resembled imprisonment with hard labor. People were required to dig the terraces all over the village, and not necessarily in their own gardens. Editor's note: The terracing policy was introduced to stop soil erosion in the steep, hilly Kikuyu countryside. It was obligatory, unpaid labor. In addition, conversion to bench terracing had the effect of reducing the amount of land surface for growing crops by perhaps as much as 30 percent. 3. The other disagreement that the Kikuyu had with missionaries was over their insistence that polygamy be given up. To a Kikuyu, having many wives was equated with being wealthy. Polygamy also increased the size of the family. 4. During the Mau Mau rebellion, fighters sang songs to remind us of Chege Kibiru's prophecy. One was: Chege wa kiibiru nioigire Thingira riria wi Kiawairera Riria ugakwo na urike Noguo tukona wiyathi. Bururi uyu witu Gikuyu Ngai niaturathimiire Na akiuga tutiokoima kuo.

Chege son of Kibiru said, Putting up a building at Kiawairera When it is built and completed, Then we shall win freedom. This country of the Kikuyu God gave it to us with his blessing And said that we shall not leave it.

Editor's note: Chege Kibiru was a nineteenth-century Kikuyu seer, who probably died in 1905. He and Waiyaki have become iconoclastic heroes of Kikuyu independence struggles. Chege Kibiru is reputed to have had a dream foretelling the appearance of the Europeans, who would bring chaos and the conquest of the Kikuyu. Some versions of his advice to the Kikuyu maintain that he counseled them not to resist, to stay uninvolved and learn the invaders' secrets of power, in expectation of the day they would depart. For fuller discussion of Kibiru and a comparison with Waiyaki wa Hinga, see Lonsdale, "The Prayers of Waiyaki," pp. 240-247, 263-280; and Jomo Kenyatta, Facing Mount Kenya (London: Seeker and Warburg, 1938), pp. 4-14. 5. The Kikuyu term kiaganu also suggests "naughty" or "cheeky." 6. "Mambere" meant "forward," meaning we were ahead of other girls in education, Christianity, and development.

3 Early Days in the Mau Mau Movement

As a sixteen-year-old schoolgirl, I did not know much about being a freedom fighter, although I read such newspapers as the East African Standard and Daily Chronicle and knew about Jomo Kenyatta's pronouncements. I had read his book Facing Mount Kenya and Kenyatta himself was a frequent visitor to our home. He and the late Mbiyu Koinange would come and lie on the grass outside our house and have discussions with my father for hours on end.l But, as children, we did not know what they were discussing. By the time the State of Emergency was declared, I had already taken my first Mau Mau oath, albeit unknowingly. This happened during one of the school holidays in 1952. I had assumed the oath to be associated with the Girl Guide movement, of which I was a member. A cousin named Timothy Chege took me and another woman to a place called Gaitumbi. She worked on our farm and was related to my mother. Both were aware of my intense resentment of the brutal treatment my great-grandfather Waiyaki wa Hinga had suffered at the hands of the colonialists, for I had openly said that I was prepared to do anything to avenge him. I was told very little when we arrived at Gaitumbi. I was asked whether I was menstruating. (I later learned that a menstruating woman was disqualified from taking the oath at that time, as menstruation was regarded as dirty and a cause of misfortune.) I answered "No," and in turn received a hard slap, the purpose of which was not clear to me. I was then ordered to shed all my clothes except my bra and knickers. I was led into a poorly lit room where a group of people were casually sitting. On one side were two sugarcane poles standing erect with their tips tied to form an arch. The poles were tall enough for a person to pass underneath. Each initiate was told to walk through the arch seven times. Then I was tied to the other initiates with a long goatskin, which I later learned was called "Rukwaro." In a single line, we again walked through the two poles seven times. After that 33

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Mau Mau's Daughter

an old man brought a calabash and told each of us to drink a mouthful of a concoction of blood and soil. I nearly threw up because it smelled like goat's intestines. However, I remembered the words of my mother's relative-freedom would not come easily. Kenyatta's similar sentiments had appeared in the newspapers on many occasions. I therefore forced myself to swallow everything. Then I took the oath of allegiance. Repeating carefully after an instructor, I swore to: 1. Fight for the soil of Gikuyu and Mumbi's children, which had been stolen from them by the whites. 2. If possible, get a gun from a white or a black collaborator and any other valuables or money to help strengthen the movement. 3. Kill anyone who was against the movement, even if that person was my brother. 4. Never reveal what had just happened or any other information disclosed to me as a member of the movement, but always to do my utmost to strengthen the movement; and if I didn't keep my words, may the oath kill me.

This ceremony took place a few months before the Emergency was declared. The State of Emergency kept me from studying abroad. I left school in 1953 and was supposed to join my elder sister and brothers who were studying in England, but because of the state of affairs in the country I couldn't leave. Finding myself with more time on my hands, I became even more eager to learn about freedom activities and followed the discussions more closely. I continued helping with the farm and house chores and became friendly with a woman farmworker to whom I often related matters concerning freedom-fighting activities. I told her of my indignation that Waiyaki had been brutally murdered by the whites and that Kinyanjui wa Gathirimu, the black collaborator, had been rewarded for his betrayal of our people with the office of paramount chief. She would talk to me about politics and I realized she knew more about Mau Mau than I did. Finally she trusted me enough to reveal her knowledge of the movement. She said that by joining it, I would assist in getting rid of colonialists and their black collaborators. I had not revealed to her that I had already taken the oath. I felt that I still did not really belong to the movement, despite having taken the oath. However, now that I was no longer in school, I wanted to participate more in its activities. So we made a plan. One night when everyone else was asleep, I sneaked out through the window. She and other members of Mau Mau were waiting for me. Together, we went again to Gaitumbi, to the homestead of a man called Mumira, where I took my second oath, which was similar to the one I had taken two years earlier.

Early Days in the Mau Mau Movement

35

Shortly after this oath-taking, there occurred an incident that left me with a terrible feeling of guilt. One night at home we heard gunshots outside. My mother began to open a window to peep out. I already knew that an attack on the Kinoo Home Guard post was under way and had marked our gate with a special sign so the Mau Mau would know that our home helped the movement. Although I knew we would be left alone, I feared that a stray bullet might hit my mother, so I went after her, closing the windows. I was wrestling with her as she opened one window after another. She was puzzled by my strange behavior, but I did not explain because I was under oath. My real worry was that she might get hurt. Later I learned that that was exactly what had happened to my uncle, Muchugia Wambaa, whose ear was injured. I protested to the Mau Mau War Council because, with the help of my cousin Chege, I had marked all my close relatives' homes as "safe." I could do this honestly because my relatives had not collaborated with the colonialists. After the attack on the Kinoo Home Guard post, I took my second oath at Kinoo in the bush near a river (I considered the first two oaths to be one oath). I took the third oath at Waithaka, at the home of Wairimu wa Wagaca, who was called "Nyina wa Andu" (mother of the people), a very determined freedom fighter. 2 The other oaths I took varied according to reasons for taking them or actions one was supposed to complete after taking them. Some were meant to strengthen previous ones, while others like Kindu or Mbatuni (battalion or platoon) were very serious and were administered only to the real fighters and scouts. I took Mbatuni voluntarily and felt more commitment to Mau Mau thereafter, convinced it was the only way Kenya could be free. The oath made believers keep secrets. Above all, it brought unity to Mau Mau's members. Through certain signs and modes of greeting, we were able to identify one another. We also had a code of regulations that we adhered to. I took nine oaths altogether during my time as a Mau Mau.3 From 1952 to 1954, the government was on the defensive against Mau Mau. On April 23, 1954, two years after the State of Emergency had been declared, government forces began Operation Anvil.4 The following day my father was arrested and detained at Langata Camp. He was later moved to the camp at Mackinnon Road and finally detained at Camp No. 6 in Manyani. From there he wrote us a letter that read: "I am in Manyani Camp. I am keeping well. I have sent this letter with an officer who will collect my clothes. Yours, T. W. Munyua." Matters worsened as the State of Emergency continued. People were arrested arbitrarily by the panicked colonial administration. All it took was a little suspicion for one to be branded a Mau Mau. This also encouraged black collaborators to accuse people of being Mau Mau with little or no proof. I personally knew many people who got into trouble yet who had

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had nothing whatsoever to do with our movement. It became increasingly difficult not to take sides. Despite all this, I felt as determined as ever. In my mind I had no doubt that I was fighting for a just cause, and I owe my gratitude to the late Muiruri Waiyaki, my cousin, who helped me survive those early trying days. He inspired me and boosted my morale during the lengthy hours I spent with him. I felt a great sense of loss when he was captured at Kahawa and hanged by court order. May God rest his soul in peace. My fighting spirit was aroused to a frenzy one day when my mother was almost hit on the head by a European called Peter. The incident took place when I was in our homestead garden near Kiharu River. As I came up the path, I immediately sensed something had happened. My mother's unsteady gait and the way she carried herself brought tears to my eyes. I suggested that we lodge a complaint with the district officer at Kikuyu, but she was hesitant. She said we must exercise caution. "Times are bad," she said. However, I was not going to let the matter end there. If she was not prepared to do something about it, then I was. My mother suggested that she go to Thogoto Mission to inform Reverend MacPherson. I had no time for that suggestion. To me, they were all colonialists, and indeed they were. Without informing her, I hurriedly dressed, took fifty cents for bus fare from her drawer, and left. When I arrived at the district officer's office, I encountered a disgusting sight. The body of a Mukurinu5 preacher who had been killed near Muguga had been brought and put on public display. The Europeans had removed his turban to reveal his dreadlocks, and to the ignorant public he was a convincing Mau Mau terrorist. There was a queue of people waiting for travel passes. I jumped to the head of the queue and stormed into the DO's office. Mr. Martin, the assistant DO, was not amused by the intrusion. But I was in no mood for compromise. He shouted at me and I shouted back. I intended to make as much of a scene as possible. My anger at my mother's treatment was so great that I did not care if they killed me for confronting them. The Home Guards cocked their rifles menacingly at me, and I dared them to shoot me. I was too angry to care. But their commander, Kiarie wa Wambari, did not give the order to fire. The senior DO, Mr. Kemble, ordered that I be taken to his office, and he asked me to compose myself so that we could discuss the matter rationally. I left his office only after he had agreed to have Peter removed from the Kinoo Home Guard post. Luckily, as I walked out I met Senior Chief Josiah Njonjo Mugane and a police officer, Eli John, who assisted in seeing that Peter was removed from that area. Peter was a lunatic who, when he could not find an excuse to shoot at Africans, would ask for sheep or goats to be brought to him so he could mow them down with his gun, after which he would calm down. Meanwhile, investigations were going on concerning my father, who

Early Days in the Mau Mau Movement

37

was still in detention. Special policemen from the Criminal Investigation Division (C.I.D.) visited our home many times at night in a futile search for evidence to prove his role in Mau Mau. Finally they had to release him. I owe my gratitude to Peter Okola, who saved my life during those searches, as I could not resist battling with the colonial police. Okola, who had worked with my father on the police force, became the director of intelligence after independence. During my father's absence from home, our family suffered many hardships. For lack of money, my brothers in England had to discontinue their education. My mother took risky train trips to Nairobi to collect rent from our house, No. 490 in Pumwani. She traveled without a pass and would have gotten into much trouble had she been discovered.6 We also felled black wattle trees and sold the wood and bark to Muguga Ginnery to supplement our income. Through all these hardships, I was active in the movement, surprisingly quite unknown to my mother. She was so innocent in her pursuit of Christianity that she became almost oblivious to what was happening around her. Still, to be on the safe side, I adopted my nickname, "Wagio" (which I later changed to "Msaja"), so that my real name would not filter back and connect me with Mau Mau activities.

DAYS AS AN URBAN GUERRILLA

By late 1954, I had become so deeply involved with Mau Mau, I could no longer pretend to be leading an ordinary village girl's life. I therefore did the best thing under the circumstances-Iran away to Nairobi. My mother, in her ignorance, thought I had eloped with a man, because in those days that was the only thing that could take a girl away from her home. She reported my absence to the police, and because of my father's seniority in the force before his detention, she was given the best detectives to assist her. From our hideout in Kibera, we received information through our lookouts that my mother and some policemen were seen searching for me around Kibera Railway Station. By the time they reached the hideout, we were long gone and well on our way to another hideout in Makadara. In Nairobi, I became a full-time Mau Mau. Among my early assignments were orders to get documents from Government House (today State House), using the governor's secretary-the equivalent of a comptroller today. This was no easy task as it involved telling a lot of lies and making false promises. I had to keep the man's advances at bay yet remain friendly enough for him not to suspect my real interest in Government House. My other responsibilities included emolling house servants into the movement. They were useful when we wanted to gain access to either firearms or vital documents in their masters' houses. The servants conveniently left doors

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unlocked and windows unlatched. They would spy on their masters and pass on any useful information. At times they would be in better positions to obtain documents. For example, if the master were drunk and there was a paper we wanted, the servant would pass it on, and we would quickly make copies. By the time he sobered up the following morning, the master would find the original papers exactly where he had left them. The kind of papers we were keen to obtain were those such as memoranda meant to be sent to the Colonial Office in London. These memoranda contained information that wrongly represented the Africans, and unless we immediately denounced them through our press and public platforms, the Colonial Office was bound to believe a one-sided story. One man who really helped was Mzee Shiyuka, the governor's driver. Mzee Shiyuka's son, Peter, later became an ace safari rally driver and a permanent secretary. After I took my fourth and fifth oaths at Ruiru, I went back to scouting and smuggling firearms and information with renewed zeal. A typical Mau Mau scout was a young, smartly dressed woman; rarely were they men. Because she was required to disguise herself every now and then, her working tools included paraphernalia such as wigs, various uniforms, buibui (the caftan-like dress and head cover worn by Muslim women), and makeup. Once in disguise, the scout visited a targeted area. She gathered information about the area's layout and other relevant bits and pieces that she passed on to the appropriate battalion. When the attack came, it was swift and devastating. I was arrested several times while scouting, but at no time was there enough evidence to prosecute me. I remember one such arrest at Eastleigh Section Three on my way to Bahati to deliver a message to the War Council. When I was arraigned before the court, the police witnesses who testified against me gave conflicting evidence. Some said they found me loitering. Others said my movements were like those of Mau Maus. I maintained that I had gone to Eastleigh to visit a friend, although it was night. The late Mrs. Jemima Gechaga, who was then a probation officer and a close relative of mine, also put in a lot of effort to set me free. In the end, the case was thrown out for lack of evidence. Another time a Home Guard by the name of Mary Nyamato arrested me under circumstances almost identical to those in the Eastleigh incident. She sympathized with me because of my age and let me go, but not before she made me carry her heavy bunch of Bagandan bananas all the way from Burma Market to Donholm Road. A short time after the Bagandan bananas incident, I was chosen to lead a group whose sole responsibility would be to obtain firearms, since the demand for guns was rising as our activities intensified. This was difficult by any standards-guns were scarce and the risks were enormous. I decided to enlist the help of taxi drivers and single women. I divided them into cells so that one cell did not know what the other was doing. This was both

Early Days in the Mau Mau Movement

39

for their safety and for that of the movement. In case of capture, one individual was less likely to be able to jeopardize the activities of the others. I also decided to use a little psychology in my endeavors. I had seen the British soldiers and knew they were like small boys who could not be kept in the barracks for any length of time. They were easy prey for attractive girls. I stationed these girls at strategic points, mainly nightclubs, which the soldiers frequented. One very popular spot was Dinaz Bar on Tom Mboya Street, then known as Victoria Street. The girls would arrive at Dinaz Bar in the evening looking their best. They smoked and drank a lot. This was important because it encouraged the soldiers to indulge themselves. As for the girls, whenever they felt they were getting tipsy, they were under instructions to go to the toilet and induce vomiting by pushing the fingers as far down the throat as they would go. This left them in a more sober state than their soldier partners. When it was time to leave for the girls' lodgings, taxis driven by our men were ready. After dropping the passengers off, the taxi would wait at a prearranged place because the women might emerge anytime with the evening's prize catch, the gun and ammunition. Sometimes they got cash as well. Once the girl was back in the taxi, a quick getaway was made. The risks were high for the women involved, but with dedication and precise timing, almost every operation was a success, and our stockpile of arms rose dramatically. Some girls became so daring that they accompanied the soldiers to their barracks at Kahawa or Gilgil. At first I was apprehensive, but when they explained it to me, I realized we could turn their being accepted at the barracks to our advantage. They told me that at the barracks they were treated as mere prostitutes, which suited us very well. Any method that could secure arms for us was acceptable. Security at the barracks was lax and the girls were never intercepted. This way they were able to smuggle out guns (and sometimes a whole belt of live ammunition) in their handbags without interception. I laid out a new strategy for confrontation. The result was that a fresh battalion of soldiers would arrive from Britain and in a few weeks only a handful remained. Mau Mau fighters were wiping them out by the dozens. My girls were passing on information to the Mau Mau about the goings-on in the barracks, so that at any given time we knew very well the positions of the troops in the barracks.

MA.u MA.u GIRL ScouT

The War Council was so impressed with my success that they decided to assign me higher duties of scouting in the countryside, a task quite different from scouting in the city. It was a lonely and often hazardous job. My first

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assignments were to spy on the Kirwara police post and the Kandara Home Guard post, installations we intended to attack. Wearing a buibui to disguise myself, I traveled from Nairobi by train. Because of my light complexion, I easily passed for somebody from the coast. I deliberately wore the buibui to enhance this impression. At Thika, I met my contact man, a Kalenjin police constable at the Thika police station. He briefed me about the situation at Kirwara, then introduced me to a post office employee, a Kamba who was also a member of the movement. We were able to identify one another by means of a code. My contact, the postman, and I visited Kirwara and surveyed the area. I took the relevant information-details about the layout of the police post, the number of men staffing it, the location of the armory, and the best directions from which to attack-to Ruiru, and it was further relayed to the higher authorities in Nyandarua Forest. Thus, the stage was set. My mission to the Kirwara police post was successful, and the Mau Mau killed eight policemen. I moved on to Kandara where I collected the data for an assault on the Home Guard post before calling at a friend's house. She was called Karen Wanjiku. She welcomed me warmly, although she was not expecting me. She did not even know that I was a Mau Mau. After I had rested, we went for a stroll around the Kandara shopping center. However, the security was tighter than I had expected and I was quickly arrested because I could not produce a movement permit on demand. Ironically, I was held at the Home Guard post. Karen was known to the police and she was not arrested. Nevertheless, she did not abandon me but informed the headmaster of Kandara Secondary School, who, coincidentally, was from my home area. He did a lot to secure my release. My cover story was that a man hailing from Kandara, who wanted to marry me by force, had abducted me from Muthiga, only to abandon me at Kandara. When asked exactly where in Kandara he came from, I became so dumb about it that they gave up. My story remained consistent and in the end they believed it because incidents of abductions of girls were not uncommon in those days. As a result, I was released. The guards gave me food before I was escorted to Kihumbu-ini. At Kihumbu-ini I nearly got into serious trouble when I complained bitterly about the rough treatment I had witnessed some people receiving while in the custody of the Home Guards. From the way I talked, a Home Guard headman, popularly known by illiterate fighters as "Leader Home Guard," became suspicious. Had it not been for the presence of the area chief, I would have been severely beaten. The chief allowed me to stay at the home of a former schoolmate, Wanjiru wa Gitei, whom I encountered at Kihumbi-ini. To this day she does not know the truth about my visit. The same chief arranged for my return to Nairobi. I was to accompany Senior Chief Ndung'u Kagori of Gatanga, who was going to attend a meeting of chiefs and anti-Mau Mau leaders at Government House. Since my second

Early Days in the Mau Mau Movement

41

mission was already complete (I had taken the opportunity to spy around while at the Kandara Home Guard post), I readily agreed to go with him. At Gatanga I met some of our scouts, who had learned that I had been arrested at Kandara and were on the way to investigate. I briefed them on the latest developments and took the opportunity to pass on the information on how best to attack Kandara, and now Kihumbu-ini as well. Later I learned that our fighters attacked the places I had spied on and that they killed eight policemen at the Kirwara police station. The Kihumbu-ini Home Guard post was also attacked, but with less success than in Kandara, where ninety-three white soldiers were killed. They were part of a battalion sent by the Queen to fight us. The British forces were so humiliated by the defeat that they painted the dead bodies black, then reversed the victory, claiming they had killed ninety-three terrorists. And that became the "official version" of the incident. A few days later I left for Nairobi, in the company of Senior Chief Ndung'u, Senior Chief Muhoya, and Githu (a notorious Home Guard called "Speaker"). I was amused that I should be traveling with three men whose ideals were quite the opposite from mine. While they were dedicated to destroying Mau Mau, I was devotedly serving the movement. At Government House they left me in the car and went to look for someone to give me a lift to Muthiga. Apparently the meeting started before they could find anyone, because none of them returned immediately. I located some of our members who were employees at Government House. They gave me a spy camera, one of the many donated to us by President Joseph Tito of Yugoslavia, who was a staunch supporter of Mau Mau. I took photographs of all the delegates at the meeting. The roll of film was quickly smuggled to our superiors in the bush. After the meeting, the delegates proceeded to the Norfolk Hotel for a reception. Chief Ndung'u assigned one of the delegates to take me home after the reception. He left me in his car and went to drink in the hotel. He also left his briefcase containing notes of the meeting and the resultant memorandum, which was to be sent to the Colonial Office in London. It denounced the Mau Mau movement and all the delegates had signed it. I took the papers from the briefcase. One of our taxi drivers who was nearby rushed me to Kivuli House, where we copied them. When I returned to the Norfolk, the delegate was tipsily chatting up a white woman. He had no idea what I had done. As I had had no intention of going back to Muthiga in the first place, I lied to him, saying that someone else had offered to take me home. I pretended that I was anxious to reach home quickly. His countenance showed that he was glad to see me go. Our fighters continued to score remarkable victories in areas around Kijabe, Uplands, and Naivasha. One of the members of the group that raided the Naivasha police station was Muiru wa Mang'ara, a cousin on my

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mother's side. He was born and raised in Naivasha, so he knew the area welL The group picked me to scout for them. I traveled to Naivasha via Muguga and Uplands, sometimes on foot and sometimes by bus. At the police station I asked to see an officer whom I knew had already been transferred. Meanwhile, with my now-expert eyes, I took in the locations of the buildings, and especially what I thought most likely to be the armory. In scouting, it was sometimes very difficult to explain certain things verbally, especially positions and the best directions from which to attack. It was therefore necessary to draw them on a piece of paper, but such drawings had to be destroyed immediately in order to eliminate evidence. I became better at drawing sketches and maps than I had ever learned to be in school because of my negative attitude toward mathematics. Ironically, mathematics and geography were the only important subjects to me now. I furnished the relevant information to the Mau Mau and the subsequent battle became the biggest the Mau Mau had ever launched against a colonial installation. It came to be known as "The Great Battle of Naivasha" and is still remembered by many. The whites and their collaborators died in large numbers, for we had taken them completely unawares. Many died at the hands of Muiru, who had strategically positioned himself at a vantage point. He felled the enemy one by one as they unsuspectingly ran into his trap. He was later captured and detained. The fight spilled from the station precincts into the surrounding areas. As a result, many squatters in the Rift Valley farms suspected of aiding the movement by scouting and spying were later deported to remote areas. Scouting or gathering intelligence was not a simple task, and the War Council knew that without scouts no war would be waged or won. As I mentioned before, scouts had to be women for various reasons. Women normally look innocent and are able to change with every setting. Scouting in war is really espionage or the transportation of vital information or valuable items from one location to another; scouts also had to see to the maintenance of our weapons. A spy had to go to an area that the fighters intended to attack and find out all the essential details. Such a place could be near a police station or a Home Guard post. One would first have to make friends, find out the comings and goings thereabouts, and then assess the situation: Did the officers drink exceptionally heavily? Or were they fascinated by women? Who posed no threat after what specific hours? How many officers would remain aware of their surroundings after specific hours? All these sundry details would have to be unearthed before a scout could report to the War CounciL These reports had to be precise, as a small mistake could cause the fighters to incur heavy losses. The scouts were the ones who arranged the whole attack, including details such as the number of attackers required and the weapons to be used, from which direction to attack, and in which direction to run in case of trouble. Even the place of retreat for regrouping was decided upon by the scout. It had to be a hideout

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43

that could not be discovered. If the program failed, the results were disastrous and it would be blamed on the particular scout who had planned it.

*

*

*

The reader might infer from my narratives that scouting was an easy job. To the contrary, it was an occupation full of unpredictable pitfalls with danger lurking in every comer. Scouts lived from day to day, as one wrong move could mean death. I remember one time when I ran into a police screening team near Khoja Mosque in Nairobi. I was smuggling a faulty gun that I was taking to be repaired. The penalty for possessing an unlicensed firearm those days was a mandatory death sentence. My wits saved me. I managed to keep cool on the outside and was not searched. Luckily, I had perfected the art of assuming an innocent young girl's expression. That, coupled with my very light complexion, always helped disguise my identity. Who would suspect a woman who looked like a Goan,7 of all people, of being a Mau Mau activist? However, the incident left me shaken as it had been yet another close shave with death. It was also not easy to keep morale high. Many things could and did go wrong. I would ask myself if there was any point in going on because it was so easy to be betrayed. I could carefully and painfully plan a certain course of action only to be sabotaged by a traitor in the eleventh hour. I would then wonder why we should fight for freedom for the same people who were busy betraying the cause. The betrayals lent support to the colonialists' popular claim at the time that Africans were not yet ready to rule themselves. Whenever we felt defeated, or hungry, or depressed, or had lost hope, we were encouraged to sing Mau Mau nationalist songs. Songs are a very effective method of boosting morale, especially under trying circumstances. The Mau Mau songs written here are the ones I found most inspiring. The sources of strength I found when I was a member of Mau Mau helped me later in life. People often wonder how one would survive this or that kind of ordeal, but the real secret is saying prayers to the almighty God, singing songs, and having determination. Make no mistake, Mau Maus believed in God. We held prayers facing Mount Kenya and regarded God as our only shield. The ()ther source of inspiration is believing in whatever one is doing and not having a guilty conscience. If one is convinced that the cause is just, then God gives the power needed to march on. Another source of strength is to take an interest in something to do when hard times are at their peak; and you will find out that nobody can make you become depressed. I took an interest in knitting. When the government detained me and my young children during the Emergency, I took an interest in making clothes for them; I bought the materials with the small allowances that were given to them, and I pulled through.

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During the violence of the Mau Mau days it was difficult to raise children, since as a freedom fighter, scout, and member of the inner circle, I never knew when I might be betrayed, arrested, or killed. I had three children before 1960. When not engaged in party business, I took care of them myself. My mother and a nanny also helped me take care of them. My fiance, to whom I was engaged for ten years, supplied money for the children's care. We delayed our marriage because my stepgrandfather opposed it. I also earned money by typing letters for the trade union. In my spare time, I worked as a bookkeeper. For a long time I lived rent-free in my father's rental property. My mother frequently sent food to me in Nairobi from our farm in Kiambu. Without their support, I would not have been able to raise my children to be the strong, beautiful people they are. My fiance and I intended to get married after my stepgrandfather's objections were overcome. We stayed together until I was arrested and detained at Lamu detention camp. In my Mau Mau days, both before and after my detention, freedom songs inspired us very much. To me the most inspiring songs were the hymns "When the Storms of Life Are Raging," and "Trust and Obey." I believed in God and his son Jesus Christ, and the Presbyterian Church, and from that faith I was not easily moved.

SoNGS (NYIMBO)

Muthenya umwe Kaloleni Muthenya umwe Kaloleni K wari na mucemanio Ni Kenyatta Wamuirire Ni Muingi wagutuma. Riria Mbiyu arugamire Akiuga nindetikira Ngemi na hi Kaloleni Ciariraga ta igutha. Kenyatta aakira kirindi Ndina Mbica ngumuonia Nigio mumenye na ngoro Wira uria murutaga. Kenyatta aakira Kirindi Ngwenda mwikire kiyo Niguo mutumwo Achieng' Arumirire Mbiyu Nikuoirire Mbura nene

One day at Kaloleni Hall There was a meeting, It is Kenyatta who told him That it is the people who have sent you. When Mbiyu in turn stood up And declared his acceptance Sounds of joy of ululations and clapping Made loud noise like slingshots. Kenyatta told the people He had a photograph to show them So they might know deep inside their hearts The work they have been doing. Kenyatta told the people He would like them to double their efforts So that their servant Achieng' May follow Mbiyu [and add him to the delegation]. It rained heavily at the airport,

Early Days in the Mau Mau Movement Kiharo-ini kia ndege Naguo muingi ukiumiriria Mbiyu akihaica ndege.

But the people persevered, And waited until Mbiyu boarded the plane.

Nuu ucio urahaica ndege Eroreiruo ni andu Niwe Mbiyu wa Koinange Niwe Mutumwo Witu.

Who is that getting into the plane While our people are watching? He is Mbiyu s/o Koinange He is our delegate.

45

The second song was sung when we prayed facing Mt. Kenya. Thimu ni yahuriruo Yumite Githunguri Ya Jomo kana nitwakinyire Naithui nitwacokirie Kieha Kiria twi nakio Nokia Josephine Riria aathikagwo.

A telephone rang From Githunguri From Jomo Kenyatta asking Whether we had arrived? We replied that the only worry we had Was for Josephine when she was being buried. 8

Chorus Hoyai rna Thai-thai rna Niamu Ngai no uria watene

Pray hard, Praise hard For he is the same god of our fathers.

Muiritu urnwe niakuire Niundu wa kuhuhita Niundu wa kuria nyama cia mbogo Muthungu umwe niokire Na icembe na icakuri Wona agithikwo no ta itaruru.

A girl died After she was full of gas From eating zebra meat. One European came With a hoe and spade And buried her like a tray.

Kenyatta mwendwo ni iri Mutangiri ruriri Ngai arotura amurathimaga Mbiyu muriithia ciana Mutangiri ruriri Ngai arotura amurathimaga

Kenyatta, the beloved by the generations, The savior of our nation May God keep on blessing him. Mbiyu, the shepherd of the children, The savior of our nation May God keep on blessing him.

Kenyatta niagathiruo Ni ciana na atumia Riria mathiite kuoheruo Yatta

Kenyatta was praised By children and women When they were taken to prison [in Yatta]. The love I witnessed From children and women When a bean is dropped They share it equally.

Wendani uria ndonire Wa ciana na atumia Mboco yagwa thi Makenyurana

The third song was important to me, as I had taken part in planning the attack it commemorated. Even if my work may not have been much, it made it so much easier for those arranging the attack. It was sung as follows:

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Chorus Twathiaga tukenete Tugacoka tukenete Rugendo ruitu Rwarirwega Tugithii na tugicoka.

We were happy as we went We were happy as we returned Our journey was good When going and when returning.

Na twakinya rui ruiru Tugikora kamuthuri. Gakiuga ni gekuga mbu. Mathenge akiuga Karekuo koige Koigithanio na njirungi Twathiathia hanini Tugikora mburi ikuite Mathenge akiuga Tutingimiria Tutikanyitwo ni thahu

When we reached the black river We found a small old man. He threatened to wail. General Mathenge said Let him wail and Wail him with bullets. As we went further on We found a dead goat. Mathenge said We cannot eat it Lest we be cursed.

Natwakinya Loco One Tugithinjiruo gategwa Gagicamuka icamuka rimue ltungati igituma rigu

As we reached Location One A calf was slaughtered for us It boiled once The patriots took with them Something to eat.

NoTES 1. Mbiyu Koinange was a freedom fighter and at one point was president of the Kenya African Union (KAU); he later became its secretary-general. He was a member of the Kikuyu Central Association. Just before the State of Emergency was declared in October 1952, KAU sent Mbiyu to the Colonial Office to present its grievances. Because of the Emergency, he could not return home and lived in exile in London. He later moved to Ghana to work with the Pan-African Congress. 2. When the colonialists and their black collaborators raided her home, there ensued a fierce battle during which both sides suffered heavy casualties. Wairimu died later, years into independence, at a ripe old age. She was honorably buried by Dr. Njoroge Mungai, then member of Parliament for Dagoretti, and his constituents. 3. Editor's note: For a fuller discussion of the traditional significance of oathing and its role in the Mau Mau rebellion, see Greet Kershaw, Mau Mau from Below, pp. 223-226, 264-268, 311-320. 4. Operation Anvil was launched early in the morning of April 23, 1954. Every Kikuyu in Nairobi, Central Province, and the Rift Valley was rounded up and questioned. Many were taken to Langata Camp, on the grounds of Langata Prison. Others were taken to Embakasi, where they were compelled to work on building the airport. The detention camps were part of the pipeline, where people were held awaiting a decision after their interrogation. Without trial, thousands of Kikuyu were sent to Mackinnon Road and Manyani Camp. Later on, the captives (migwate) were transferred to various detention camps all over the country. Others were repatriated to their home districts. Those who were squatters in the White Highlands and those who had no land were transported to Kiambu District and abandoned there.

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47

Others from Olenguruone (in Maasailand) were exiled or detained in Yatta in the Eastern Province, a Kamba area. 5. The Akurinu religious sect had several unusual beliefs. Their members did not go to hospitals when they needed care. They wore turbans and allowed their hair to grow into dreadlocks. They also refused to shake hands. They believed in maintaining traditional religion and offered their prayers while facing Mt. Kenya. During their services, they beat drums and sang very loudly. They also claimed to be seers and to communicate with God directly. 6. Before the Emergency was declared, Africans were required to carry a pass when outside their home districts. During the Emergency, pass regulations were tightened. A passbook or permit to travel was issued to all Kikuyu who were not in prison or under restriction. Without their passbooks, they could visit or reside only in the specified areas. If they needed to attend a relative's funeral outside their reservation, they would have to obtain special permission from the administration. The passport to travel was given only to people thought not to have taken the oath. 7. In general, Goans have lighter complexions than Kikuyu. 8. Josephine had been a student at Kenya Teachers' College, Githunguri.

Wambui Waiyaki in 1955: a Mau Mau scout in guerrilla uniform.

4 Party Politics in Nairobi

To detect and apprehend persons involved in the Mau Mau movement, security forces and government officials scheduled roundups of persons suspected of being involved in the movement. Part of the process involved screenings, which were police interrogations. You were asked several questions by a tribunal of different people from your home area. The chairman of the screening committee would be the area chief. The line of interrogation would seek to find out if you had taken the oath, knew of others who had taken the oath, or aided the movement. It was very much like a crossexamination in court. I In 1955 I was arrested and taken to the chief's camp at Waithaka, where a screening team composed of people from my area was holding screening sessions. I was screened, but with the help of my step grandfather, Reverend Benjamin Githieya Waiyaki, I was released. Before the release, however, I was issued with a certificate entitled "Thought not to have taken the oath"; this helped me carry on with my task. I was able to acquire a passbook and move freely around Nairobi. At night, a passbook holder had to keep to the area specified in the certificate. However, I violated this Emergency order again and again, using my other weapons, such as my light complexion, which disguised my Kikuyu appearance. One day I was arrested, but since I was not far from the specified area, I was fined only 250/- Kenya shillings (Ksh).2

THE MA.u MA.u AlliANCE WITH THE TRADE UNION MOVEMENT

By 1955, Mau Mau operations had become very difficult, as most Kikuyus were either detained, imprisoned, or restricted. Funds for operation also became scarce as most of the money collected went to lawyers and to pay 49

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the fines imposed on our comrades. This state of affairs required a new strategy to ensure the continuation of our operations. Some of us joined the trade union movement, which took over most of our freedom-fighting activities between 1955 and 1957. After that, real differences developed between us. Through the union movement, other tribes started joining us in large numbers. A number of Asians and Europeans had also joined the freedom movement, and although we gave only a few of them our Mau Mau oath, they were very hardworking and collaborated with us in all our work. Europeans such as Lady Shaw, Mrs. Shaw, S. V. Cook, and R. S. Alexander also helped highlight our just cause in the Legislative Council. Sheikh Amin, then an advocate of the High Court of Kenya, Shri Gautama, and Shri Desai also helped in our fight against colonialism. I shall not forget what we owe Asians like Manubhai Patel, a bookbinder, and his wife. Mrs. Patel carried the portrait of Mzee Kenyatta to every demonstration and public meeting. Along with her husband, she helped us obtain Asian signatures to support the campaign to release Mzee Kenyatta and his fellow detainees. They did not take up arms but they organized large demonstrations, meetings, and boycotts. We organized demonstrations and boycotts from Alvi House, the head office of the Kenya Federation of Labour (KFL). Through its affiliated organizations, KFL helped us to organize our activities despite the fact that it was risky for Tom Mboya, president of KFL, to allow us to carry on political activities in his trade union office. However, the African labor unions had worked with the nationalists before when Kivuli House, another trade union office, had been used as a political center. While operating covertly under the Kenya Federation of Labour name, we read in the local press that Princess Margaret, the sister of Queen Elizabeth II, would visit Kenya. The colonial government touted this as a great state and social event and used it for political propaganda. A government memorandum was issued stating that Kenyans did not want Uhuru (independence) for another fifteen years. Roxana Kala, Rhoda, Musa Nyandusu, and I stayed all night in the Alvi offices duplicating pamphlets that denied that statement. Their distribution angered the British officials very much because they had thought that the Princess would influence her sister, the Queen. The administration had organized musicians to sing a welcoming song for Margaret that was to be performed by Kenyans from the coast: Princess Margaret Mama mdogo we! Karibu dada nchi ya Kenya. Princess Margaret Mama mdogo we! Karibu dada tuonane.

Princess Margaret, Young Lady! Welcome, sister, to the country of Kenya. Princess Margaret, Young Lady! Welcome, sister, we meet.

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My colleagues switched the song and instead sang an Uhuru songand made sure that we sang it in English-delivering a message that Princess Margaret and the governor could not mistake. When I am summoned on a service (3x) I'll never, never surrender. I'll never, never, never, never, never, never never, never surrender. (2x) In the highways, in the byways (3x) I'll never, never surrender. I'll never, never, never, never, never, never never, never surrender. (2x)

This song was sung so emotionally that the princess's welcome was marred. I must assure the reader that this is not fiction. All these activities brought a lot of suffering to our people; many were crippled and many died. It hurts me when I read some writers' descriptions of freedom fighters as political agitators, because these were people who devoted their lives and time to fighting for their country's freedom. Colonial officials then saw how dangerous our fight had become and decided to use the usual tactics of divide and rule. Having realized that their propaganda had failed, they began circulating lies, saying, for example, that the Kikuyu ate human flesh and killed women and children. However, these tactics also failed, and other tribes were ready to fight alongside the Kikuyu. Finally, the government agreed to recognize and register political parties. One such party was the Congress Party, whose first president was Chiedo M. Argwings-Kodhek. The Asian Congress already existed. Both parties started working very closely with each other, but many Africans thought the Congress Party did not carry out its duties properly. It should be remembered that at this time Argwings-Kodhek's license to practice law was revoked. With such personal problems, he was unable to strengthen the party. In order to have a strong party at that time, a leader had to commit his full time to political activities. And that could lead to prison at any moment. It should also be remembered that Africans still could not participate in elections. The government permitted us only to have government-nominated members in the Legislative Council. These included Ron. Eliud Mathu, Ron. John Muchura, Ron. Jemima Gechaga, and Ron. Daniel arap Moi, who had been nominated after the resignation of Dr. Ole Tameno.3 Although at times some of these members tried to support some of our claims, they were too few and divided to be able to air our views. The power of a nominated member is very limited in a colonial system. Of course, some of these people sided with their British masters, with little regard for what would happen to their own people. This is the case

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even today in independent Kenya. The twelve nominated members of Parliament are in that category. Without an ability to elect members to Parliament, the Congress Party began to break apart. As Congress failed, the Kenya Federation of Labour Movement again took over most of our struggle. Its president, the late Tom Mboya, was a son of the soil, a man of his words, and a great son of Africa. I remember him with a great deal of admiration for his stand in the freedom struggle. Tom and a few of us later decided to form another political party popularly known as the NPCP (Nairobi People's Convention Party), which we registered in 1958. The time is ripe for me to tell you of Kenya's political boom that came soon after the formation of Nairobi People's Convention Party. The party's name was adopted from Ghana's Convention People's Party (CPP), led by Kwame Nkrumah. As I had mentioned before, British officials had no alternative; as a last resort, they refused to register one country-wide political party but opted instead to register one party in each district. The fight was intensified now that most tribes had joined the fight for freedom, and almost all tribes were fighting as one for an independent Kenya. I am not implying that there had not been any action before by any other tribes. There had been several uprisings by different tribes such as the Nandi, Kawango's of Mumias led by Chief Mwami Navongo, Otieno Rander (Luo) against Arabs, the Giriama against the British (led by Mekatalili), and O'lonana Ole Giligsho, and Ole Masekonde (Maasai against the British); the Luo Thrift Trading Corporation represented a different kind of resistance.4 Although the Kikuyu, Embu, and Meru were mobilized, either against Arabs, Indians, or British colonialists, the general uprising now had goals of freedom, the release of all detainees,. especially Mzee Jomo Kenyatta and his colleagues, and the return of our land. This, however, was something the British found almost impossible to do. After the registration of the NPCP, the Europeans had agreed to register small, district-level parties such as the Nyanza District Association led by Jaramogi Oginga Odinga and the Fort Hall District Association led by Dr. Gikonyo Kiano. The leaders of these parties would always find a way of communicating and coordinating their fight for a particular demand.

ACTIVITIES OF THE NAIROBI PEOPLE'S CONVENTION PARTY

The Nairobi People's Convention Party was led by Tom Mboya, Joseph Mathenge, Alfred Aketch, J. M. Oyangi, Musa Nyandusu, Nathan Ayieza, Arthur Ochwada, Dorika Wagana, Serah Wangui (the Women's Wing secretary), Lois Wangeci, Hannah Wanjiku Kung'u, Sammy Maina (also known as Munyua Nao, the organizing secretary of the Women's Wing), and me. We coordinated the fight against racial segregation in schools, hotels, hos-

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pitals, and residential areas. NPCP's most important campaign was to secure the release of our detained heroes, including Mzee Jomo Kenyatta. The party worked very closely with Mau Mau, although the leadership was careful to conceal the relationship. Women took a very active part in molding NPCP's Women's Wing. Other societies such as the Kiambu Women's Education Society and the Kikuyu Welfare Association were revived and worked secretly under NPCP direction. Mama Dorika Wagana, the chairman of the NPCP Women's Wing, got the ball rolling. Her leadership in the party was tremendous. The fact that she was a Luo undercut the colonialists' accusation that the Women's Wing was yet another Mau Mau band using the cover of a registered political party. Colonialist propaganda had repeatedly claimed that Mau Mau was an aberrant Kikuyu movement and that other tribes were loyal to the British. The Women's Wing had strong leaders and members from several different tribes: there were Kamba women, like Roxana Kala and Rhoda; Kalenjin women living in Pumwani; Mama Uhuru, a Luhya from western Kenya who resided in Kaloleni Estate, Nairobi; and Hannah Wanjiku Kung'u, a Kikuyu freedom fighter. Roxana and Rhoda's membership alarmed British officials. They knew that they would not be able to handle the situation once women from all tribes had joined. After Serah Wangui left for Europe for further studies, I was elected to be the Women's Wing secretary. Mama Lois Wangeci and Hannah Wanjiku Kung'u also held official positions in the party. The Wing's duties included organizing demonstrations, mostly for the release of Mzee Kenyatta; fighting the color bar and segregation in hotel establishments, which were otherwise meant for Europeans, under the Jim Crow Action Group; welcoming and entertaining dignitaries such as comrade Julius Nyerere of Tanganyika, comrade Milton Obote of Uganda, and others who frequented Kenya in a bid to unite all East Africans in the fight against colonial rule; displaying placards at demonstrations; and throwing rotten eggs or tomatoes at colonial officials when they gave speeches. Other duties included collecting and smuggling funds in baskets by covering the money with vegetables or maize meal to avoid being detected by colonialists. We smuggled food and clothing to the Mau Mau in the forest. The Wing also procured arms from the colonial army or individual owners of guns and ammunition and sent them to the remaining fighters in the forest. My colleagues and I spent many nights in the office at Alvi House publishing our paper Uhuru (Freedom) or writing placards, the latter being my special task. It was also my duty to meet or escort our delegates returning to or leaving Kenya on any mission we supported or dignitaries coming to Kenya for a visit. The Women's Wing demonstrated against Sir Roy Welensky at the railway station when he came from Rhodesia on a visit.5 I remember how we threw rotten eggs and displayed placards reading "Go

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Away, Sir Roy, the Devil of Rhodesia," "Down with British Imperialism," "Down with British Supremacy," "Down with the Colonial Governor Sir Evelyn Baring," "Jomo Kenyatta Is Our Leader," "Jomo Kenyatta Must Be Released," "Long Live Our Father of the Nation," "Down with British Rule and Colonialism," and finally, "Colonialists Must Go." We found that composing and singing songs on these occasions were very important to our movement. I became the secretary of the NPCP choir and dancing group. The songs sung by this choir were very moving and created feelings similar to those that one felt after taking an oath or when freedom fighters were on a mission. One choir confrontation that I remember very well happened in 1960 when Captain Briggs returned from England. Briggs had become notorious with us for fighting Mau Mau; during the State of Emergency he was very much involved with the detention and restriction of our people. The government had sent Briggs on a mission to the Colonial Office in London. When such people returned, it was our people's practice to meet them at the airport and demonstrate against them, to ridicule them for publicity purposes. Hannah Wanjiku Kung'u led the demonstration as acting secretary for the Women's Wing, since I was under restriction in Lamu at this time. They threw rotten eggs and tomatoes in Briggs's face. Briggs's wife, a very tall woman, reacted very violently and hit Wanjiku in the face. Wanjiku, who was short but feisty, challenged Mrs. Briggs to a fight, then and there. The showdown was terrible. Wanjiku decked Mrs. Briggs. She was hitting Mrs. Briggs in the face when she was arrested. As they were arresting her, she could be heard pleading for just five more minutes to beat up Mrs. Briggs. The following day, Wanjiku was taken to court and charged with behaving in a manner likely to cause a breach of the peace. She was imprisoned for three months at Kamiti Prison. Soon after that, Captain Briggs died in a plane crash in northern Kenya. The freedom choir celebrated his death by singing a song, composed on the spot. The song also talked about Michael Blundell, another incorrigible settler, and Rawson Mbugua Macharia, who had supplied false witness against Jomo Kenyatta at the Kapenguria trial. Captain Briggs alikufa (3x) Alipofunga mama wa uhuru (2x)

Captain Briggs died After imprisoning the mother of freedom.

Chorus Wakati wake umekwisha-sasa! Wakati wake umekwisha (2x) Kwa kufunga Mama wa Uhuru Huyu Blundell kichwa maji-(2x) Blundell Huyu Blundell kichwa maji (2x) Wanataka wakae hapa Kenya (2x)

His time is over-now! His time is over For imprisoning the mother of freedom. This Blundell is madBlundell This Blundell is mad He wants to live here in Kenya

Party Politics in Nairobi Chorus Wakati wake umekwisha-Blundell! Wakati wake umekwisha (2x) Aambiwe sasa arudi kwao (2x) lie pesa ya Macharia-pesa! lie pesa ya Macharia (2x) Inauma kichwa ya Blundell. (2x) Hawa Wazungu vigeugeuWazungu! Hawa Wazungu vigeugeu (2x) Wanataka watawale hapa Kenya Chorus Wakati wao umekwisha-sasa! Wakati wao umekwisha (2x) Waambiwe sasa warudi kwao. (2x) Dr. Mboya asema leo-Mboya! (3x) Tushike mwendo sasa Twende Lodwar.

55

His time is up-Blundell! His time is up To be told to return home. That money given to Macharia-money That money given to Macharia It gives Blundell a headache. These Europeans changeEuropeans! These Europeans change They now want to live in Kenya. Their time is up-now! Their time is up To be told to return home. Dr. Mboya has said today-Mboya! That we travel now To Lodwar [to demand Kenyatta's release].

One time, we drove our minibus, popularly known as the Uhuru Van, to the road connecting Makadara with Outer Ring Road next to Makadara Hall, popularly known as Mboya's Hall. Using the bus's microphone, we sang songs to invite people to come into the streets and march to Government House to demand the release of Jomo Kenyatta and other detainees. This attracted thousands of people, including Asians. During another demonstration, when I was leading the Women's Wing, we were joined by thousands of men. When we reached Kaloleni, several police 999 cars arrived with tear gas canisters to disperse the crowd. The police and riot squad found it difficult to control us, as people had come from all directions. They asked me and Joseph Mathenge to be peaceful. I told the police officers that we were peaceful but were committed to our demand for Kenyatta's release. I ordered the police to shout out freedom slogans that were too bitter for them to utter, as they were senior British officers. But, realizing that they were in danger, they said the words after me: "Uhuru na Kenyatta" (Freedom and Kenyatta), "Uhuru na Mashamba" (Freedom and Our Land), and "Hatutaki Governor Mzungu" (We do not want a white governor). This was a very bitter experience for these officers. The people sang songs rebuking them. Other leaders joined the demonstrators as we marched to Government House. The song normally sung for such occasions was "Let us now go to Government House to demand the release of Jomo Kenyatta."6 The riot squad arrived when we had reached "Kiaro Kimwe" (one toilet), which was built on the site where the Hilton Hotel now stands. They threw tear gas at us, but we got to Government House. We knew how to handle tear gas-by carrying water to throw on

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our faces to stop the stinging in our eyes. There were several of these demonstrations, sometimes involving from 200,000 to 300,000 people from all walks of life and from all tribes, either escorting or meeting delegates at the airport or just demonstrating in support of the "release Jomo Kenyatta campaign." To strengthen this campaign, it was decided that people should sign a petition demanding Kenyatta's release, and I was one of those who worked on that program. We thought that if the signatories included Asians, Arabs, and Europeans it would carry more weight. Many Asians signed the petition. Manubhai Patel and his wife helped very much in obtaining Asian signatories. Europeans, headed by S. V. Cook and R. S. Alexander, also signed; but when we saw that the number of European signatures was very small, we decided that we would buy several different Biro pens and put down signatures using European names and Asian names that were simple and popular. Although this could be termed forgery, it was very successful. We achieved what was required of us through whatever method we could use. This was and is acceptable war propaganda. When these petitions were taken to the governor, they were considered more valuable because they contained signatures from individuals of all races. Names like Smith, MacDonald, Harry, Thompson, James, Mildred, Janet, Brown, Rachel, and Karen had been used-and it worked.

KENYATTA DAY, OCTOBER 20

Kenyatta Day was conceived when Oyangi, Peter Ndung'u, Odinga, Arthur Ochwada, other comrades, and I were discussing how our party could create an impact on colonial officials that would accelerate the release of Mzee Jomo Kenyatta. I do not remember how, but the answer just came and I suggested that we organize demonstrations to instill rules, such as those of Mau Mau, on the anniversary of Kenyatta's arrest. This would be a day dedicated to him and his colleagues. We agreed, in principle, and each one of us became very excited about the idea. After discussion, we decided that the rules would be that: 1. No African should ride a bus; all of us should walk. We would not smoke, drink alcohol, or wear shoes.

2. Placards for a large demonstration were to be written using language that would shake the whole colonial system. 3. All Africans and their Asian sympathizers were to walk to Government House to demand the release of Kenyatta. That is how it all started. The first Kenyatta Day hit the nail on the head, shocking the imperialists. The president of the party was away in Dar

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es Salaam. When he returned, he asked why we had organized such an important day in his absence and we replied that the day had come and we could not wait. Mboya was a very understanding man. He was content with the day's impact on colonialists, though we all knew that people suffered as a result of their participation. Kenyatta Day continues to be celebrated but very few people know how it all started. Some think of it as an ordinary holiday, not knowing that this was a day of suffering and sacrifice. For example, Hannah Wanjiku Kung'u, who was expecting her late son Muteti, delivered the baby prematurely as a result of being beaten by the police near Kiaro Kimwe during one of the Kenyatta Day demonstrations. We all suffered in one way or another. I was, at one time or another, jailed in each of the police stations in Nairobi and its outskirts. On each of these occasions, we used singing to boost our morale. The most stimulating of these songs sung on Kenyatta Day was later popularized by Miriam Makeba, the South African singer and activist. Kenyatta alitak:a Kenya (3x) Akafungwa. (3x)

Kenyatta wanted Kenya He was imprisoned.

Chorus Tumpe pole Mzee (3x) Kwa kufungwa Pole, pole Mzee (3x) K wa kufungwa.

We say sorry to the old man For being imprisoned Sorry, sorry, old man For being imprisoned.

Kenyatta alidai mchanga (3x) Akafungwa Mchanga ni haki yetu (3x) HapaKenya. Pole, pole Mzee (3x) K wa kufungwa

Kenyatta demanded our soil. He was imprisoned. The soil is our birthright Here in Kenya. Sorry, sorry, old man For being imprisoned.

Twatak:a mashamba yetu (3x) HapaKenya Mashamba ni hak:i yetu (3x) HapaKenya Pole, pole Mzee (3x) Kwa kufungwa.

We want our lands Here in Kenya. Our lands are our birthright Here in Kenya. Sorry, sorry, old man For being imprisoned.

Twadai uhuru wetu (3x) HapaKenya Uhuru ni hak:i yetu (3x) HapaKenya. Pole, pole nyote (3x) Kwa kufungwa.

We demand our freedom Here in Kenya. Freedom is our birthright Here in Kenya. Sorry, sorry to you all For being imprisoned.

Twatak:a wafungwa wetu (3x) HapaKenya Wafungwa ni hak:i yetu (3x) HapaKenya. Pole, pole Mzee Pole, pole baba (2x) Kwa kufungwa.

We want our prisoners Here in Kenya. The prisoners are our right Here in Kenya. Sorry, sorry, old man Sorry, sorry, father For being imprisoned.

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My thanks go to Musa Nyandusu and Nathan Ayieza for composing these beautiful and moving Uhuru songs and to John Bwana Matanga for singing them in every street of Nairobi. I also cannot forget Mwangi, who played his violin and sang mwomboko freedom songs.? When colonial officials attempted to cancel an NPCP meeting at Makadara Hall, where Tom Mboya and other leaders were to speak, our freedom songs saved the day. The other leaders of the party and I organized all members to form a human wall by locking arms and pushing against the police so that we could enter the hall. The song that follows meant a lot in making this day's struggle a success: Oyangi na Omolo Walikwenda Makadara (2x) Wakakuta Polisi Wameziba mlango (2x)

Oyangi and Omolo Went to Makadara They found that the police Had locked the door to the hall.

Chorus Jooni tuingie Tuingie sisi zote J ooni tuingie Tuingie mkutano

Let us go inside Let's go inside, all of us Come let us go inside To attend the meeting.

Simameni tumkumbuke Tumkumbuke Kenyatta (2x) Kiongozi wa Africa Amefungwa Lodwar (2x)

All stand up to remember To remember Kenyatta The leader of Africa Imprisoned at Lodwar

Chorus Jooni tulie Tulie sisi zote Jooni tulie Tulie machozi

Come, let us cry Let us all weep Come, let us cry Let us shed tears.

The NPCP became an advocate for the rights of Mau Mau fighters' families because of my sympathy for Gladys Wagio's plight. Her husband, George Waiyaki Wambaa, had been arrested, detained in Manda Island, and then sent to Marsabit to live under restriction. I asked the commissioner of prisons to allow Gladys to visit George in Marsabit. When I first asked, the commissioner adamantly refused, stating that keeping them away from their families was the only way the government could break the so-called hard-core Mau Mau. I planned a sit-in demonstration at the prison headquarters. After a few days, I managed to convince my colleagues to join the struggle. When I approached the party's president, who was very sympathetic, he reminded me that any campaign should be for all wives of detainees and restrictees and not just for one person. Although the struggle was difficult and we experienced many disappointments, our sit-in campaign worked. Eventually, after consultation with other colonial govern-

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ment officials, the commissioner of prisons wrote a letter in which he agreed to issue special permits and removal orders to wives of restricted persons. These permits allowed them to visit their husbands, who were confined to specified restriction areas. Mama Ngina Kenyatta, Mrs. Karumba, Mrs. George Waiyaki, Mrs. Emma Ngei, and a host of other women were thus allowed to visit their detained husbands. Although the beneficiaries may not know who made things happen, I personally thank those involved in this struggle. Our success with the spousal visit campaign did not mean that we abandoned the fight for the release and return of the restrictees to their homes. I thank J. M. Oyangi and the late Omolo Ager for their support and leadership in that struggle. The fight for total release continued until they were all released back to their homes to live among their people in a free Kenya. The battle to free Kenya also took place in the Legislative Council. At the peak of the fight for freedom there was a serious debate about Kenyatta, who was called by the governor "the leader of darkness and death." I had asked for a card to sit in the spectator's gallery during debate. Jaramogi Oginga Odinga, an elected member, rose up when the governor maligned Kenyatta and uttered words to the effect that "Kenyatta was our leader and the father of our nation. "8 That utterance caused an uproar among the European members and their Asian and African collaborators. One African member rose up and uttered words that still linger in my mind forty years later: "It is very unfortunate for our honorable member to have mentioned such a name at this stage." The Honorable Odinga was then commanded to apologize. He refused and stood by his statement. He was then ordered out of the Legislative Council's chambers for one day. My colleagues and I walked out after Odinga; within the grounds of the Legislative Council we sang for Odinga: Odinga alitaka Kenya (3x) Akateswa. Pole, pole ndugu (3x) Kwakuteswa Odinga alidai Kenyatta (3x) Akateswa Pole, pole ndugu (3x) K wa kuteswa.

Odinga wanted Kenya He was persecuted. Sorry, sorry, brother For being persecuted. Odinga demanded Kenyatta He was persecuted. Sorry, sorry, brother For being persecuted.

My colleagues and I were instructed to leave the grounds of the Legislative Council or face forced eviction and imprisonment, but our removal came too late as our mission had been accomplished. Later, Odinga was excluded from the Legislative Council for another two days for failing to bow to the chair when he walked out and for raising his fly whisk aloft in a "defiant" gesture.

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*

*

*

Another method used by the colonial government to suppress political awareness was to stop people from becoming members of our political organization. This policy of arresting party members while they were recruiting others led to my arrest for enrolling new members and collecting subscriptions for the Nairobi People's Convention Party at the Makadara City Council depot. I was taken to the Jogoo Road police station (now the Ofafa police station). The president of the party came to the police station and signed a bond for me. He instructed Jean-Marie Seroney to appear for me in court. I was charged with the offense of being a "rogue and a vagabond." President Mboya testified in court that I was an elected leader of the Nairobi People's Convention Party, and as such, I was authorized to collect subscriptions for the party and to enroll new members. I was convicted and fined only eighty shillings, which the party paid.

THE DESEGREGATION CAMPAIGN

Party activists were often convicted in the courts for working to end segregation. I was elected as a member of the Jim Crow Action Group,9 headed by J. M. Oyangi, which was formed after an incident in a Nairobi hotel. Jaramogi Oginga Odinga was thrown out of the New Stanley Hotel, which was for Europeans only. The purpose of the Jim Crow Action Group was to destroy racial segregation, or "the color bar," in large hotels and establishments. A common tactic was to send one or two members of the group to visit a particular establishment and ask to be served. When service was refused, the members would leave the establishment and inform those waiting in the surrounding area. When this information was received, an Uhuru Van announcer would broadcast the incident to our members. It was then arranged that up to 500 people would visit the establishment and demand service. Other members were kept waiting to replace those who were arrested, so that there was a constant rotation of large numbers of people. If they were not served, the demonstration would continue until such time as the hotel lost so much money that the owners were forced to serve Africans. These sit-ins sometimes ended with many people being arrested and taken to court. On several occasions, the police used tear gas to disperse the crowd. I recall leading many of these groups, but the most interesting one was a sit-in at Sans Chique restaurant, which I innocently entered, accompanied by my cousin John Karuga Hinga. We intended to have a Coke. The European lady owner of the restaurant became hysterical. It was as if she had been stung by a bee! She could not stand seeing an African man and woman ordering a Coca-Cola. She made a great fuss and even called the

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police. When the police arrived, they told John to leave but arrested me and took me to the Kingsway police station. When I was released about two hours later, I organized a successful sit-in. Finally, after three days of sit-ins and arrests, the woman had to serve us. I still remember one demonstrator, a freedom fighter known as Mugo, who sat on the beautiful carpet at the New Stanley Hotel and blew his nose into his hands to annoy the management. That got us service more quickly than when we staged any other sitin. Some of us were arrested and tortured. However, the Jim Crow Action Group's determination was properly demonstrated. Neither arrest nor torture deterred us from staging sit-ins at other establishments. I was involved in another strike against segregation in Nairobi in a case involving domestic servants. Nearly every public and private facility in the colony was segregated. Public toilets in places such as the law courts had signs posted with "Asians," "Europeans Only," "Arabs," or "Africans." The most crude distinction was that the "toilet" for Africans was a bucket placed in a stall. People who may not understand what a "European area" was should know that before independence, a European area was, by law, a locality in which only Europeans were permitted to rent or buy houses. Most European employers required that their African servants "live-in." Domestic servants complained to me that their families were not allowed to visit them when they were employed in the so-called European houses. I made an appointment and led a delegation to see the director of social services at the Nairobi City Council. We had a very heated argument. I argued that the restriction was indirect birth control forced on our people, that wives and their husbands were not allowed to live together except during the fourteen days of annual leave given to domestic servants. This meeting was heavily covered by the local newspapers, making it possible for the campaign to succeed. As a result, husbands, wives, and children were allowed to live together in their staff quarters in European homesteads and estates. It brought closer relationships between children and parents, relations that had been affected by the long separation. This affected the European areas such as Woodley City Council Houses, Langata, Karen, Muthaiga, Lavington, and Bernard.

THE

RoLE OF THE NPCP CHOIR

In collaboration with Home Guards, the British colonialists decided to divide people further in order to stop our desegregation activities. The party's response to these "divide and rule" tactics was to encourage unity; we had to be seen to exist in all districts and provinces. The Nairobi People's Convention Party, in collaboration with other district parties, planned to sabotage the government's practice of separately registering political parties in each district. Tom Mboya led the assembly from Nairobi

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to Nakuru. There, the leaders, followed by a large crowd, entered the stadium and addressed the unlicensed public meeting.IO Our choir sang very moving songs. Everybody at the meeting-old and young-danced and rejoiced. This gave encouragement to the newly registered parties, which did not have enough experience to organize large political rallies. The successful Nakuru rally was followed with rallies at Eldoret and Kitale. By the time the group moved to Kitale, almost everybody was dancing and singing Uhuru songs in the streets. From Kitale the group moved to Elgon, Nyanza, and then to South Nyanza. Alarmed by the enhanced awareness in these districts, the colonial government stopped the group from proceeding further and forced us to return to Nairobi. This, however, came too late. The damage, if any, had already been done. It took the government too long to prepare and put together enough force to combat this very determined group. As I said before, singing brought us a lot of inspiration and strengthened our determination. The Nairobi People's Convention Party choir sang everywhere there was action. The songs gave new life to those who had given up after being tortured under Emergency regulations. The choir's songs also awoke the doubting Thomases who never believed that Kenya one day would be a free country. I liked the choir very much and participated everywhere the group performed. But one day, after practicing with the group all morning, I decided to go to my house to prepare for an important evening visitor. The trouble with me is that I was involved with too many group activities. The Welfare Committee, which organized entertainment for our guests and of which I was the chairman, had to prepare the evening meal for the guest. There were no hotels where we could entertain our visitors and we dared not enter the European-owned ones, except as demonstrators. As soon as I left, the choir members were rounded up, taken to court, and charged with unlawful assembly. They were imprisoned for six months. A newcomer to our group, Dick Oloo from Alego in Nyanza Province, was caught singing with the group. He was unlucky, as he got the same prison term. This act of repression did not stop us. Almost immediately, the propaganda secretary formed another group, which I joined. We continued to entertain many dignitaries, one of whom was Julius Nyerere from Tanganyika. Once when Julius Nyerere visited Kenya, I prepared a meal for him and other visitors at Tom Mboya's house. I left for my house at 10:00 P.M. About 1:00 A.M., I heard a very loud knock at my door. When I asked who it was, a man answered that they were policemen from the C.I.D. They said that they were coming to search my house, which they did until the early hours of the morning. However, they found nothing, for we were not that careless. We were trained people. We would not keep our records in homes such as mine, where police raids were expected at any time. Later that day, I reported to the office at Alvi House, where I learned that all the leaders of party had been searched. Tom Mboya and Julius Nyerere had been forced

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to stay in a squatting position for several hours while the search continued. This was an act of deliberate humiliation aimed at the party and our visitor, Nyerere. It backfired. The more the government staged such hurtful incidents, the more it hardened the determination of freedom fighters. The Rawson Mbugua Macharia affair publicly humiliated the colonial government. J. M. Oyangi and I arranged for Macharia to recant his testimony. Macharia had given evidence against Jomo Kenyatta at the famous Kapenguria trial. Macharia agreed to hand over some of the false evidence, denounce the evidence he had given, and reveal to us how much money he had received as payment for his false testimony. The government had even given him a long holiday in Britain in exchange for his cooperation. After many consultations, we promised that Macharia would meet the president of our party on the day of the revelation. Macharia met us at a small hotel in River Road, Nairobi. After viewing Macharia's documents, we took him to the office in Alvi House, where Tom Mboya had been asked to wait for him. Macharia was received in our party offices by Tom, to the surprise of many who did not know what was happening. Tom left for Britain before anybody else-apart from the three of us-knew anything. It was only at the airport that our choir, led by J. M. Oyangi and myself, sang a song revealing that Tom Mboya was the party's delegate heading to the Colonial Office and that he carried a secret with him. This alerted colonial officials, but by that time, the plane had already left. All the security forces could do was to arrest and interrogate us about the secret referred to in our song. But we had nothing to hide, as the same report, revealing the secret that Mboya carried, was released in the local dailies. The party's newspaper, Uhuru, sold out very quickly. People were happy to learn about our success. Rawson Mbugua Macharia was arrested, prosecuted, and jailed. Yet our party never abandoned him. We found a lawyer for him and would even dry clean his clothes and have them taken to him while he was confined to a remand home.ll Such small services were necessary because of the lack of amenities in the remand home. Macharia had made his bed with the colonial masters but now he had no true allies left. Yet his morale was high because of the esteem and consideration we showed him after we achieved our goal.

ARREsT AND INTERROGATION

One other time Tom Mboya sent me to smuggle a letter out of Nairobi Prison Remand Home. Oyangi, our delegate to Yugoslavia, was bringing a letter to Tom Mboya from President Tito. Unfortunately, Oyangi was arrested at the airport, before Tom Mboya could meet him. Mboya was angry, since he had wanted me to accompany him to the airport in case of such a problem, and wondered where I had been. Being rebuked by the president

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of the party was a bitter experience. This could result in a disciplinary action being taken against a party member. I managed to explain where I had been, and then I was given the difficult task of smuggling the letter out of the prison. I still had the skills I had developed during my days as a Mau Mau scout. I arranged for one taxi to take me to the Nairobi Prison and wait for me; another one waited at Reubens in the Industrial Area (which is now the Express Transport Company's residential area). There, just in case I was followed, I would change to a second taxi after coming from the prison. The second taxi was to bring me back to town. There was no question of the taxi drivers' loyalty, since these vehicles belonged to our members. I disguised myself in a buibui, went to the prison's offices and spoke to a Luhya officer in charge. Since I spoke the Luhya language fairly well, I posed as a Luhya woman who was related to Oyangi; this was enough to persuade the officer to allow me to visit our delegate. I bribed Oyangi's guard with two shillings, with which he could buy snuff. I got the letter, which Oyangi had hidden inside one of his socks. I left hurriedly and took my taxi to Reubens, where I changed to the second taxi, which returned me to Alvi House. I handed over the letter to Tom Mboya secretly. However, the secret was betrayed and even now, I do not know how it was discovered. At noon, I was called to Special Branch Offices at Kingsway by a Mr. Ian Anderson, who was nicknamed "Kinyanjui," and asked about the letter.12 Kinyanjui, who had a photograph of me wearing a freedom fighter's uniform, was very kind to me. But I remained hostile to him to avoid answering any questions. Anderson allowed me to go, but not without promising me that I would be arrested before two o'clock and restricted.13 I was restricted for one and a half years. When I returned to our Alvi House offices, I related the whole story to the president of the party, who was worried that there must have been a traitor among the officers of the party. I did not know with whom he had discussed the issue, as our membership was large. I was arrested, as promised, by two o'clock and taken to a woman district officer (DO), Mrs. J. Jackson, who was in charge of the Makadara District office. There, I was questioned and harassed but I refused to reveal anything. I was served. with restriction and repatriation orders. I was driven in a vehicle (called "Mariam") that was used for carrying Kikuyu prisoners to Kikuyu District for trial, to detention camps, or to the restricted areas. These trucks had barbed wire strung on their sides and backs to prevent prisoners from escaping. I arrived at Kikuyu in a jovial mood, singing "I will never surrender." I was again served with a restriction order and ordered to report daily to the district officer between eight and ten each morning. The order was served by Mr. John Johnson, the district officer, although the restriction order had been signed by Mr. Tunnerhill, the district commissioner of Kiambu. I was interrogated every day. I would be asked questions about the Nairobi

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People's Convention Party and about Africans in Kenya, Uganda, and Tanganyika who were connected to our freedom struggle and their own. I, who had sworn never to surrender or reveal anything that would betray my colleagues, refused to disclose anything. My attitude angered the district officer, who decided to torture me by keeping me in his office all day without food or water. The Home Guards questioned me while he went for lunch. He would resume the interrogation at two o'clock and end at six o'clock. The district officer and the police officer in charge of Kikuyu particularly wanted to know about Tom Mboya. I resented being asked about other freedom fighters. I felt that if I said anything about my comrades, I would be committing an act of total betrayal, which I would not do. Sometimes I would be taken to the district commissioner's office in Kiambu and be interrogated the whole night by different police officers.

*

*

*

Once when I was under restriction in 1959, I decided to violate my restriction orders and travel to Nairobi for an important meeting. I disguised myself by wearing a South African Airways uniform. After the discussion was over, I was so daring as to go out to lunch with my colleagues. We went to a Kikuyu restaurant, known as Karai, between Victoria Street and River Road. Meanwhile, the police had been informed that I had been seen in Nairobi and was now having lunch. A European officer came to the restaurant to catch me. He asked who Virginia Wambui Waiyaki was. Nobody answered him. One of our party was a Luhya woman who looked untidy to the officer. While he arrested her, the restaurant owners, who were freedom fighters, escorted me out the back way. As usual, our taxis were ready. I entered one driven by a Kalenjin driver known as George. We followed River Road to Whiteways near the railways (now Haile Selassie Avenue). Just opposite the railway head quarters, we noticed that a 999 car was in front of us and that another was following behind. I was lying in the back, covered by a blanket and the driver's coat. They passed us, without seeing me. As they sped past, I laughed when I heard the police radio blaring out, "Virginia, Virginia Waiyaki. Over. Seen in Nairobi. Roger. Everything all right. Over!" We ended up in Ngala Road and took Lower Kabete Road, as there was a road check on Upper Kabete Road known as Sclaters Road. By the time I got home, I had already changed out of the Airways uniform into a different dress secreted in my bag. It was dirty, tom, and suitable only for farm work. By the time the police arrived to search for me, I was barefoot and innocently helping my mother milk the cows. When they questioned me, I told them it must have been a false rumor that placed me in Nairobi, for I had not gone anywhere, except to report to the DO. During the daily interrogation, I had pretended to be sick and the DO allowed me

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to go home at 10:00 A.M. When they went to see the DO, he corroborated my story. The issue ended there. I remember one day when an African district officer II14 offered me a lift to my home after his superior had interrogated me for hours. Being tired, haggard, and knowing that the African district officer's family was close friends with mine, I accepted the lift. He drove me to a banana plantation at Githiga, far from my home and my scheduled restriction area. There, he threatened to kill me. I fought with him as I realized that he intended to rape me. He tore my blouse and pulled out a gun to shoot me. One of his Home Guards interrupted and told him that, since I was a restricted person with rules to follow, it would be risky to kill me. He then decided to abandon me there. This put me in danger of violating the restriction orders because we were very far from my scheduled restriction area. I was afraid that even trying to persuade someone to help me would put me at even more risk, for one of the restriction rules was that I was not to engage in discussion with, or be accompanied by, more than one person. I tried to run to safety but came to a big river, which I could not cross. I had no alternative but to walk back to the banana plantation. This ordeal took about an hour before I eventually reached the road. I started walking down the road, not knowing exactly where it was going. After walking for about a mile, I saw a Land Rover. I knew that if I was found by any other member of the district administration, I would be in serious trouble. As the vehicle neared, I saw that it was occupied by the same district officer who had attacked me. The district officer had loaded his Land Rover with bunches of bananas. He stopped the vehicle and forced me to get into the back. The bananas fell on me and stained my skirt, which became wet and dirty. He drove to Nairobi, where I was not supposed to go because of the restriction order, where he visited some prostitutes. Apparently, this was to show me that he knew several women who, unlike me, were not too full of pride to have relations with him. What he did not realize was that I knew most of these women; these were the same women who had worked with me to steal guns, ammunition, and information from soldiers! The district officer's intended insult actually benefited me, for I met a girl who came from my home area. She offered me a blouse to cover my brassiere, as I had lost my blouse during the attack. I related my ordeal to this girl while the district officer was busy buying cases of beer for his women. The Home Guards had been ordered to keep a watch on me and any move to run away would have probably cost me my life. After several hours of waiting, I was ordered back into the vehicle. I was very careful, knowing that if I caused any trouble, he would react violently, as he was already drunk. I feigned submission while planning an escape. He suggested that we find a place where we would stay for the night, because it was late and we were a long way from home. I pretended to accept his proposal.

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By then, the vehicle was approaching Pumwani Maternity Hospital. After we had passed Pumwani Secondary School and had reached Ziwani estate, I asked the district officer to stop the vehicle so that I might relieve myself. He agreed to this, as I had been very nice after we left his women. And he probably thought that he had made me more amenable to his sexual overtures by showing me women who were eager for his company. I personally thought that they were only eager for his money and drinks. The district officer's vanity aided my escape. Using my Mau Mau training, I ran zigzag to escape being shot and went to the house that belonged to Tom Mboya. He opened the door and welcomed me. He looked surprised and quickly asked me where I had come from and why I looked so filthy. After I related the whole story to him, he was very sympathetic but advised me not to talk about it in case the story would be twisted to my disadvantage. He pointed out that my evidence would be merely my word against that of the district officer and his two guards. He suggested that the Ziwani area would be very dangerous for me because the district officer might report that he had been taking me home from an interrogation, as he had done on similar occasions. Tom gave me money and promised to organize transport to take me back to Kikuyu early in the morning. He arranged for me to be smuggled in the back of his car to Pumwani, where I stayed overnight at the home of some party members. I remember Tom with a lot of gratitude, for he probably saved my life that night. The next day, as usual, I reported to the senior district officer, but the African district officer II did not want to look at me. Later, I learned that the DO had reported me as a nasty, incorrigible gangster and that he did not want me to report to him at any cost. I continued to report to the senior district officer, who continued with his interrogation and harassment. For three months this agony continued. Finally, I got fed up and decided not to go on living like that. I made up my mind to react if I was forced to stay in the office more hours than had been specified in the restriction order. The next day, I reported at eight o'clock and the senior DO, as usual, started interrogating me. This went on until two o'clock in the afternoon. My nerves could not bear this any longer. Suddenly, I stood up and walked out. I had hardly reached the secretary's office, when the DO shouted at me to stop and come back. I refused to do so, but he ran behind me and grabbed my dress. I cannot recall what came over me. Because I felt a lot of anger, I turned and slapped him. He fell, rolling on the floor. The Home Guards ran in and, in a matter of seconds, were ready to shoot. However, their leader Kiarii wa Wambari, who knew me, told them not to shoot. Mrs. Smith, the district officer's secretary, held me back. Standing in front of me, so that if I was shot at, the bullet would go through her too, she begged the DO not to have her husband's student killed. The DO then ordered the Home Guards out of the office and scribbled on my restriction order that I should, in the

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future, report to the chief of Dagoretti Location at Waithaka, which was on the main road. After serving me with the new order, the DO told me to leave. I remember Mrs. Smith's brave act with sincere gratitude. I am also grateful to Jean-Marie Seroney, advocate, for his quick action. He had been to Kikuyu Court to defend a client, whose name I never learned. Naomi Nduruka Njau had driven him to the court. She put me in her vehicle and quickly drove me to Muthiga. That day started a long and lasting friendship, and to this day Naomi is a close friend to whom I owe my life. The amended restriction order meant that from Muthiga, my home, I would walk through Uthiru, follow Riruta Road to the tum-off near Riruta Catholic Mission, and then take Thogoto Road to Waithaka, a distance of about fourteen miles. Every day, going and coming back, I walked those miles and reported to the chief between the hours of eight o'clock and ten o'clock in the morning. The day following my battle with the DO, I started to report to Kinyanjui, the chief at Waithaka. He rebuked me for slapping the DO and warned me that he was different. He said that he was an African man, and that if I attempted such a thing with him, he would teach me a lesson. Well, I doubted that he could. He told me that he was ruling us, and even when Kenya achieved independence, he would continue to rule us. I ignored his contemptible remarks. Yet his prediction came true. After independence, he remained a chief, though in a different area. (Later, he was imprisoned for stealing Ksh. 600/-.) After he finished lecturing me, I handed over the restriction order, which he signed and gave back to me. I was then ordered to leave and report the following day. This became my daily routine for another fifteen months. A year and a half after my arrest, I heard on the radio that the Emergency had come to an end. I felt no more need to report to anybody, as the law that restricted me had been revoked. That very day, I returned to Nairobi to meet the jubilant members of our party and immediately resumed my political work as if nothing had happened.

POST-EMERGENCY POLITICAL ORGANIZATION

Yet something had indeed happened. The end of the Emergency signaled the beginning of the end of colonialism. British colonial officials had to begin talking with the nationalists about a new Kenya. The president of the NPCP and other leaders were invited to England for a roundtable conference at Lancaster House. Unfortunately, the nominated members of the Legislative Council, whom we regarded as traitors, were included. As usual, I was asked to assist in arranging a warm send-off for our delegates. Before his departure, Tom Mboya told me that Martin Shikuku would

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act as the head of the party in his absence. I had not met Shikuku but we immediately started working together. Shikuku felt that the Lancaster House meeting should not proceed without Kenyatta, who was still in detention. Shikuku asked the organizing secretary of the youth group to compose a song to that effect; to everyone's surprise, the song was heard in every street and African location in Nairobi. The song clearly said that without Jomo there should be no meeting ("Pasipo Jomo hakuna mkutano"). Shikuku relayed our people's feelings to the delegates at Lancaster House. Later, Shikuku agreed that Mbiyu Koinange, who was in Ghana at the time, could serve in Kenyatta's place. Under instructions from Shikuku, the same youths who had composed and popularized "Pasipo Jomo hakuna mkutano" composed a song demanding Mbiyu Koinange's participation in the conference, which remained popular even after independence. I was worried by Shikuku's change of mind. I asked Apa Panti, the Indian high commissioner, to warn the delegates. I had sensed that if they refused to support the boycott, they would be killed when they returned home. I wondered why Shikuku had not acted earlier, before the delegates' departure. (He knew that it took two days and ten hours for a plane to get to England and telephone calls had to go through India.) The delegates, in turn, boycotted the meeting and demanded that Mbiyu Koinange represent Kenyatta. The nominated members of the Legislative Council, whose credibility was already compromised because they were the governor's nominees, had to go along with the boycott. As a result, Mbiyu was summoned from Ghana, where he was working with the Pan African Congress. When the delegates returned from the conference they were greeted with this song about the Lancaster boycott: Tarehe January kumi na tano Tulituma wajumbe Walihudhuria mkutano Wa utawala wa Kenya.

On January 15 We sent delegates To participate in a conference On Kenya's rule.

Chorus Uhuru ni haki yetu Waafrika Mchanga dai letu Uhuru ni haki yetu Waafrika Mchanga dai letu. Mkutano ulianza Jumatatu Wajumbe wetu tayari Kutoa madai ya Waafrika Hapa nchini Kenya.

Freedom is our right as Africans The soil our demand Freedom is our right as Africans The soil our demand. The meeting started on a Monday All our delegates were ready To table the demands by Africans Here in our country Kenya.

Wajumbe walionyesha tendo Kuugomea mkutano Sababu ya Mbiyu Koinange Awemo mkutano.

Our delegates demonstrated, Boycotting the conference So that Mbiyu Koinange Might attend the conference.

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The boycott was a very good idea, for which I thank Shikuku. But the timing was wrong. I gave that opinion in our meeting after the delegates came back and urged unity to avoid conflict. Colonial officials had finally yielded to our demand for the registration of country-wide parties after the State of Emergency ended. Nairobi People's Convention Party leaders had resolved to amalgamate the party with others and form one organization for the whole country. Some leaders felt threatened by this, as they feared they might not have enough followers to be elected to lead a national organization. Thus began our history of leadership rivalries. I and several of my colleagues felt that any person who was elected to head the new party must guarantee that he would vacate the position for Jomo Kenyatta after his release. We felt that James Gichurul5 was more suitable for the post of party leader than any other candidate. By then, many freedom fighters had returned to Nairobi and were about to organize a revolt against anybody who was suspected of opposing Kenyatta's leadership. A delegation was sent to talk to Gichuru in Githunguri, where he had lived in very poor circumstances since his restriction. I happened to be one of those who was sent to ask him to assume the leadership of the party. Gichuru accepted the invitation to lead the people once again. He had a car nicknamed "Arume Ikia" (men push), as the car would not start unless the men pushed it for a short distance. We pushed the car, but felt Gichuru should be driven in a more suitable car in preparation for his being elected as president of the new party. My brother Dr. Munyua Waiyaki offered his car and Gichuru was brought to Nairobi. To protect Gichuru, well-armed freedom fighters guarded the whole route from Kiambu, concealed in bushes and on coffee plantations. Gichuru and I chose to talk in a secret place so that I could inform him about what was happening and what was being organized by those opposed to his leadership. We met at Nachu Bar, which was owned by Godfrey Muhuri Muchiri. To avoid detection, we sat in a room where beer boxes were stored. It was only after our discussions were over and campaign strategies agreed upon that Gichuru and I realized that the cases of beer could have fallen on us. They were stacked on top of one another all over the place. The campaign strategy worked very well. A key meeting was held with leaders of all district political parties at Kiambu in mid-January 1960 to discuss forming a country-wide political party. My colleagues and I decided to stay outside the hall and carry on with the campaign whenever a delegate arrived. The campaign became so hot that the organizers forgot that we were not yet free! We sang freedom songs and displayed placards during the meeting. It worked. We won. The Kenya African National Union (KANU) was formed in January 1960, and our candidates became KANU's leaders-Gichuru as president, Jaramogi Oginga Odinga as vice president, and Tom Mboya as secretary general. I became KANU's first chairman of

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the Women's Wing, Nairobi Branch. Colonial officials were so annoyed by our activities on that day that they decided to arrest campaign workers. However, only I was arrested that day. I was taken to the Kiambu police station, but Odinga saw me being taken away. He informed the other delegates and caused a big traffic jam when he refused to drive on. He asked all the delegates to follow me to the Kiambu police station, which they did. He got me released and arranged for me to be given a lift by the Hon. Onyango Ayodo, a delegate and member of Parliament for Kasipul Kabondo. It was only much later, after we returned to Nairobi, that we learned that the colonialists were so angered by my release that they arrested fifteen members of the choir and the youth group. They were taken to court, charged, and jailed for six months. But KANU had been born and continued to grow from strength to strength. A different strategy was followed by members of the Kenya African Democratic Union (KADU). KADU was organized in June 1960, with Ronald Ngala as president, by politicians who were mostly nominated members of the Legislative Council. A few, like Martin Shikuku and Ronald Ngala, were genuine politicians. Most of these leaders came from minority tribes, although Ngala, Shikuku, and Masinde Muliro came from the four major ethnic groups. Most of these leaders opposed KANU and Kenyatta's rule. On the surface, KADU opposed KANU on the principle of centralization versus federalism. KADU wanted federal government (majimbo), while KANU members believed in centralization. This is still discussed in Parliament today and Moi clearly believes in "majimboism." It was only after the motion failed to pass in Parliament that Moi said that he was ruling "one Kenya, one nation." However, KANU members and the remaining freedom fighters felt uneasy about the continued imprisonment of Mzee Kenyatta. We were also alarmed by the way some of our leaders, especially those of KADU, had become hungry for power now that Kenya was obviously going to be free. We decided to revive a form of oath-taking. The Kiama Kia Muingi (Kenya Land Freedom Army) was created.I6 The first to take the Kiama Kia Muingi (KKM) oath were recently repatriated university graduates who had gone abroad to study. This was thought to be necessary to control them. This new foreign-educated group was thought to have ambitions of usurping the positions of those who had led the freedom struggle since 1948. I never took this oath and did not need to be controlled. A woman known as Wanjiku wa Ruring'u (popularly known as Mama Kamendi)17 was put in charge of KKM in Nairobi, Central, and Rift Valley Provinces. From then on, things were under control, though some people betrayed the movement and others were detained. As for the government, it could target a new enemy: those who had not taken part in the Mau Mau movement and who had not collaborated were now suspected of being the Kiama Kia Muingi's

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organizers. It posed a big problem for colonial officials, and Mr. Swan, the minister for internal security and defense, used the newspapers to alert the pro-colonial public to this new "enemy of the state." In February 1960 I left for Tanganyika for an external course in political science, community development, and leadership at Tangeru College. While there, I realized that although they had a distinguished lady freedom fighter named Bibi Titi, the women in Tanganyika had not yet fully awakened; most of them had not joined the fight to free their territory from the yoke of colonialism. I still believe Tanzania owes Bibi Titi a lot of gratitude because of her dynamic leadership in Umoja wa Wanawake wa Tanganyika (United Women of Tanganyika). I organized many secret meetings and talked to several women, teaching them how we Kenyans had organized our freedom movement. Needless to say, the government soon heard of my deeds. Although I had been issued an identity card and visitor's permit, the Tanganyikan authorities soon realized the danger of letting me stay there. However, before they could take action, I had already addressed a big rally in Arusha that was organized by the trade union movement. I was repatriated back to Kenya. Luckily, I had finalized my course and had passed my exams.18

CRACKDOWN TO AVOID A SECOND EMERGENCY

Even as the few remaining former Mau Mau detainees were being released from restriction, the government claimed that new indications of subversion necessitated more restrictions in order to avoid a second state of emergency in Kenya. Swan announced that for three months, the government had been carrying out operations against the Kenya Land Freedom Army (KLFA). New restrictions and a proscription of KLFA and its "aliases"Kenya Land Freedom Party, the Kenya Parliament, Kiama Kia Muingi, and the Rift Valley government-were enacted. According to Swan, the government's previous policy of prosecuting members of these parties as Mau Mau was changed in order to prosecute them separately. The rationale for the new arrests and prosecutions was that the KLFA wanted to seize power in Kenya. All these actions were necessary, Swan assured the nation, to avoid declaring a new state of emergency. And so, after engaging in armed resistance for nine years and struggling to create a unitary party, we were bludgeoned with Public Security (Restriction) Regulations 1960 L. M. 313 on July 8, 1960. I personally felt that the new restriction regulations had the unintended effect of motivating our people. It was now evident that some of the leaders of KANU and KADU thought they could negotiate for independence, ignoring people such as Jomo Kenyatta and those who had fought for free-

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dom for so many years. Kenyatta and his colleagues were still under restriction with the approval of some of the leaders, especially those in KADU. (They had signed an agreement with the state.) There were also many other political prisoners living elsewhere in the country under restriction orders whose plight was ignored by the new collaborators. Such treachery was not new; you will recall that an elected African member of Parliament had attacked Odinga when he mentioned the name of Kenyatta and drew attention to those under restriction at Maralal and all the others who were restricted elsewhere. Had it not been for Martin Shikuku, the meeting at Lancaster House would have happened without acknowledging either Kenyatta or Mbiyu Koinange. To avoid the betrayal of the "new leadership," we had found it necessary to bring Gichuru from Githunguri to warm the president's chair for Mzee Jomo Kenyatta, the true president of KANU. It is obvious that some leaders of KANU and KADU had collaborated with the colonialists to have Kenyatta sent to Maralal. It should be remembered that even after Kenyatta's release (after internal self-government was granted), he shared an equal post with Mr. Ronald Ngala, the president of KADU. This arrangement for co-rulership was made after Kenyatta opted to join KANU, the party of the majority.

NoTES 1. The system was designed to ridicule the Mau Mau and psychologically to "cleanse" the population of any rebel sympathies. The tribunal would try to indoctrinate people, telling them all the good things the white people had done for the natives, e.g., bringing Christianity, education, civilization, better health care, and development. They also wanted to get the people to appreciate the Home Guard, whose duty was to guard the villages against Mau Mau attacks. Home Guards were introduced to the Kikuyu under the pretext that they would guard their homes. But in fact they were colonial collaborators who fought alongside the white settlers. Other African collaborators included the Kenya African Rifles military unit and members of the Kalenjin, Somali, and Borana groups. We nicknamed them "Tucambuya." Freedom fighters knew that the whites could not have penetrated our reserves and forest camps without these collaborators, for they were not good at fighting guerrilla warfare. The Home Guards and all those Africans who aided the colonialists were sell-outs. 2. The value of the Kenya shilling was based on the British shilling. In the 1950s, a Ksh. was equivalent to three-fourths of a British shilling. The currency displayed the head of King George IV, who died in the early 1950s; thereafter, Queen Elizabeth II appeared on the currency. In the 1950s, the value of the British pound (£) fluctuated between $2.80 and $2.86. 3. The governor had a right to nominate people to represent special interests. Up until 1958, Africans had been disenfranchised. The governor nominated Europeans, usually missionaries, to represent African interests in the legislature. Nominated members served the interests of the one who nominated them, without fear of being removed through an election. They were used to support the colonial

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issues and to vote on the side of the government. This system of nomination is a part of Kenya's present constitution. The president nominates twelve members of Parliament. It used to be a practice to nominate a woman to represent women's interests. This was stopped during the Moi regime. The first African nominated member of the Legislative Council was Mr. Eliud Mathu; the first woman was Mrs. Jemima Gechaga (both now deceased). 4. The Luo Thrift Corporation was started by Mzee Jaramogi Oginga Odinga in the late 1940s. It was a trading enterprise that organized demonstrations and produced pamphlets urging people to challenge colonial domination. They also fought to be allowed to elect their own representatives in the Legislative Council. They opposed the government's nomination of J. B. Ohanga, who was perceived to be a puppet. Nyanza Province was represented by Ramogi Achieng' and Fanuel Odede, who often sided with KAU to increase the Luo community's awareness of the anticolonial movement. 5. Sir Roy Welensky was the governor in Rhodesia. He came to visit Governor Sir Evelyn Baring. We believed that Welensky had started out as a train driver and then become a governor. This was possible because British officials did not have to have special qualifications or even education to be appointed to rule over us. 6. In Swahili: "NPCP sasa twende Government House tukamudai Jomo Kenyatta." 7. Mwomboko was a Kikuyu dance. It showed some modern influences in that the men and women held each other, similar to the ways in which Westerners hold each other while dancing. Instead of singing traditional words, Mwangi sang freedom songs to the tunes of the traditional songs. Mwomboko dances are still popular today and Mwangi was still playing his violin after independence. In the early 1980s he played the violin at many public meetings or at the airport when the president or a government minister was being met. 8. Jaramogi was elected to the legislature in 1958, when Africans were allowed to elect representatives for the eight provinces for the first time. 9. People in Africa related to struggles of black people throughout the world to defeat racism and segregation, and we named our group the Jim Crow Action Group because we saw our struggle as the same one. We in Kenya particularly identified with the freedom struggles in the United States and Jamaica. The achievements of people like Ralph Bunche were applauded by Africans all over the continent. And Martin Luther King, Jr., was a hero to us all. In fact, years later when I visited the United States, I insisted that I be taken to visit Alabama where King had led the desegregation campaign. 10. Part of the Emergency restrictions stipulated that political assemblies could be held only with government permission and a written permit. Prohibitions against unlawful assembly are still a part of the penal code. This allows the government to stop people from communicating and opposing repression. 11. A remand home was a prison where people were kept after being charged with a criminal offense while they awaited trial. The accused is denied bond or bail. They remain in remand until their cases are heard and judgment rendered. In Kenya, remanded persons are taken to court, in handcuffs, every two weeks to hear the charges in their cases. 12. In the mid-1990s, Mr. Anderson was a commander in the Ministry of Interior in Bahrain. 13. Restriction meant that the accused person was repatriated to an area under strict security regulations. The police and administrative officers made sure that the

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restrictee did not leave the area. In my case, I was required to report daily to the district officer. Later, I was required to report to the chief of my location rather than to the DO. No court proceedings are followed. The accused is simply ordered, without a hearing, to keep to his/her own area of restriction, without the right to travel. 14. The ranks of the African administrative officers, in order of increasing importance, were village headman, location chief, chief, paramount chief. There were also African assistant district officers and district officers II. However, the chiefs were more powerful than the African assistant DOs, because chiefs had the power to arrest people. Very few Africans reached the level of assistant district officer, and most of those who did were not very well educated. A few had university degrees, however. To us in the nationalist movement, African assistant DOs were collaborators. And yet, because of colonial racism, they were not accorded the same treatment and wages as white administrators. 15. James Gichuru began his career as a high school teacher. He was the son of a respected elder in the Church of Scotland Mission. He was a freedom fighter and participated in most of the nationalist political organizations. He worked handin-hand with Jomo Kenyatta and Mbiyu Koinange and other leaders. At one time, he led the Kenya African Union while Kenyatta, its president, was away in England. When Kenyatta returned, Gichuru vacated the seat. This is the reason we trusted him. The colonial government appointed him as a chief, which he did not like. To get out of it, he called a baraza at Kikuyu in 1954. He abused the administration for having detained my father, Tiras Munyua Waiyaki. The district officer, who was present, walked over to Gichuru and stripped him of his hat and court of arms, the symbols of his office. Some time later, Gichuru was arrested and repatriated to Githunguri under restriction orders. When the Kenya African Union was launched, we decided to ask Gichuru to "warm the seat" for Kenyatta, the president, until he ,was released from restriction in Maralal. 16. Editor's note: Kiama Kia Muingi (more commonly known as the Kenya Land Freedom Army) was composed of the hard-core Mau Mau members. They had joined forces, pledging to fight if the African leaders of KANU and KADU appeared to be betraying their demands for freedom and the return of their lands. The KLFA began giving oaths in 1960. For two years, its membership grew, reaching an estimated 3,000 by 1962. The government cracked down on the movement, arresting people suspected of belonging. The official leaders of both KANU and KADU denounced KLFA, which demanded aid for the widows and orphans of former Mau Mau fighters, reparations for confiscated property, and the expropriation of settlers' land for distribution to Africans. For more on KLFA, see Edgerton, Mau Mau: An African Crucible, pp. 214-216; and Rosberg and Nottingham, The Myth of Mau Mau, pp. 306-307. 17. Kikuyu tradition renames a woman "Nyina wa" (mother of) after the birth of a first child. In this case, Wanjiku was known as "Mama Kamendi" (Kamendi was the name of her first daughter), since she was living in Nairobi, where Swahili was the language of communication. Kikuyu fathers were also addressed as "father of... " after the birth of their first child. 18. My course lasted for six months. These courses were offered to high school graduates who had completed courses in community development, leadership, or secretarial work. My course was an external course in a community development institution and was funded by the World Assembly of Youth. The course was open to political activists who had passed aptitude tests and English language tests.

5 Detention at Lamu

On July 8, 1960, the Kenya Land Freedom Army and its associated organizations-the Kenya Land and Freedom Party, the Kenya Parliament, Kiama Kia Muingi, and the Rift Valley government-were proscribed under the Public Security (Restriction) Regulations 1960 L. M. 313. My freedom was cut short only months after my release from restriction in Kiambu District, and only days after my return from Tanganyika. Although I was not a member of the Kenya Land Freedom Army, I was trusted by its leaders. Since my house was close to Nairobi River, a certain freedom fighter had brought a gun that was meant for repairs and that was to be picked up by a gunsmith. This gun was taken away only shortly before the arrival of the Special Branch officer who served me with another arrest order. My house was thoroughly searched for any documents or weapons, but nothing was found. Together with my children, I was taken to the Pangani police station at about four in the morning and locked up. At about ten in the morning, I was taken out of the cell and transferred to a smaller one. My children were fed tea and bread. At about noon I was called out, apparently to have photographs taken. It is then that I saw that Enoch Mwangi, another freedom fighter who was well known to me, had also been arrested. Our photographs were taken while we were standing before the wall of the verandah of the police station. We were not allowed to inform anyone where we were and other prisoners were not allowed to see us. At about two in the afternoon, I was called to an office and served with a restriction order by policewoman E. P. Heriz-Smith, a senior superintendent of police Grade B, who was accompanied by another white police officer, whose name I was not told. The restriction order was signed by Mr. Swan himself. I read the order and signed it. At about 2:30 P.M., my children and I were again taken out of our cell and led to the verandah, where Enoch Mwangi-in handcuffs-was already 77

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waiting. Hurriedly, we were led outside and put in police cars. The children and I were in one car, and Enoch was in another. Behind us, there was a Land Rover packed with riot squad police and an armored army truck, followed by a third police car. When I noticed that similar vehicles were waiting in front, I realized that we were being escorted by a heavily guarded convoy. We were transported by Police Airwings, the department of the police that operated small planes to escort prisoners and carry police from one province to another. We were driven at high speed via Juja Road to Eastleigh Airport, where a plane was ready. The police car stopped just at the door of a small aircraft so that we would not be seen. I boarded this tiny Police Airwing with my children, Enoch, E. P. Heriz-Smith, and the other European officer. The woman police officer was very snobbish but the male officer was kind to my children. He even held one in his arms during the flight. Enoch held the other child while I held the smallest. The only help Heriz-Smith gave was to give me tissues to clean the youngest child, who vomited as the plane took off to an unknown destination. She also gave me cotton wool, as I was having my menstrual cycle. After several hours, we landed at Mwana Airfield near Lamu town. Enoch, my children, and I were kept in the plane until a motorboat named Shungwaya arrived. We were then told to get out and were taken to the motorboat. I must thank Enoch Mwangi for helping me hold my children during the flight to Lamu and on the motorboat from Mwana to Lamu Island. Lamu was now to become another restriction and detention camp for all of us. Upon arrival at the district commissioner's office, we were served with the detention order. My children, who now suffered detention for no fault of their own, had been given only biscuits and canned beans to eat; they had to go to sleep hungry. They would have been hungry for quite some time had it not been for the kindness of a Bajun woman who ran a small kiosk. She was nicknamed Wanjiku and had married an old Kikuyu fellow from Murang'a. Wanjiku's husband had fought in World War II. Later, he became a Muslim and chose to remain on the island. Wanjiku would smuggle food to my children and make sure they ate. Sadly, I lost touch with Wanjiku after my release from Lamu and have no way of thanking her. The only thing I can do is to put her name in this book as a lady who struggled for independence in her own small way. One other person's kindness to my children remains in my memory. Sheikh Ali gave my children money for food when they had starved for three days. This came about because one of the children had caught malaria and I was allowed to take her and the other two children to the general hospital. On the way back from the hospital, I sat down near the sea to get a fresh breeze, as it was a very hot day. Sheikh Ali was passing by and must have noticed that the children were very hungry, for they were all lying on their helpless mother. He woke them up and said, "Hujambo" ("Hello"). He looked at them very sympathetically and gave them thirty shillings. I never spoke to him, and he walked away. After a few steps, he turned round and said "Bye" to the children. I did not wave

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goodby to him because I had made up my mind that he was a collaborator, for he owned the boat that was our transport from Mwana to Lamu. The children did not wave either, but only because they were too weak to be bothered. I later got to know Sheikh Ali, who was by then a businessman, when I met him and his family in Malindi after independence.

THE LAMu DETENTION CENTER

I now started a new life in detention, where I joined several other people who had arrived there a week before we did and some Luhya detainees who had been detained for more than nine years because they were members of the Dini ya Msambwa movement, a religious sect from western Kenya. As the Dini ya Msambwa preached that God was an African, the colonial regime viewed them as a radical political group. There were five other women who had been detained. Wairimu, from Murang'a, had a baby girl with her. The others were older, termed "hard-core" Mau Mau by colonialists, and very well known to me. They were Mama Kamendi (Wanjiku Ruring'u, who had been in charge of the organizations in Rift Valley, Central, and Nairobi Provinces), Beatrice Nyambura wa Kimethe, Mama Gathoni from Pumwani (who had been injured in Embakasi Camp and who was disabled), and Wambui wa Ngugi from Kibera, popularly known as Gakunia. The men detainees also included many very active freedom fighters, such as General Ndaya (Muraya wa Mutahi), General J. (Njuguna wa Gachui), Kamau wa Zipporah, Wanjohi wa Mung'au, Muthee Kabatha from Bahati, and others whose names I cannot recall. Many of these women had been detained at Kamiti, Lang' ata, or Embakasi for quite a long time, released, and then rearrested after KLFA was proscribed. Except for Wairimu, who was quite young, most had participated in KCA, KAU, and the Mau Mau War Council. They had led groups of fighters in their provinces. On the second day after my arrival, the interrogation process started. The interrogators told me that I was the secretary of Kenya Land Freedom Army and its affiliates in Nairobi, Central, and Rift Valley Provinces. They wanted to know about my work as a member of Mau Mau and my leadership and activities in the Nairobi People's Convention Party. The interrogation went on for more than two days. Eventually, during the third day, the colonial officials got fed up with me, for I specifically told them that I had nothing to reveal, as my role in the party was no secret. I demanded Uhuru and the release of our leaders who were still in detention or under restriction. My interrogation on that notorious third day ended at 3:30 P.M. I was told to report back at 7:00P.M., which I did. The other detainees got worried about my being interrogated at night all by myself and insisted that one of them, Kamau wa Zipporah, accompany me. I remember that Kamau was nearly thrown in the sea by the guards when he tried to get in the motorboat

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that was to take me for further interrogation to Sheila, which was about five miles from Lamu. Kamau was thrown back, but fortunately fell at the seashore rather than in the ocean. They shouted at him, "Hapa hakuna kazi yako" ("You have no business here"). Kamau returned to the camp and informed the other detainees. There was a commotion and revolt, which resulted in the detainees being beaten. Such beatings were normal and the detainees were used to them. However, when I later learned about their punishment, I felt bad that it was done just because of me. Meanwhile, at Sheila, my ordeal continued. I was being asked to choose between two things: to reveal all that I had been doing in my bid to gain the nonexistent freedom and land, or to die. On many occasions I had been prepared to die for my political convictions if necessary, but this time I felt heartsick; I had children with me and freedom was just around the corner. I was also pained because I had not been able to say goodbye to my parents before my arrest. Although I wanted to live to see a free Kenya, I had vowed never to weep in front of an imperialist, so I hardened my heart. The infamous Sheila post was a spot where the colonialists had thrown many freedom fighters into the waters, as it was a place known for crocodiles. Still, the colonialists had to take precautions in case a detainee was only partially eaten by the crocodiles. They had to make sure that no detainee's body was ever recovered. The police officer with whom I had traveled from Nairobi was in charge of Nairobi detainees-cum-restrictees. He told me that many Kikuyu detainees who had hardened themselves like me had been thrown in the sea at that spot. He warned that it probably would happen to me if I continued to behave like a hard-core Mau Mau. The warurungana (soldiers) had erected a large tent, with a smaller one placed 200 yards distant. It was the practice to interrogate detainees in separate rooms so that any contradictions in their answers could be detected. Separating detainees while they were being questioned also made it easier for those who surrendered to give their testimonies without other prisoners hearing them. However, it was not normal for a woman prisoner to be taken anywhere without a policewoman or a female prison officer. I was alone in a tent with the officer in charge of Nairobi detainees. I asked my interrogator whether it was normal for Britons in England to kill women. I cited the second World War, and asked why the British claimed that Adolf Hitler was a tyrant. I said that I thought it was because when England was bombed, the bombing was mostly concentrated on residential areas, and that most of those killed were women and children who remained at home. He said that those were housewives, and not politicians with terrorist attitudes. I asked him about the woman who worked in a German hotel and helped British spies register as employees as a cover. He asked me where I had got that information. I said I saw a film about the war. His answer was that those people were protecting their government and their territories. I then asked the difference between defending one's territory and fighting to be free from the yoke of colonialism to become a

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sovereign state where everyone would be welcome to live on equal status. I was told that Africans were not able to rule themselves, they had no territory and no boundaries, and that what they claimed to be their territories and the geographical boundaries were those drawn by Europeans who discovered Africa-in our case, Captain Lugard and others. The officer, who was drinking whisky and was very unconcerned with what I was talking about, told me that I should prepare to die. He forced me to share his whisky, but I was too smart for that. I would ask to go to relieve myself and force myself to vomit. There were about twelve soldiers in the camp. Whenever I went out, I would hear the soldiers complaining that they had been kept too long and cursing the senior officer. I realized that they were also not free, as they had no equal status and dared not ask their boss to hurry up. All this time I did not know the name of this officer, and whenever I tried to find out, I was told that it was not my business. His interrogation lasted about three hours. I was in pain and my heart was thumping from fear, yet I had to put on a smile, knowing so well that I was only pretending to be fearless. At times, I got more information from him than he got from me. I choked and coughed when trying to say, "Oh! By the way, the same boat that brought me to Lamu took me to Sheila. The same officer who brought me from Nairobi brought me to Sheila, but without Superintendent Heriz-Smith." Although the British often harassed women, it was an unusual thing for a woman to be arrested by men alone, let alone to be taken to an isolated island at night. You can guess what happened to me: I was brutally raped. After the rape, I was taken back to the boat. I was dazed and disoriented but still tried to find out more about where I was being taken. I said, "Oh, the boy who navigated the boat to Lamu is the same one who brought me to Sheila on the same Shungwaya motorboat, but I think he has an African feeling or may have been used on several similar trips to Sheila." The officer asked me why I thought that. I answered that the boy had drawn a deep, loud breath when we arrived at Sheila, especially when the bag, the stone, and the rope-presumably to be used to dispose of my body-were taken from the motorboat. When we came back to the boat, the boy began whistling and singing as the soldiers were ordered to board the boat and he saw the senior officer helping me into the motorboat. I concluded that he had been concerned on the outward trip that the soldiers had been ordered to end my life. He was relieved that I was alive, after all. The boy asked me "Huyambo?" I understood him to be saying the equivalent of "Jambo" ("Hello, how are you?"), since the Swahili spoken at the coast was different from that spoken in my home province. I said, "Siyambo." He then asked me, "U mbwa wa nyani?" I had been asked this question by a woman on my first day at Lamu. Then, I had thought she was referring to a dog, since mbwa means "dog," but I had later learned that in Coast Province Swahili, mbwa meant "well." The only thing the woman wanted to know was where I came from. I answered the boy and said I came from Kiambu, was arrested in Nairobi, was a Kikuyu by tribe, and was one of those people fighting

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for freedom. He did not have a clue as to what I said about freedom. He said, "My boss is paid for the boat," which I thought meant that his boss was not a party to what was happening but just earned his livelihood from the fee paid by the customers. I again said to him that he looked too young to be working at that time of night. One European officer interrupted and said that was the kind of treatment we could expect from African bosses. Another officer shouted, "Oh, yeah, they will only be slaves after freedom. At least the Queen of England will remember us and give us medals and a rousing welcome when we go back home, but not these barbarians. If they ever win, that is." I then realized that I was treading in troubled waters. I also wanted to learn whether I was being taken to another place. I pretended to fall asleep and began to snore. One officer asked why the senior officer had not followed the instructions he had previously given. The officer in charge answered, "That is my business, I'll explain tomorrow, but she has been fantastic. She has told me all that I had wanted to know." At this point, I wanted to shout and declare aloud that it was not true, but I remembered that my two-and-a-half-year-old daughter was alone on the island. If I were killed, she would never find her ancestors and she would die, so I snored even more. We got back to Lamu Island, where it was quiet except for our boat, Shungwaya. All the officers alighted, taking me with them. The officers were staying at Petleys Inn, which was owned by Alan, the district officer in charge of detainees. At this juncture, I asked whether I could go to see my children. "Not yet," I was told. "Who tells you that you are free? Your children are not restricted or detained, call it what you want, but you are! There is an officer in charge in Lamu who must approve the decision I have made allowing you to come back. And who knows whether he will refuse and carry out the instructions from Mr. Swan?" I kept silent. The officer, seeing me quiet, held my hand and shouted at the others to go to their rooms immediately and not to forget that there were other senior officers in charge of detainees from other provinces. He told them he was only in charge of Nairobi. I thought they were being humiliated. Slowly, quietly they walked away. After someone opened the front door, they went in and I never heard any more complaints similar to those they had made while we were at Sheila. Tola, a Pokomo boy employed by the hotel, opened the door for me and the officer. (Later, after my ordeal, we gave Tola and his colleagues oaths to join our movement and to assist us while we lived there.) I was now left alone with the officer in charge of the Nairobi detainees. To my surprise, he resumed the line of his earlier comments. "Oh, yes," he said, "we go and wake him [the officer in charge of Lamu] up. He lives on the first floor of the police station." The police station was next door to the hotel. I was told not to answer if the Lamu official called me by my name and that I should remember that my name was Number 59. I said, "Sorry." Probably I would have answered if I were called Virginia. I also reminded him that he had been calling me Virginia for quite some time. Sarcastically,

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he said, "How about if I called you Edith? Is that not your name too?" I said, "No." He also asked me if I was a terrorist, and I answered that I was a mother. He took no notice of my answer and shouted at me, reminding me that I would only be Number 59. Having no choice, I agreed. He said, "Apart from being a mother, you are actually a terrorist, a gangster, a trouble-maker, but above all a woman. We all understand that you cook very well. Do you know who has betrayed you?" I answered "No!" He replied, "It is your colleague and your greatest friend." "I see! His name?" "You know, V.," he said. I shot back, "You mean my name is now V.?" "Yes," he said, "it represents Virginia, not Wagio the terrorist." I kept quiet. He was drunk. By that point, we were walking to the house of the officer in charge of Lamu Island. The houses in Lamu Island have very steep stairs. I walked, but the officer, who was behind me, told me to sit down and rest when we got halfway there. He pushed me to the ground with such force that my back was hurt, causing a scar on my spine that I carry to this day. But I did as I was told. He raped me again. After the ordeal he said, "Come on, let's go to the hotel. It is high time you realized that I actually want to save your neck. Why do you have to die?" "For my country," I replied. He yelled, "Aaah, why is it that others gain, some get funds from organizations such as CIA, MIS, and KGB, and you, stupid, get nothing?" I asked, "What do these denominations represent?" The officer said, "How much money do you think has been distributed by President John F. Kennedy?" "At least he likes the blacks," I said. By this time I was becoming enraged, but I did not show my reaction. I asked to go to see my youngest daughter. "Not now!" he shouted. In a calm tone, he told me that he needed to consult another officer on the issue at the hotel. When we got to the hotel, he took me into a room. A few minutes later he was snoring. When he awoke, I pleaded with him to let me go. He raped me two more times before he let me go. At about four o'clock in the morning, he opened the back door of the hotel and showed me a mosque, which I later discovered was notorious as a meeting place for homosexuals. He then told me that he had given me a baby girl. He also said that impregnating me was a decision of the British government. They hoped that Mau Mau would either kill me or hate me for having a white man's child. He directed me to turn right when I reached the mosque, saying, "There, V., you will find the door to the place where you are detained." "Thank you very much, Mr. Master," I said sarcastically. He said, "See you later." I walked, as a female slave would, entered the building where I was housed, and bribed the guard with two shillings, which I had kept inside my brassiere for milk for my kids. Every detainee, especially Mama Kamendi, Beatrice Nyambura wa Kimethe, Mama Gathoni, and Mama Wairimu, smiled and hugged me on finding that I was still alive and gave me a rousing welcome. I told them everything that had happened to me. The older ladies warned me not to inform the district officer in charge or the police, because "Kuhonoka

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mahuri ti kuhonoka nyongo" ("escaping once does not necessarily mean you will escape the second time"). It was very difficult advice to accept, but when I realized that these ladies had been in detention for many years at Lang'ata, Embakasi, and Kamiti Prison, I knew that they had vast knowledge and decided to comply. I was happy to see my children again and to be alive. The women sang Mau Mau songs, especially the one about Field Marshall Dedan Kimathi, which I loved most. Riria Kimathi witu ambataga Kirima-ini ari o wiki Nietirie hinya na umiriru Wa kuhota Nyakeru.

When our Kimathi was climbing The mountain all by himself He asked for strength and bravery To defeat the whites.

Chorus

Tukumenuo tondu turi airu Na tutiri Nyakeru Na tutiri a kirathimo kiao Ngai witu ari o mbere.

We are hated because we are black And because we are not of the whites And we are not of their blessings Our God is ahead.

Ni oigire ciugo cia umiriru Nyakeru acoke Uraya Na akiuga tutigatiga ona ri Gutetera wiyathi.

He uttered brave words That the whites return to England And he said that we shall never again Stop our struggle for freedom.

We all took comfort from this song. It reminded me about Field Marshall Dedan Kimathi, who had walked up the mountain alone, not fearing wild animals, just as I had survived interrogation and Shella alone. Those who were injured felt relieved, for they were injured while fighting for their sister and comrade. Others had mixed feelings, believing that I might have betrayed them. This was a normal feeling whenever a detainee was away from the other detainees for such a long time, when no one knew where he or she had been. That terrible night left a scar in my heart to this day. But all the same, freedom was won. And who knew whether such agony and misery brought Uhuru. The same cruel things were done to many women fighters. No one but a victim would be able to understand how such an officer's brutal actions affected one's life psychologically. Even while pretending to be saving my life, my rapist never revealed his name to me. I thought that even if he had not assaulted me, it was ridiculous not to know who he was. But I had no way of learning his name. After the initial interrogations (and my rape), the officers returned to their stations in Nairobi, Nyeri, Rift Valley, Embu, and elsewhere. We were left in the charge of the officers of the Lamu police station and the Lamu district officer, whose only duty was to be in charge of the detainees. However, after three and a half months of detention, all the officers returned from the other districts and I discovered my rapist's name. When their plane landed at Mwana, I was dazed and sort of dreaming. I asked whether the officer, whose name I wanted to know, was coming. Mama Kamendi said, "We know why you were sad when the plane touched the ground; we also know how you reacted when the officers

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walked from Mwana to the motorboat. But heed our advice. It was all because you were betrayed." I had mentioned to these women that my rapist had revealed to me that I had been betrayed by my best friend. That, however, was not an issue now. I nearly shouted at Mama Kamendi but did not because Kariuki, a detainee from Waithaka, was bringing my children from the hospital. My children came in and reported to me that they had been treated by one of the detainees, Kinuthia wa Jones. Kinuthia was a brother of Chief Reuben Kiambuthi of Kinoo, who was notorious for his cruelty and brutality in suppressing Mau Mau. Kinuthia had been detained for selling medicine to sick forest fighters and had been treating us in detention. There was a shortage of hospital assistants in the general hospital and he had been assigned work without pay.l On that particular day, he had treated my children for malaria. He was also treating me, as I was now very ill. I was given a Ksh. 40/- allowance for every child who accompanied me to Lamu. As I was going to buy milk for the children, I met a Kikuyu chief inspector who was in charge of Nyeri detainees. He said hello in a tone that showed me that he was approachable. (I later learned that his name was Chief Inspector David.) Before I answered, he asked, "How do you find Lamu detention camp?" I took a breath and answered, "We are happy." I choked over the lie but gave an excuse. Then I said to him, "You know that huge man who is not very white? His face looks as if he had been stung by bees or as if he once had smallpox?" "Very huge, you mean? "Yes, he is always wearing khaki shorts." He said, "Yes, I know him. You mean the chief inspector." Before he went on, I concealed my anxiety and said that he was kind and had brought us tinned beans, beef, and biscuits. "We are being looked after very well," I concluded. Innocently, he answered, "You mean Chief Inspector Rudolf Speed?" I answered, "Is that his name?" After that I said, "See you tomorrow. I was given only a few minutes to buy milk for my children." I left hurriedly. I bought milk and hurried back to where I was housed, still memorizing the name Rudolf Speed. I had been given some paper by District Officer Alan so that I might write a letter home. I took a pen and paper and wrote down the name and then took a belt and opened the seam. I put the paper inside and sewed it back up. I removed it only when I left detention and returned home. I read the name. If you put yourself in my position at that time, you can imagine what was going through my mind. It also marked the end of my friendship with my colleague and fiance, who was said to have betrayed me. From then on, we worked different ways, at times in opposition to one another. Whether it was true or not that he had betrayed me, I could not believe in him any longer.

NOTE

1. These jobs were nicknamed "communal work," which the Kikuyus called kamiuna (or in Swahili, kawaida), meaning "as usual."

S.M. Otieno, advocate, holds his gown as he leaves the court. Photo© Nation Newspapers Ltd.

6 Release and Marriage to S.M. Otieno

I was released from detention for medical reasons on January 23, 1961. I was pregnant and suffering from malaria, dehydration, and vomiting. I had contracted malaria because we were not allowed to have mosquito nets on Lamu. Locals and camp officials used them to keep mosquitoes from biting them during the night. But to issue mosquito nets to detainees and restrictees was considered pampering. When Rudoph Speed and the other interrogators returned to Lamu, they came back to reinterrogate us, to persuade us to renounce our freedom activities as a condition of our release. When I saw Speed's plane land, I imagined that he might act the same way he had the night he raped me. He called for Number 59 (my detention number) to come into the office at Lamu station. To my surprise, he was very kind, asking me if I was pregnant. I answered that, yes, I was. He then related to me how he had approached the minister for defense to obtain my release. The minister, he said, would release me on a condition. Speed then produced a statement for me to sign, which said that I would not participate in freedom activities, especially those organized by clandestine movements. With respect to Mau Mau, the statement said, "I now denounce Mau Mau and its activities and all the activities of its aliases." I refused to sign the paper, and told Speed that I was not a member of any clandestine movement. Further, I said that I was an officer of a registered political organization whose activities were not secret and I was not going to betray our cause. When he insisted, I told him that I had never been a police informer or a Home Guard. He then sadly told me to return to camp since I had hardened. But he promised to continue fighting for my release. I told him that was his business. Upon his return to Nairobi, Rudoph Speed visited my brother's law office to get him to sign the statement. My brother was an advocate of the High Court of Kenya and had just opened a private practice. When Speed 87

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asked him to sign, he refused. Saying that he could not sign anything having to do with a secret organization, he volunteered to sign a statement that his sister was the chairman of the NPCP Women's Wing. Rudolph went away, reworded the statement, and my brother signed it. However, I don't believe that this secured my release; that statement was rejected by the minister. I was given a removal order to be taken from Lamu Island to another restriction area. The review committee included members of the judges of the High Court. They controlled when and under what conditions detainees were released. Periodically, the committee visited the detention and restriction camps to review each individual case. When my case was reviewed, they recommended that I be given an extensive medical checkup, which showed that I had severe anemia. As a result, I was moved from Lamu to Nairobi. When I arrived, I was met by two officers, one of whom was policewoman Heriz-Smith. She seemed surprised that I was pregnant but never asked me any questions. They drove me to the Special Branch office, where I was asked to sign a document in order to be released. Since the conditions were the same-to confess to being a part of a secret organization and to renounce Mau Maul refused. Then they told me that I was to be taken to either Embu or Marsabit. Defiantly, I told them that was fine with me. Then I was driven to the railway station. As we arrived I saw Europeans dressed in rags arriving from Congo-Brazzaville. They had been attacked by people in the Congo who had just won their independence. The officers told me that this was what I could expect from an independent government in Kenya. I shot back that, as far as I was concerned, that was the way the Europeans had behaved toward Kenyans. I mentioned how the British had treated the women and children they forced out of Olenguruone in Maasai-land. They had arrived in Eastern Province, starved and naked. I also spoke about the brutal murder of the detainees in Hola Camp in the Coast Province and the deaths of the detainees in Manyani Camp and elsewhere. This silenced the officers, but later, the woman told me that I would have to face the consequences. Again I said that that was fine with me. After we passed the railway station, I was taken to the Special Branch headquarters and left in a room. My children had been with me all this time and the soldiers gave us snacks and Coca-Cola. I did not know what was going on in the other office or where my escort was. After about two hours, I was served with a release order. Heriz-Smith and the other officer then drove us to the estate I had lived on before I was arrested. It was a City Council of Nairobi estate. After I was arrested and taken to detention, the house I occupied was rented out to another person. To my dismay, I found that everything I had owned had disappeared. I went to visit my neighbor,

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who told me that the City Council officers had placed all my belongings outside the house and told the new tenants not to take anything away. But the next day, she said, all the things were gone. She could not tell me who had stolen my belongings. She gave me a tray I had once loaned to her to use to entertain visitors. She also gave me twenty shillings so I could get transportation. I gathered my children, placed the smallest one on my back, and we walked to the next estate where we could get transportation. There, I went to a shop that was owned by one of the detainees who had been released after three and a half months in detention. His wife was very excited to see me. She called her husband, who stared at me in disbelief. Their residence was in the same building as their shop and they asked us to stay with them until the next morning. After breakfast, they sent me by taxi to my brother's clinic in the Rajah Manzil Building. Only my sister, who was his nurse, was there. She was overjoyed to see me, so much so that she abandoned her duties and sat with me in my brother's private office. She fed my children and bathed them. Later, when I walked through my brother's office to the toilet, my brother opened the door to the outer room. When he saw me, he leaped from the door to where I was standing to hug me. I stayed with him in his house in Nairobi South until he got a house for me.

MAluuAGE TO

S. M.

OTIENO

After I returned to Nairobi, I worked with my brother, who was an advocate. Being determined to get redress from my rapist, I informed my brother about my Lamu predicament. He, in tum, instructed a Luo lawyer to take up the case. The lawyer stalled for a while before taking any action; he did nothing until Jomo Kenyatta was released from detention and restriction. I related the entire story to Kenyatta at his Sirona House office. He told the whole story to Mr. Chanan Singh, an Asian lawyer who was also a politician and freedom fighter. Mr. Chanan Singh wrote a letter to Mr. Webb, the attorney general, and Mr. Cattling, the commissioner of police. It seemed as if I was cursed, however, for the letter ended up in the hands of an African lawyer who was working in the registrar general's office. Even though he was from Kikuyu near my home, he betrayed me. I believe he was playing a double game. We were still ruled by a colonial governor and the lawyer's father had been a senior chief during the colonial era. Even as this lawyer visited Kenyatta's Sirona House office, he also conspired with the remaining colonial masters. He informed the commissioner of police about what was happening even before the letter arrived in his office. The commissioner acted very quickly. He gave Chief Inspector

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Rudolf Speed compensation of £4,000 and a free ticket so he could flee to England. To this day, I have not forgiven the lawyer from Kikuyu, who was known to many Africans to have a color complex, because he chose to cover up for a brutal rapist. Initially, however, Speed had no intention of leaving Africa. To discover where he worked, I visited Special Branch offices near the Law Courts (where the Kenyatta International Conference Centre is located today). I found him there. He came out to talk to me. He offered to take me to Arusha, where he had worked before being transferred to Nairobi. He suggested that I deliver the baby there so that I would not be killed by Mau Mau. I told him that under no circumstances would I run away from my people. I was very composed so that he would not suspect that I would take any action. However, he left Kenya. Later, Mzee Kenyatta sent a team of Special Branch officers to trace Speed. They found him working as a watchman at Lancaster Gate in London. When he realized that he was being sought, he disappeared. Subsequently, Mzee Jomo Kenyatta told me that Rudolph Speed had run away to Australia. When all this was happening, I still had not dropped my first lawyer. But since he was not doing much, I asked my brother who was running a legal practice in Thika to arrange a meeting. We arranged to meet at the Princess Hotel. I sat with the Luo lawyer, waiting for my brother. After a while, a tall, gray-haired man walked in. His name was Silvano Melea Otieno and he was known to my lawyer and others as "SM." I recognized his face, for he had always, smilingly, said hello to me whenever we passed one another at a bus stop on Victoria Street behind the National and Grindlys Bank (now the Kenya Archives). My lawyer introduced me to him and informed him that I was a sister to Mugo Waiyaki, an advocate colleague whom he knew very well. S. M. Otieno asked me whether I was the little girl who used to visit the Law Courts with my father in 1951. I told him that my father had many children, but that I used to come to the Law Courts every end of term when my father bought me a present for doing well in school. Otieno related to me where he came from, how he had come to Nairobi looking for a job, and how he had ended up in Law Courts. He told me that my father had helped him get employment as a native clerical interpreter. He also related how my father advised him to go for further studies and how to find a scholarship to study in India. After learning from the other lawyer that I was an active freedom fighter, Otieno related to me how he had taken the Mau Mau oath at Karatina. After a transfer to the Law Courts in Eldoret, he worked with people like Mr. Crispus Mbugua and A. 0. Peter in Uashin Gishu District. We engaged in serious discussion while waiting, but as it had gotten rather late, I said I could not wait for my brother any longer. I promised to

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ask him to arrange another meeting. At this juncture, SM had learned about my predicament in detention from his friend, my lawyer. He was told about my beautiful baby daughter and my mental anguish. When I stood up to go, SM said it was dangerous for a young lady to walk in the streets alone. He offered to escort me to the Damji petrol station on Racecourse Road, where I could take a bus. There, he said, he would take another bus to his sister's place in Makongeni. Instead, he took me to my house by taxi. He said to me that he had been practicing law with Jean-Marie Seroney, for whom he ran the Thika office. On being admitted to the High Court of Kenya as an advocate, he had decided to open up his chambers on the second floor of the Rajab Manzi! Building. My elder brother, Dr. Munyua Waiyaki, had a clinic on the same floor. I learned later from SM that he had just been given a license to practice law and had not yet found a house to rent. This is how it all started. SM never left me alone after that first encounter, even though I told him everything about my life. I told him that my detention had caused me to distrust my fiance, the father of my first three children, whom I had known for ten years. I told him how I had come to doubt my fiance when I was told, during interrogation, that he had betrayed me. This wound never healed, for after my release when I related to my fiance what had happened in detention camp, I ended our relationship. I told SM how my fiance, who was a tycoon, had driven me to Muthaiga (the most posh area in Nairobi) to see a house he intended to buy for me so that I could live there with the children; however, he said that for political reasons, he would marry a girl from his own tribe. He intended to support me and the children. I was to live in Muthaiga as if I were his wife. I turned the offer down, telling my former fiance that I was not a piece of furniture! I explained to SM that, because of what had happened to me, I had made up my mind to live alone and take care of my children. I told SM all this to discourage him from getting serious about me. Moreover, I knew that he would learn of the former relationship anyway, as our ten years' association was an open secret. I did not want lie to him and be exposed later. SM turned a deaf ear to all my revelations and continued seeing me. I wanted to discourage SM for another reason. I had strong beliefs regarding marriage: I was not prepared to be treated as a secondclass citizen. I believed marriage should be a matter of give and take and I was not going to be anybody's slave. I also had expectations of what quality of a man I should live with. I knew my weaknesses. Any husband I took had to be intelligent, as I felt I could not handle anything less. Our courtship was very interesting-a lawyer and a politician! I worried about losing my freedom if the relationship went too far, thinking that I might not be allowed to participate in politics. SM was so persistent that it was not long before we realized that we had a great deal in common and

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were meant for each other. SM was a loving man, but he had a great deal of reserve. I was also like that. For me, it was a case of "once bitten, twice shy." When I met SM, I was still inclined to think that every man was evil: my best friend and fiance had betrayed me and Rudolf Speed had raped me. In my view, my betrayer was more evil than Speed. He did not need to have me detained in order to justify his later action of breaking the engagement and trying to make me his unofficial wife. SM's patience and acceptance helped me get rid of my attitude toward men and become a normal human being. I also worried about my mother's reaction to a possible marriage to SM. How would she take it? I had made enough mistakes, and yet another one would be disastrous. I also knew that although my father had worked in several towns and had several friends from other tribes, my mother had not been exposed to other tribes. The only non-Kikuyu friend I knew my mother to have was Mr. Anam, who worked with my father in the police force. To me that was not enough. I refused to take SM to my home when he asked me to do so. I would tell him that my home was too far away, as it was eleven miles from the general post office. Nevertheless, he insisted that we legalize our marriage and make peace with our parents. Because I did not make a move to take SM to meet my parents, he secretly planned it all. One Sunday when our driver was off duty, SM asked a taxi driver he knew to come to our house at Karen, Warai Road South. Neither one of us had a valid driver's license. Because our son was breastfeeding, SM knew that I would not suspect that he had plans of going far from home. I had a nice nanny, and my baby daughter was bottle feeding, as my doctor had said that I hadn't much breast milk because of very weak tissues. SM knew that I would not suspect anything. He had no doubt that I had grown to trust him. After all, he had brought me back to life after my ordeal with Speed and my former fiance. When the taxi driver arrived, SM told me that he thought that we should have a Sunday afternoon drive alone, without the children. Our nanny, Kiria, would take care of everything. He said, "You are tired, Msaja. It is high time you got out of the usual environment." I agreed. SM had a way of getting around me and making me do things that very few people could manage to make me do. Msaja was SM's special name for me. It is a Bagandan word that means man or mister. During the rebellion, I had been nicknamed Msaja by other Mau Mau fighters because I was known to be as strong and as brave as a man. We drove to town, bought ice cream, and continued through Limuru Road. He engaged me in a very interesting discussion until we had passed Muthaiga. He said to me, "I am taking you on a tour of Kiambu District, your home area." I guess I was foolish, for even as I was being driven to

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Kiambu, I never guessed what SM planned. After all, the route we had taken began far from my home. We went through Kiambu coffee farms, then on to Limuru tea farms. I enjoyed seeing my home area, this time free of the Home Guards I had dodged as a Mau Mau scout. We went round to Muguga, Rironi, and then past the Zambezi Motel. By then I wondered, "Where to now?" Before I could question our destination, we had passed Rungiri and were approaching Muthiga. Still, I did not question SM, as I could not believe he would be bold enough to enter my home. I remarked to the driver, "We are in Muthiga; my home is over there." When the car turned into the entrance to my home, I was so shocked I couldn't speak. As for SM, he was showing the driver the gate to my home. My father, who had been enjoying an afternoon walk, stood outside looking toward Ngong Hills. I greeted Dad, then proceeded to the kitchen to the person I feared most. I was trembling at the sight of my mother's face. Her expression showed that all was not well. I greeted her, "Wi mwega, mama?" ("How are you, Mama?"). She answered quietly, "Ii, ndi mwega" ("Yes, I am all right"). Then she asked me, "Ino nayo wamiruta naku?" ("Where did you find this one?"). This could mean anything including an animal, but never a human being. Shaken, I said to her, "Mama, nituruge chai" ("Mama, let us prepare some tea"). At this juncture I saw through the window that my father and SM were walking toward the main house. I was afraid that SM might have heard my mother's words. He actually did hear everything, as he understood the Kikuyu language very well. Later, he became a very close son to my mother. But he never forgot what I had been asked. He would teasingly say to me, "Where did you find this one?" He would then laugh and say, "Msaja, you know how Mama likes me. She would not listen to you if you accuse me of doing anything wrong to you." Before we left Muthiga on that fateful day, my mother told me to remember when she used to come to visit me in Nairobi West and the same man, accompanied by my brother Mugo, would come to visit. She said that she found it to be an unlikely coincidence that when she was visiting, he was also visiting. She said that old people were thought to be very ignorant, which was not right. She knew that I had been living with SM. Anyway, she said, I should do as I wished and not regret it later, and not blame anybody else. She added that it was all up to me: she and Tiras had brought me up, and whatever I did was my choice. However, she said, they would appreciate it very much if I got involved with someone from near our home. Finally she said, "Murega akiruo, ndaregaga akihetwo" ("Those who do not heed the warning live with the consequences"). Even when faced with animosity from SM's relatives, I did not heed my mother's advice to find a Kikuyu to marry. SM's sister, Helen, openly

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opposed our association. Once, when SM and I bought a car, she asked why the car should be driven by a "Kikuyu prostitute," adding that a Luo girl should be driving it. Helen and SM had a very heated argument, which even involved their brother Isaiah. He told his sister that abusing SM's wife like that was uncalled for. Isaiah walked out, and as far as I know, that is the last time he went to see Helen. As difficult as these moments were to bear, noxious comments from SM's relatives could not change my mind. These same relatives tried to turn SM's father, Jairo Ougo Oyugi, against me by telling him that his son was living with a very old woman. Mzee Oyugi summoned SM to his home at Nyamila to explain the situation. Deciding that he would meet his father only on neutral ground, SM sent a message asking that they meet in Kisumu town. When Mzee Oyugi revealed what he had been told, SM replied that he was the one who was going to live with me. Later, Mzee Oyugi decided to visit his son unannounced. He was accompanied by Mrs. Susana Ouma, his cousin's wife. When he came into the house, I greeted him and turned to greet Mrs. Ouma, whom I had already met. Mzee interrupted, asking me whether I was the one who was staying with his son. Mrs. Ouma answered for me. Mzee Oyugi said, "But I have been told that my son is living with a very old woman. You are a child. Where is SM?" Before I could answer that he was in the bathroom, the old man said to me that I should take him to see my parents. After breakfast, we drove them to my home. Mzee Oyugi was a very intelligent man. After talking with my parents, he was conducted around our farm to familiarize himself with the situation at home. He learned how I had been brought up. SM and I drove off to the Zambezi Motel to give our parents a chance to become acquainted with each other. When we returned, they had already become friends. As a parting gift, my father-in-law was given a Kikuyu basket, maize, and beans, which he said he wanted to plant. Later, when SM decided to take me to his father's homestead, we saw the basket hanging on the wall. Mzee Oyugi showed it to me and said that the basket was a sign to show people that his son had married a Kikuyu girl. He also told me that he had told the family to leave us alone, as his son had never made a mistake. SM had asked many times that we legalize our marriage. However, I had never given it serious thought. Even after our parents met with us, I was still debating with myself whether it was the right thing to do. I had convinced myself that I was not marriageable. After the birth of our son Otieno on June 19, 1963, I started thinking seriously of my illicit stay with SM. I thought that it was high time I made up my mind either way, yet I had principles that I did not want to part with. I worried that if I got legally married, my husband would interfere with my freedom. Perhaps he would stop me from being involved with politics or holding any post in the ruling

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party. This was not acceptable to me. In July 1963 I decided to talk the matter over with SM. One evening as soon as he had come home from work, we had our usual tea together. I then proceeded to the kitchen to prepare our evening meal while he walked around the compound with our daughters Jane and Peggy, who was then just a toddler. I finished preparing dinner very quickly and fed the children. Leaving everything else in the hands of my nanny, I told SM that I needed fresh air and asked if we could take an evening walk. As we walked, I said to him that I had thought seriously about our living together unwed but that I needed his assistance to make up my mind. I said there were serious issues disturbing me. He asked me what my doubts were. He told me that he had made up his mind to live with me for the rest of his life. All we needed to do was to register our marriage. He reminded me how unfair we had been to our parents, who were Christians and thus troubled by this kind of relationship, as I was well aware. I expressed my fear that legal marriage to him might curtail my freedom, stop me from attending political meetings and being involved with public life generally. (At that time I was the secretary of KANU, Karen Ward.) SM told me that he did not expect to marry a slave but a wife who would have the freedom to decide what to do and where to go. He added that for a marriage to succeed, it must be based on trust. He pointed out that he had needed the time that we had been together to make sure we were compatible because he did not like divorces. When two people divorce, he stated, the sufferers are the innocent children. He explained to me what he had gone through at the hands of his stepmother, after his own mother's death. I then expressed my other fear, which had been caused by my treatment at Lamu. I said that although I appreciated very much the way he had handled my psychological problems, I still had not given up hope of suing the British government. SM reminded me that he had repeatedly told me to try to forget my ordeal, as it might affect the children. He told me that the legal action I would take would not cure the damage done to me-it would only be revenge. "Leave it to God, Msaja." He told me that he wanted a successful marriage. For that reason, he refused to conduct divorce cases. He said he preferred talking couples into reconciliation without charging anything for the advice. If they refused to reconcile, he would tell them to look for another advocate. After further discussion of our expectations of marriage, we agreed that we should get married. We knew, however, that we should consult our parents before announcing our plans. I disclosed to him that it had been my wish, if I ever got married, to be married on August 17, for that was the day my great-grandfather had been exiled to Kibwezi and I wished to honor him. SM said it did not matter to him which day we married, as he did not

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even know the day his mother died. The anniversary of her death would have been the only one he cared to have as our wedding date, to honor her memory. He even told me how little he had left of her because everything they had was destroyed when their houses, near the church at Nyamila, were burned by people who were against Christianity. For him, the most important loss was his mother's photographs. Also burned was a book in which his father had entered the names and birthdays of his children. Consequently, SM had to go to Hono Church to check the register to ascertain his own date of birth before he could be admitted to Maseno School. Shaking off these memories, SM reminded me that we had a very short time to make arrangements; he would not delay our marriage for another year, and this was already July. "Msaja," he said, "this is around the corner." We should start arrangements immediately. Then he revealed that his father had already given him permission for the marriage; nonetheless, he would send a letter to his father the following day. He also said that after work the next day, we should go to my home. We proceeded to my home as agreed. SM and I lived very close to Karen Shopping Centre. By approaching my home from Dagoretti market, it took only a few minutes to get there. After chatting with my parents for a short while, I decided to introduce the subject of our late, unexpected visit. I addressed my father in the Kikuyu language. My father called my mother, saying to her, "Nyina wa Munyua, toka haha uigue ndeto ici ndireruo ni mwari wa Gituku" ("Munyua's mother, come here and listen to what I am being told by the daughter of Gituku").l My mother had gone into another room to make some tea and roast meat for us. When she came back, my father asked me to repeat what I had just said to him. When I said that we intended to legalize our marriage, my mother responded, "Ithe wa Munyua ng'aragu ndihoyaguo uhoro" ("Father of Munyua, you cannot discuss anything with a hungry person"). Then she went back to the other room to cook. Although SM understood the Kikuyu language, this was now deep Kikuyu. I could see he was worried, as he did not know what was going on. I explained to him what was being said and that my mother was only preparing something for us to eat. After we had drunk tea and eaten, Mama sat down. I was trembling, not knowing how to start. Things looked worse than I had expected. Approaching my parents myself about a prospective marriage was against Kikuyu customs. Under normal circumstances, I should have gone home alone and told my mother that I was going to have some guests on a particular day. However, I avoided that, as I did not intend to follow Kikuyu marriage customs. At the back of my mind, I knew that bridewealth was an acceptable custom in general, but I was not going to be bought. I said in front of both parents that we intended to legalize our marriage. Before I

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could go further, my father said to us, "Igitunyuo mwana ni iikagirio mungu" ("When one's child is being taken away, one is given a token"). At once I answered, "Dad, that custom is outdated and I do not like it. I am not a goat to be sold. I am your child. I'll never be sold to anybody, but I promise that if I ever settle down and you need my assistance, I will always help. When you have something to be done here, never leave me out." I have kept my promise to this day. Then my father turned to SM and asked him whether he had understood what I had said; he answered yes. Before my father could say anything else, I said that we intended to get married on August 17, 1963. Dad asked why we had come to them if we had made all the arrangements. SM took over, saying that we had been living together illegally as man and wife. He went on to say that neither his father nor my parents were happy about the arrangement. This was a mistake we wanted to correct. Our driver, who was in fact my uncle, said, "My brother, this young man is a nice child. And what you should help them do is to settle down." My mother, who had already made friends with her son-in-law, had been quiet during the discussion. She smiled and asked what was required of them. I answered that I expected her to prepare Kikuyu food of njahi (black beans) and njugu (cow peas) and to provide ripe bananas and milk. She agreed to take care of that. I also asked them to inform the relatives and promised to send invitation cards to them as soon as they were printed. The wedding took place at noon on Saturday, August 17, 1963. We married in the district commissioner's office, Nairobi. Rejecting my idea of having a church wedding, SM had said that all he wanted was a legal marriage. My partner John Damiano arrived the night before the ceremony. He was the principal owner of the Princess Hotel, and I was his silent partner. Later, before we moved to Kisumu, I worked as the receptionist and manager of the hotel. John was accompanied by Mr. A. D. Muigai, an activist from the freedom struggle. They amused us so much, as they arrived carrying a bottle of whisky, water, and glasses. They were in very high spirits, proclaiming that they did not require anything from us, as they were fully equipped! Perhaps three members of SM's family came to the wedding; over a thousand Kikuyu guests and people from other tribes and races attended. SM's elder brother, Isaiah Odhiambo, had visited us at the end of July. Since we were getting married less than a month later, we asked him to stay on and attend the wedding. But he was unable to do so, as he had some business to attend to in Mwanza. Isaiah also wanted to go home to Nyamila to see his father. Joash Ochieng', another one of SM's brothers, did not attend our wedding.2 He wrote a letter wishing us well but explaining that their brother had been admitted to Kisumu Hospital and that he was looking after him. To be sure, other members of SM's family lived in

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Nairobi, including his sister who had quarreled about the car. Yet they did not attend the wedding. Looking at it from that point of view, the Umira Kager clan lost control when they refused to attend their son's wedding. They also lost any rights over me, since no bridewealth had been paid. According to our customs, a woman becomes a wife to the clan if the bridegroom's father and his clan pay bridewealth. In the absence of this payment, the marriage between me and SM was a contract between the two of us only. My clan, the Achera, took over the ceremony. I enjoyed very much this song sung by the wedding guests. Gaka ni gaitu (3x) Ti karia kene twarumagiruo Hui! wainaga. Guku ni gwitu (3x) Wenda gwitemania witemanie Hui! wainaga. Giceri kiingi (3x) Tiga giakite muhurunjuko Hui! wainaga.

This one is ours Not that one who does not belong to us, whom they insulted Hey! [It] was sung. This is our place You can sit any way you want. Hey! [It] was sung. Giceri clan We are many but our houses are scattered. Hey! [It] was sung.

Giceri are descendants of Njeri, our clan ancestor. By singing this song, my clanmates were stressing that I was a Kikuyu, that I wasn't going to be a member of the clan that had abused us. This sense of belonging to my people, with whom I had worked so closely during the struggle for independence, made me very excited. I still remember the women freedom fighters, led by Hannah Wanjiku Kung'u, who danced the Gitiro dance and sang Mau Mau songs. It was a wonderful wedding. We were all jubilant since we had already achieved internal self-government in Kenya and our full freedom was just around the corner. For SM and me, the wedding relieved us of the stigma of having lived together for two years without officially taking our vows. When I married SM, he told me everything about his family and I did the same. He told me about the treatment he and his siblings received from his stepmother. He also told me a shocking story about his sister-in-law, Rispa Ochieng'. His brother Joash Ochieng' had invited Rispa to live with him at his railway quarters at Kisumu. When Mzee Jairo Oyugi heard about this, he traveled to Kisumu to see his son. In front ofRispa, Mzee Jairo said that he did not want his son to marry her and asked her to leave. However, she refused, and Mzee could do nothing about it. Rispa prepared a meal for him and put poison in the food. But the old man sensed that something was wrong and he gave his food to the cat. It died the same day. While the food

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was still on the table, Ochieng' came in for lunch. Rispa quickly removed the food. She served him some food that she claimed was warmer. When SM told me this story, I did not believe him. It was not until the old man came to stay with us that I confirmed that the story was true. One afternoon after I had brought him back from the doctor's clinic, he began to relate the whole story to me. He said that if Rispa had not borne two sons, she would not have been allowed to live in his home. For the duration of our marriage, I worked for SM as his confidential secretary and office manager. I had actually started working for him in 1962. At times, I acted as messenger and clerk. I was away from the office only when I took maternity leave. After the wedding, I resumed working half-days and then full days. We did not go anywhere for a honeymoon, as we had been living together for so long. I worked for SM willingly to build our income and his career. I believe it is very hard for a man and wife to work in the same office unless they are very close. SM was my double boss. I worked for him for fourteen years full-time and the rest part-time until the day he died. After work we used to enjoy spending the evenings together, either staying at home or sometimes going out for a drink. After we moved to Lang'ata in 1971, we would frequent the Lang'ata Club. Later on, when SM's cousin Hilary was transferred to manage a newly built cultural center, the Bomas of Kenya, we abandoned our visits to the Lang'ata Club and started visiting the center. Hilary was a dear friend and we became very close. He was the only member of SM's family who could claim to have known us well. Together, we organized two of his children's weddings and our foster daughter's marriage. We were a close family. Unfortunately, he also died before his time. When my dear friend Grace Wambui Arina passed away in 1970, my husband and I agreed to foster her six children. Grace's husband had died four years before. We also brought up our own children very well. Surely common sense dictates that a couple involved with serious quarrels, an accusation against SM and me alleged in court by Ochieng' and others, could never have agreed to take on such a heavy responsibility. Contrary to these false allegations, SM and I lived happily. I just do not know how I survived all the scandals of 1986-1987 and those suggested in books written about SM's family based on information provided by Joash Ochieng'. It was, and still is, hard to believe that our family was made a subject of public debate by Ochieng'. My sons Jairus and Patrick were ridiculed in court by people they would never have come into contact with had their father lived. It is hard to believe that all this was done by SM's own brother. Had he been a stepbrother, his actions would have been more understandable. He denied my children the right to mourn

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their father and the right to bury him. What Ochieng' is going through now is of his own making. His family has suffered greatly since the trial. Many have died; others have been struck by mental illness. Joash has lost respect within the Luo community and is alienated from me and my children. Under normal circumstances, after SM's death, Joash would have been revered and looked upon as a father by my children. He would have been entitled to make suggestions and participate in decisions about his brother's children. He would have been invited to family occasions like weddings, funerals, baptisms, and graduations to represent his deceased brother. But now, after his betrayal, he has no access to us. When I wrote to him telling him that only the two of us would remain after all was said and done, he did not heed my advice. Under normal circumstances, I would not have told anybody about Rispa, Ochieng', and SM's stepmother, Magdalena. But due to all that was said about us in court, in the papers and also in our presence, I have no alternative but to defend my dead husband and my children. The case was publicized throughout the world. Many books have been written about it that portray my family as very arrogant. Some books have blamed SM for his attitude toward his family. He did not trust Magdalena, for she believed in witchcraft and wore charms tied around her neck. When he visited Ochieng's house, SM would buy drinks but make sure that they were opened in his presence or he would open them himself. Marriage has its ups and downs and one must not pretend that any marriage is a bed of roses, but the few differences are what makes the marriage. Disagreements give a couple the chance to review and reappraise the vows; otherwise, it would be easy to take marriage for granted. I used to enjoy refusing to do something that SM asked me to do. Instead of being angry, he would remind me that he heard me swear that I would obey him. I, in turn, would tell him that slavery had never been acceptable to me and that if I did swear to obey, it must have been a very bad mistake. Both of us would laugh so much that I would not even realize it when I ended up doing what he had asked me to do. We would exchange views about marriage. We ended up agreeing that it is like committing suicide-marriage is something you cannot undo. It is a betrayal of oneself, curtailing one's freedom but without being forced to do so. Our wedding day was a great day that I shall always remember. Without any regrets, I cherish that day the most. As the English say, it was nice while it lasted. I would say that I had a nice marriage, which lasted until December 20, 1986. What Joash Ochieng' and his clan did had nothing to do with SM. As I said on the first anniversary of SM's death in December 1987, if SM revived, I would marry him again. I have never changed my mind. I only wish that he had lived a little longer.

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NOTES

1. When my father referred to me as "daughter of Gituku," he was using a very respectful form of address. Gituku fathered Wambui, my great-grandmother, after whom I am named. 2. Joash Ochieng' Ougo, SM's brother who was Wambui's leading antagonist in the burial conflict, is referred to variously in this book as Joash, Ochieng', or Joash Ochieng'.

Wambui Otieno being interviewed by a journalist in Moscow in 1972.

7 Gender and Politics

I had been worried that marriage might curtail my freedom to participate in politics. To the contrary, I continued to take an active part in political and social activities. SM gave his full approval for me to continue being a politician. I traveled to many countries, leaving him to take care of our home and children. I also took an interest in women's organizations, especially the Maendeleo ya Wanawake (Women's Progress) organization and the National Council of Women of Kenya. In Maendeleo, I rose to the rank of national secretary and vice-chairman. I was also elected as the vicechairman of the Maendeleo ya Wanawake Handicraft Cooperative Society, which was led by Mrs. Jane Mumbi Kiano. In the National Council of Women of Kenya, I was elected a committee member. Likewise, I continued to be an active official of the Kenya African National Union. I had become a leader in the party in 1960, as soon as it was registered. I was the first chairman of KANU's Women's Wing, Nairobi branch. In 1967, I was elected vice-chairman of Lang'ata subbranch, a position I held for seven years. At the same time, I was secretary of the Karen Ward branch of KANU. I served as a member of the Nairobi Branch Executive Committee and as a delegate to the KANU Delegates' Conference, the organization's highest decisionmaking body. The Delegates' Conference can overrule the decisions of the governing council. Its representatives are elected from branches from all over the country. During the Kenyatta era, the Delegates' Conference was chaired by Ron. James Gichuru. And Mzee Jomo Kenyatta never openly interfered with the running of the conference. President Moi, however, is always present to make sure that what he wants is passed. In 1969 I thought that I had made enough of a mark in running the affairs of the Lang'ata KANU constituency to stand for election. I had assisted in many development projects; and I had thought it wise, begin103

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ning in 1967, to do research on the feelings of the people-without necessarily revealing that I wanted to vie for parliamentary elections. I found out that it was not a bad idea for me to try. People were happy with my activities, especially those that lifted women from poverty by organizing business activities and income-generating projects. At that time, I had not imagined that my marriage to a Luo would figure as an obstacle in the elections. Normally, such matters were not in the minds of the people until the campaign period, when leaders start planting all sorts of seeds of discord. Moreover, this was the first time women dared stand for elections. I presented my papers and paid the deposit and the campaign started. I did not expect ethnic animosities to creep into my election campaign. But that is just what happened. In 1969 Jaramogi Oginga Odinga, a Luo, had registered an opposition party. Ron. Tom Mboya, who was a Luo, had been assassinated. This had produced a lot of hatred between the Kikuyu and the Luo, since it was widely believed that KANU and perhaps the president were implicated in Mboya's death. President Jomo Kenyatta had been stoned when he visited Kisumu (located in a Luo district). During the incident, his security men shot and killed eleven Luos. Special Branch men were dispatched to Lang'ata by high-level politicians and civil servants to find out whether I was strong enough to win the election. They reported that I was popular enough to win. It was then agreed that, by hook or by crook, I should not be allowed to win the election, for I would be disseminating information about the Kikuyu to the Luo. One of the top politicians, who favored my candidacy, asked "What if Wambui divorced S. M. Otieno?" And he asked whether they had forgotten that I had fought hand in hand with them and was very honest. He pointed out that I had done a lot in the campaign for the release of J omo Kenyatta and other detainees. He was told that this was neither here nor there, that I could be a successful candidate only if I abandoned my Luo husband. When this information was conveyed to me, I felt very dejected. All that I had done was now being measured by my marriage to SM. I had to make a decision, and quickly. I sent the messengers back with the answer that since Parliament was not going to be my husband after the five-year term was over, I had no intention at all of divorcing my husband. My cousin Edith Wambui came to me and suggested that I pretend to file for a separation, which I would withdraw after elections. I told her that was totally unacceptable and I refused, asking her why I should embarrass my husband and what reasons I would give in court. Moreover, I asked, would my husband ever forgive me and what would my children think of such trickery? Despite the disapproval of the high-profile politicians and civil servants, I ran anyway. However, looking back on it, I can see clearly that my candidacy was fated to fail, for the 1969 elections were easily rigged. Each candidate had his/her own ballot box with a photograph on the side. To rig

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an election, one only had to take a full box and throw it away or burn the votes. Another tactic was to leave a few ballots hanging on the lid. Each candidate was permitted to have agents posted at the polling station, whose role was to verify that the election was fair. Election agents took an oath administered by the provincial or district commissioner, a notary public, or a magistrate. When an illiterate person cast a vote, it was the election agent's job to make sure that his or her "X" was placed next to the candidate of choice. Election agents were also allowed to act as the official counting agent for the candidate and, in that role, permitted to enter into the hall where the final tally was made. My husband, who was my agent at the Kibera polling station, thought that the election was going very well. However, a policeman who was a family friend came to me and revealed that there were problems. He knew me well, as his father, who was landless, had been given a piece of land at Muthiga by my grandfather. The policeman told me that my votes were being taken out and burned in the Kibera district officer's office. I walked up there with some of my supporters and saw the ballot papers scattered all over the place. Some of my ballots were only half-burned; I took a few and put them in an envelope. Because I felt that my expression would reveal what I had seen to my husband, who would have noticed at once that something was wrong, I did not re-enter the polling station. I proceeded to Anderson Hall, Kenyatta National Hospital polling station. Since there was only one entrance to the polling station, I was sure that the boxes could not be smuggled out without us noticing. I believed that if I saved the votes from Anderson Hall, I would still win. As the voting went on, we would seal boxes as they became full and start the voting in new ones. I decided not to leave the station, although my agent there was my brother, who was a lawyer. My second agent at Industrial Area, Mama Wambui Githeri, entered in a hurry and called me outside to tell me that she had received a message from my senior poll watcher (who was also running for the councilor's seat). He had told her that my boxes were being removed to an unknown destination and that I had no votes in that area. I consoled her and told her that it was also happening in Kibera. I said that since the Anderson polling station had no back door, I thought the votes could be protected. I asked her to stay on with me and protect the Kenyatta Hospital votes, if only for the sake of building a case. This we did until closing time, when my brother asked the presiding officer whether the three remaining ballot boxes belonged to his sister. This was said loud enough for those in the room to overhear, even though the answer was obvious, since the boxes had my photograph on their sides. The presiding officer, who was related to us through our grandmother, did not reply. The crucial time came when the ballot boxes were transferred to Jamhuri High School for counting. We asked permission for a few of our

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people to ride in the lorry that was transferring the votes. The request was refused and we were told to drive behind the vehicle. On the city mortuary roundabout, we lost the vehicle. When we arrived at Jamhuri High School, the lorry was nowhere to be seen. I was certain that the votes from the Kenyatta Hospital polling station had also been burned or thrown away. However, my agents were not aware of this because I had not yet revealed to them that members of the party had tried to keep me from running because of my marriage to SM. I had not even talked to SM about it, as I did not want to hurt his feelings. After what seemed like a very long time, the lorry arrived. My boxes arrived unsealed. They had already been opened. The other boxes were opened for counting. Apart from a few votes from Karen polling station, which had a small number of voters and which had not been interfered with, I had very few votes in the three major polling stations. There were only a few ballots stuck to the rough lids of four of the boxes. Others held nothing. Altogether, I had just about 245 votes. The candidate who won the election received 5,000 votes. The government's candidate polled 2,500 votes. There were other independent candidates, who received perhaps a few thousand votes altogether. It has always been said that I was one of the first women pioneers to stand for election and that I lost heavily. Five years after I was sabotaged in the 1969 election, I stood for a second election. This time, I was undermined by the powerful Gikuyu, Embu and Meru Association (GEMA).l The chairman of GEMA asked me to withdraw from the race, as GEMA intended to support Mr. Mwangi Maathai, its Nairobi Branch chairman. I refused and warned the national chairman, Mr. Njenga Karume, that one day he would understand that some politicians would not hesitate to abandon him and GEMA, if only to save their own necks. To my amazement, that is exactly what happened, but much sooner than I had expected. Led by Mwangi Maathai, the Nairobi GEMA Branch voted to disband before the national chairman decided to comply with Moi's orders to disband the association. Later, at his Kiambu office, Njenga Karume apologized to me. Nevertheless, I lost heavily to GEMA's candidate, Mwangi Maathai. Despite these defeats, I never abandoned politics and I continued serving our people in whatever capacity I could. I was never bitter about what had happened to me-it was part of the history of electoral politics in our country. However, I did protest. I wrote memoranda to the head of state, objecting to the treatment I had received. I believed that I deserved better treatment after all the hard and dangerous work I had performed for my country. When I wrote to the head of state after the 1969 elections, I included the partially burned voting ballots I had been able to gather at Kibera. In response, the government sent a delegation of two men to offer me a job as an ambassador in either Zambia or Congo-Brazzaville. I asked them

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whether my husband was going to be my lady-in-waiting. When they did not have an answer to this, I knew that the scheming to separate me from SM had started again. I told them to go and tell whoever had sent them that I was not a prostitute, that I was married, and that anything offered to me had to consider my position as a wife and mother. Later, the same people were sent to offer me a job as a chief government receptionist. Again, I said to these men that I was a politician, not a civil servant! I would not have time to wait around for visiting dignitaries arriving in Kenya to visit the government. Furthermore, I said I was not interested in being turned into an alcoholic because I might end up drinking while waiting for a delayed flight bringing a big man to visit the government. This time, I was making it difficult for the government to make me their mouthpiece in order to persuade me to forget what they had done to me. I also felt that I had been betrayed by Hon. Mbiyu Koinange. Koinange obtained from me the register of women who had fought for freedom under the pretext that Jomo Kenyatta wanted to see it so that women freedom fighters might receive government assistance. He promised me that I would be told when Kenyatta would see me to discuss issues involving women. Indeed, Mbiyu asked me to come to Harambee House to accompany him to the State House to meet with Kenyatta. I waited until twelve o'clock, only to be told that Koinange had been hurriedly summoned to the State House because something very important had arisen. I was told that when the appropriate time came, I would meet Jomo. That was the end of the story, however. I had given out the names of the leaders of Mau Mau and KANU women's wings, beginning with Sarah Serai. But up to this day, women freedom fighters have been abandoned and neglected.

FAMILY RELATIONS

All the time I was involved in politics, relations with my husband's family continued to be difficult. The only real exception was my father-in-law, Mzee Jairo Ougo Oyugi, with whom I was very close. He felt free to ask me to do anything for him. In 1971 he became very ill. We brought him to Nairobi and got him admitted to the private wing of Kenyatta National Hospital, then popularly known as the Asian Wing. After his treatment, he stayed on with us so that he could be treated privately by Dr. Majale and a Greek doctor. He would go home to Kisumu to visit his wife, Magdalena, only when he felt well enough to do so. When he wanted to return to Nairobi, he would write me, telling me when he wished to be picked up. Magdalena had been married to Jairo Ougo Oyugi's cousin Omano, who died in World War II. Ougo inherited his wife after Omano died. Magdalena had two children with Omano, namely Jennifer Randiga and

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Millicent Awuor. In all his letters to me or to SM, Jairo Ougo Oyugi concluded with "Mama yenu amewasalimia sana" ("Your mother sends her warm greetings"). Although SM hated that sentence-since he had not forgotten how harshly his stepmother had treated him and his brothers after the death of their mother, Salome-he never asked his father not to include it. I now understand why SM never wanted anything to do with his Magdalena. SM and his siblings called her "Mama Randiga" (Mother of Randiga), following the African custom of referring to a woman as the mother of her first-born child. Because of the way she abused her stepchildren, they would not call her "Mother." This is the same woman who used to bum Simon and SM's palms with hot ugali (maize meal porridge) when they were young, in the hope that they would run away from home. Then she and her own children would eat ugali with meat and vegetables. When SM would tell me such tales, I would say to him that I did not want to know what happened in their home before I married him because, after all, I was bound to live with them. But he told me other stories, such as the trouble Jairo's marriage to Magdalena caused. Because of this marriage, Jairo was excommunicated from his church; later, the church agreed to marry them. I had assumed the excommunication took place because Jairo had taken Magdalena into his home before they were legally married. However, after SM died, I learned in court that the church's objection was that their marriage had been a leviratic union, following Luo custom. I also remember that when SM and I started living together, he once instructed me never to buy even a yard of a material for Magdalena. However, he asked that I take care of his grandmother, Mama Ben Omondi, who had taken great care of SM and Joash after their mother, Salome, died, making sure that they had food to eat when they were young. This I did, but without showing animosity toward Magdalena. Whenever we visited Nyamila, I would make sure that I cooked something special for this lady. We helped her with money, and after she died, we also paid for her funeral expenses. I loved Mama Ben Omondi because SM loved her so. I respected her son, because SM was so fond of him. He was the only uncle SM ever brought home. From time to time, SM would give Uncle Ben financial assistance. Uncle Ben is the only one of SM's living relatives that I miss. It seems to me that I was a victim of issues in SM's family that existed before I knew him. After SM's death, Magdalena did everything she could to oppose me. In court, she even denied that Mzee Jairo ever wrote letters to me. She said he wrote only to his son, claiming that her husband never wanted to send greetings to his son through a third party. The judge sided with her, overruling my lawyer's attempt to submit letters from Jairo to me. I felt this very deeply, for I had been like a daughter to Mzee. In 1975 Mzee Jairo became even frailer. We had to take special care of him when he stayed with us. I instructed my cook, Lukas Oyamo, and

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My father-in-law, Mzee Jairo Ougo Oyugi.

Wambui, my housegirl, to ask the old man what he wanted to eat for lunch every morning: I explained to them that they should treat the old man even better than they treated us. I said, "He can change his menu at short notice. And if he does, he should be given what he asks for." I made sure that e¥erything was boiled and kept in the fridge to make it easier for them to prepare it at short notice. I thank Wambui and the late Lukas Oyamo for the good work they did 'in helping me care for Mzee Jairo. In 1979 Lukas Oyamo died of anemia while he was preparing to visit Mzee's grave to pay him homage. Out of gratitude for his assistance in taking care of my fatherin-law, I helped his cousins arrange Lukas's funeral and escorted the body home to Ugenya. On August 31, 1978, Mzee asked to be driven home to Nyamila, insisting that he was not going to die in his son's home. After he insisted, SM and our son Jairus Ougo Otieno drove him to Nyamila. Before he left, he posed for a photograph with SM's family, which became very precious to us, for it was the last time we saw him alive. Mzee Jairo wanted to die in his own home at Nyamila. He had a modest house, which we had built for him. SM's brothers Simon and Ochieng' and Ochieng's wife had complained that I was wasting money putting up a semipermanent house for the old man, whom they claimed was near death. In the court case, Joash Ochieng' denied having seen me take part in Mzee Jairo's funeral arrangements. The truth was the exact opposite: I took the greatest care in his burial. My father-in-law died at 4:00P.M. on October 5, 1978. We had been told on October 4 that he was sick, and SM had sent a physician to see him. On the morning of October 5, Mzee asked to see Rev. Hesbon Okello,

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a minister from Hono Church of the Province of Kenya. He asked Rev. Okello and others in attendance to help him walk to the back of the house. Once there, he asked for a hoe. When it was brought to him, he scratched a place in the earth. He told Rev. Hesbon that his daughter-in-law Wambui had always asked him how she could enter the house if he was buried at the front, as this would always remind her of the death of a dear father. He declared that he would be buried there, at the rear of the house. He also said that he would be buried by his daughter-in-law and that they were to show me the place when I arrived. He asked that there not be any wailing or drinking during his burial. And finally, he said that he should be given a Christian burial. SM's father died that same day at four in the afternoon. I was not at the office when SM received the news that Mzee Jairo died because I was attending a KANU Delegates' Conference in Nairobi. But his last wishes were told to me when I arrived at Nyamila. The KANU delegates were holding elections for president. After the meeting, we were invited to the State House for lunch. However, I started feeling very uneasy and wanted to go back to the office. I had no transport because I had traveled to the State House in my brother's car, having sent my driver to pick up my son from school. A Nairobi City Council member from Eastleigh, who was also a delegate, was in a hurry to return to his office. I asked him to give me a lift. He dropped me off on Koinange Street. When I arrived at our office, I wanted to cheer myself up, for I had not the slightest idea why I was not in a good mood. I started chatting to Ann, our secretary, and Edward, the court clerk, who, to my amazement, did not want to speak. To cheer them up, I joked that I was a big lady. I pointed out the two badges I was wearing, one was for electing the first president of the Republic of Kenya and the second one for electing the second president. When they still didn't answer me, I wondered why they were so moody. At that juncture, I remembered that we had received information on October 4 that our old man was not very well and that we had instructed my elder brother-in-law, Simon Odhiambo, to call the doctor in Gem-Siaya that SM had engaged to come treat Mzee. Realizing that something was wrong, I thought that something very bad must have happened. When I opened the door to SM's private office, the first person I saw was J oash Ochieng'. SM was seated, looking down. Both looked miserable. I did not need to be told about what had happened. I concluded that our father was no more. After I told them how sorry I was, I asked when it happened. SM told me that Mzee had died the day before at four in the afternoon but that he had just been informed. From then on I knew what was ahead of me. I called my brother because I knew that I would get very little assistance from SM and Joash, who were grief-stricken. They were very attached to him, for he had been both mother and father to them since their mother had died when they were very young. I took over the arrangements for going to Nyamila. There were a lot of

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preparations to be made before we could leave. We had to arrange for a coffin, flowers, clothes, food, money, and so on. I had to arrange to leave my youngest son and grandson, who were very young, in someone's care. Apart from the support I received from my brothers and sisters, our employees, and Kikuyu friends, we got no help from SM's relatives. I informed my family what had happened. The first one to arrive was Dr. Peter Waiyaki, whom I immediately sent to the Voice of Kenya radio station to announce the death. I had just scribbled it down and showed it to SM, who after making a few changes, gave it back to me. I typed it and then asked him to translate the announcement into Luo while I typed the Swahili version. I then rang the assistant superintendent of the city mortuary, informed him about the death of my father-in-law, and told him that I urgently required a coffin. I explained to him that we might have to pick it up late in the night, as I had just begun making the arrangements. He promised to wait for me. I left the office to go purchase flowers. My brother's brother-in-law had a flower shop near the city market. When I went there, I found that they had prepared flower arrangements exactly like the ones I required. Although the flowers had been ordered by another customer, I was allowed to buy them; the florists had time to prepare others for their customer, who would fetch them the next day. I proceeded to the shops and bought whatever was necessary. I also arranged for money. Back at the office, I found my husband and his brother just as I had left them. My brothers and sisters had started sending contributions for burial expenses. I had also called one of our close friends and told him that I urgently required money. He promised that he would immediately leave his factory and go home to meet me. After putting everything in the car, I went and talked to SM and Joash and told them that I was leaving for home, as my sisters were coming to pick up my small children. The children's aunts had agreed to take them to school the following day. SM told me that he and his brother would go home to pack. I told them to hurry, as we had to pick up the coffin at the city mortuary. At eleven that evening we got to the city mortuary, where the assistant superintendent had arranged for us to pick up the coffin. We placed the coffin in the car with the other things. I even gave a lift to SM's sister Idalia. We left for Nyamila, arriving there very early in the morning. When we got to the house, we found everyone was seated except two of SM's uncles, Ben Omondi and Robert Nyanga, who were born-again Christians. We went straight to Mzee's bedroom. After viewing the body, SM and his brother went to a bedroom window and started weeping. I was called by the older men and was given the message left by my father-inlaw. I had been crying also but decided to contain my own grief because, by the look of things, the two brothers were able to do nothing apart from mourning for their father.

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Once back in the bedroom, I talked to Uncle Ben Omondi who, with another man, was cleaning Mzee Jairo's body. They told me that they were using salt to keep the body from smelling. I went out to the car and retrieved my kit of syringes, spirits, cotton wool, soap, powder, and perfume. After asking the rest of the family to wait outside in the sitting room, the three of us cleaned and prepared the body for viewing. The perfume and spirit injections that my sister, who was a nurse, had advised me to inject preserved the body while we made the other arrangements. I brought in the suitcase containing Mzee 's clothes. We dressed him, covered his teeth, nose, and ears with cotton, and put him into the coffin. I then covered his lower body with a very white chiffon cloth. I poured some powder and a lot of Kiku perfume into the coffin. One of the boys assisted me in putting a table on the verandah. We then took the coffin outside and placed it there. The coffin, which had a mirror showing the upper part of the body, was closed. We were shown the place that the old man had said he wanted to be buried. SM took a chair and sat down near the spot. After reminding SM to ask Albert Ong'ang'o, the mason, what materials were required so that he could proceed to Siaya or Ndere to purchase them, I left for Kisumu in order to ask the Voice of Kenya to announce that the burial would be on Saturday, as the family had agreed. I then proceeded to the market to buy some groceries. When I returned to the homestead, I found SM still seated exactly where I had left him. I told him that the situation would not change, that the best thing he could do for his father was to see that the ceremonies were done properly. He stood up immediately and went to purchase materials for building the grave. The same mason/grave digger who gave false evidence against me in court in 1987 provided the list of materials. I left for Siaya township at the same time to buy meat to feed the many guests. When I returned, I started preparing meals. In the kitchen, the women snidely told me how Mzee had said that I should do the cooking, bury him, and so on. I ignored their comments. Only my husband's stepsister and Simon Odhiambo's daughter assisted me. The only thing I told them was that I did not know how to cook ugali. Each morning and evening, I checked the body, adding more perfume and cleaning Mzee's face.

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The old man was buried very well in a beautiful grave with the honor due to him as a church elder. The burial was attended by many church ministers. Five years before his death, Mzee Jairo's age had been estimated at 110 years. He had worked for the Kenya Railways as a foreman in 1902. He was ordained as a church elder in 1913 and built a church at Nyamila in 1924. When we returned to Nairobi, we decided to buy a marble cross and

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plaque from the Kenya Marble Quarries. When I went to the quarry, the workers told me that they would supply the plaque immediately, but a cross would take about three months. However, since we had already decided to unveil the cross on December 31, 1978, I had to go elsewhere. After everything was ready, I traveled to Nyamila to consult with Rev. Hesbon Okello, who had taken charge of the old man's burial. Rev. Okello was conducting a Christmas Holy Communion service in Hawinga. SM's nephew and I drove there and talked to him about our intentions. I took him in my car to Nyamila to show him the cross. He asked me what method I would like followed for the unveiling the cross. We agreed that we would fix the cross on the grave and cover it with a cloth. On the day of the unveiling we would tie a ribbon round the cloth. After the prayers, the ribbon would be cut and the cover removed. I then asked Albert Ong'ang'o to fix the cross on the grave with the cement I had brought with me. Once this was done, I covered the grave with a bag I had made. When I returned to Nairobi, I informed my husband about the arrangements with the church minister for the program on December 31. Ochieng' and Albert Ong'ang'o, the mason/grave digger, denied ever having seen me take any part in the funeral. As far as the two are concerned, women's only role is to wail and cook for the mourners. However, it was Ochieng' who did nothing, apart from crying and traveling to Nyanza in a free car. He even ordered a cow to be slaughtered for the mourners and refused to pay for it. When Ochieng' quarreled with SM about it, his sister Helen asked me to talk to SM, who was very angry about his brother's failure to assist him with the burial expenses. I talked to SM very politely and asked him if there was anything else he would ever be able to do for his father, apart from burying him. All along, SM had supported his father without any assistance from Ochieng'. I pointed out to him that it was useless, after all this time, to complain about Ochieng's failure. The funeral was, after all, going to be SM's last gift to his father. When I offered to pay for the cow, as a last gift to our dear one, SM cooled down and said I should go on with what I was doing. He promised me that he would pay for the cow, which he did. I believe that I have put the record right with respect to what was said in court. In any case, if it was a lie, why were Ben Omondi and Robert Nyanga not in court to contest that I had helped bury Mzee Jairo? Under normal circumstances, nobody would like to make such family matters public, but I have to, since the evidence adduced in court, and accepted by the judges, showed me as a person who married into a family and did nothing at all, even for an ailing father-in-law. Kwach, the opposition lawyer, portrayed me as a liar based on statements from Idalia, Helen, Ochieng', and Ong'ang'o. He spoke with false authority, as if he had been there. However, others, such as Uncle Ben Omondi, Robert Nyanga, Hilary, and Joash, knew the truth about the family's relations.

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KENYA AND THE INTERNATIONAL WOMEN'S DECADE

In 1972 the National Council of Women of Kenya, led by Ms. Mary Nyaguthii Gichuru, sent me to the Afro-Asian Women's Solidarity Conference, which convened in Outer Mongolia. The conference, whose major sponsor was the Soviet Union, was highly political and procommunist. My position was always that Kenya was building a democratic country based on improving its peoples' status and fighting against poverty and disease. I expressed Kenya's wish to become economically sound and to keep close ties with Britain, our former colonial master, which in my view had more to share with us than pro-Moscow Leninist ideals. Many of the delegates who were pro-Moscow did not share the same views; they expressed their anger at my participation. I responded by saying it is better to deal with the enemy you know than the one you don't know. I did not see any point in being reminded about the freedom fight, the evils of colonialism, etc., at a time when we were busy molding our government. I told them that an African male in Kenya had a wife or wives, goats and cows, a hut, and a small-holding even before the white man invaded our country. This meant, I said, that he was a capitalist: he believed in individual ownership of property and family. This tradition would be difficult to change. Despite these doctrinal disputes, social relations among us were cordial, especially when we visited Moscow and Uzbekistan. In Moscow I was elected to represent the four African countries of Ethiopia, Uganda, Gambia, and Kenya, whose delegates shared my views. (Later I was invited to the Afro-Asian Women's Solidarity Conference when it convened in Egypt, where I was elected to the drafting committee.) In Moscow I discovered that Soviet universities were eager to enroll African students. There were many qualified Kenyan students who had not been able to get a place in our university. I was delighted when, with the assistance of Mrs. Jane Kiano, my foster daughter Virginia and my husband's niece Jane Ogutu were able to go to the Soviet Union for further studies, where they acquired degrees in library science. However, in 1987 during the burial saga, I came to bitterly regret all that I had done for Jane Ogutu. For years SM and I had treated her as one of our own daughters. I had taken care of her from the time she entered Form One in Kenya High School. The school was so expensive that her parents could never have paid the fees. I had also helped her family bury their father, Habakuk Ogutu, when he died in 1972. And when their mother was disinherited by his family, I helped the children get settled. After that, I took care of most of the educational fees of Jane's brothers and sisters and, as I mentioned before, campaigned to get Jane a scholarship to study in Russia, paying for all the necessities she required to go abroad to study. When she wanted to marry Mr. Obonyo, to whom her mother objected, I helped organize the wedding. SM and I truly thought of her as our own. And yet, when my troubles began, she was ungrateful and

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played the role of traitor. She even told our relatives who questioned her about her behavior that she owed me nothing, since she had been supported by her uncle's money. Only God and her own conscience can judge her. In 1980 I was one of Kenya's official delegates to the United Nations Mid-Decade for Women Conference in Copenhagen. I attended the official conference as the KANU representative. At times, I would attend the nongovernmental organizations sessions. I enjoyed every bit of the proceedings. In Kenya, women's issues fall under the Ministry of Culture and Social Services; therefore I was delighted when neither Jeremiah Nyaga, the minister of culture and social services, nor his assistant minister, Dr. Julia Ojiambo, were able to be present, for this gave me a chance to be in charge of the Kenya delegation. Before he left, Hon. Jeremiah Nyaga, whom I found to be flexible and very encouraging, would tell me, "Shikilia usukani" ("Be responsible and careful" in the conference deliberations). Female circumcision emerged as an important issue at the conference. One group wanted to show a film on female circumcision in Kenya, and I led the fight against it. The film had been cosponsored by Sweden and the United States and a Canadian was to show it. The film's site was in a remote part of Kenya. Kenyan and other African delegates argued that female circumcision was our own problem and it should be left to us to tackle it in our own way. We thought that if the issue was given too much publicity in the West, then female circumcision would spread even more, for, as in the past, European pressure to end circumcision would be interpreted as dictation from our former colonial masters. Those who keep circumcision as a part of their culture do so because they believe that removing the clitoris reduces girls' sexual feelings and keeps them from becoming promiscuous. Also, an uncircumcised girl is forever a child, since it was usually during circumcision that girls and boys were given instruction on how to behave as grown-ups. Those who oppose circumcision today do so primarily as Christians who know that it harms girls' health. Our strategy for ending the practice was to continue to enhance our women's awareness of the health and religious implications for circumcised girls. Through such programs we have drastically reduced the number of women who are circumcised. My presence at international women's conferences in the Soviet Union and elsewhere over the next fifteen years resulted from my role in the women's movement in Kenya. I served as the vice-chairman of the Maendeleo ya Wanawake society and, for a time, I was its secretary. I was also a committee member of the National Council of Women of Kenya and was a member of the Presbyterian Church Women's Guild. Toward the end of 1979, I was elected chairman of the Maendeleo Handicraft Cooperative Society, Ltd., a rural cooperative society that was funded by the UN Decade for Women Voluntary Fund. I represented the society at a 1982 United Nations-sponsored conference held in Bangkok, which focused on

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women's economic development through rural income-generation projects. Later, under instruction from the Ministry for Cooperatives, the project changed its name to the Rural Development Cooperative Society, Ltd. Although the cooperative society was not able to achieve all that we set out to do, it was very important for the government to assist such a project and to reduce the constraints that hindered women's development. From time immemorial, Kenyans have produced different kinds of handicrafts, which are normally made from our local raw materials. Apart from carvings, most products are produced by women. In the old days, women made crafts that were for their own use or were presents, especially for a daughter when she got married. But with the mass production of modern household goods and ornamental items, some of the old crafts were abandoned. Later, however, some people realized that money could be earned if large quantities could be produced for local and international markets. The middlemen, realizing the potential of the business, took advantage of the producers and started buying these crafts and exporting them. They exploited the women who were the main producers, buying their products at a price that barely met the production costs. The Maendeleo ya Wanawake organization started a cooperative society to rescue the rural women's crafts and producers from this exploitation. Its major objectives were: • to improve production, designs, packaging, forwarding, shipping, and pricing within the shortest period in order to avert exploitation; • to improve communication and coordination with the international market in order to advertise and disseminate information on handicrafts; • to improve marketing policy and come up with organized channels; • to seek legal protection and advice from the Office of the AttorneyGeneral on implications such as copyright protection, protection of the movement of raw materials at the district level, protection of rural women from the middlemen who buy goods at very low prices, procedures for scrutiny by Central Bank on the low prices declared by unscrupulous businesspeople who export crafts as a foreign exchange earner, and marketing of crafts being produced by the members. In 1983 I traveled to the Wingspread Center in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, to represent East Africa at a conference on African women and their economies sponsored by the African-American Institute (AAI) and the Johnson Foundation. I spoke on the problems facing African women due to exploitation by middlemen in Africa, Europe, and the United States; I also identified a number of corporations that collaborated with our local people in a type of neocolonialism. Americans showed a lot of sympathy for our predicament but, of course, charity begins at home. It is business, and

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Kenya supports free market business enterprise. If we do not create trade laws that will protect us from exploitation, no foreigner will do it for us. This conference gave me a chance to explain to our sisters in the United States what to expect when they came to Nairobi to attend the endof-the-decade conference in 1985. I had the mandate to do so, as I had been elected treasurer of the Kenya Non-governmental Organizing Committee (or NGO Committee), whose task was to organize the preparations of Forum '85. After a draft from the UN Commission on the Status of Women was accepted by the world conference for International Women's Year (IWY) and adopted by the United Nations 36th General Assembly in 1972, the world plan of action by the UN convention on the elimination of all forms of discrimination against women was conceived. Partly because of the convention, 1975 was declared as the International Women's Year; 1976-1985 was proclaimed the Decade for Women. In the preparation of the world plan of action for IWY, over 100 nations participated at the conference held in Mexico City in June and July 1975, where delegates adopted a world plan of action for the implementation of the objectives of International Women's Year. At the Mexico conference, approximately 6,000 women from over 100 nations attended the NGO forum. The July 1980 Mid-Decade for Women conference held in Copenhagen attracted over 8,000 women from 128 countries. The program of action, adopted by 94 nations, provided guidelines for countries to follow during the second half of the Decade for Women. These included historical perspectives, national targets and strategies for women's participation in national life, and recommendations to the United Nations system. While in Copenhagen, the Kenya delegation to the UN conference and NGO forum requested that the end-of-the-decade conference be held in Nairobi, thereby giving Africa a chance to host this important conference. This was also thought to be the best chance for the developed world to see for themselves the problems facing women in developing countries. Kenyan women from different NGOs had formed an organizing committee to plan the July 1985 NGO forum. The committee worked under the Kenya Ministry of Culture and Social Services. Despite the generous impulse of the proposers, we had to be realistic about funding. As a developing country, Kenya has limited resources and therefore we had to seek financial assistance from governments and NGOs in the rest of the world. In this spirit, we decided to contact donors for support and funding. Our objective was to see that the NGO forum would be a great success. We believed that in order to create meaningful awareness in our women with regard to their rights and status as citizens of Kenya, it would be important to hold pre- and postconference activities that would reach every corner of our country. A national seminar was planned and women from other parts of Africa would be invited as observers. Discussions on a postconference

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plan of action were given priority. We planned that the conference theme of "Equality, Development, and Peace" should be fully exposed to our women through seminars, workshops, and the media. Existing NGOs, most of which were represented in the Group of 20, would disseminate information after the conference to their respective members, who numbered approximately 3 million. (The Group of 20 was an organizing committee that met each year in Vienna, where the director has an office.) It had been agreed that all existing Kenyan NGOs would meet so that we might reach almost every woman in Kenya, including those who were members of rural women's groups. Through this process we thought we would reach more than 7 million women and girls. The Kenya NGO Committee expected that by hosting the conference, we would successfully provide more knowledge to women on matters involving health, education, nutrition, legal rights, credit facilities, food and agriculture, clean water, and so on, thereby creating continuity in the search for equality, development, and peace. The conference, we believed, would also enable Kenyan women to meet their counterparts from all over the world. We also hoped that situating the conference in Kenya would improve governments' and world NGOs' awareness of the problems Third World women face. The Kenya NGO Committee especially wanted to educate NGOs from the developed world about Third World women's problems and thereby develop meaningful solutions to these problems. It was our hope that by the time the meeting took place in Nairobi, our government would have ratified the 1972 UN convention to end discrimination against women. Indeed, it was ratified in March 1984. However, it is the belief of many Kenyan feminists that ratification was done only to avoid the embarrassment that Kenya, as the host of the end-of-the-decade conference, had not ratified the convention. The government ratified the convention without any intention of making its principles a part of public policy. The irony for me was that despite Kenya's seeming support of the convention, I suffered discrimination during the controversy over my husband's burial. And although the ideals of the convention were raised by my lawyer John Khaminwa, they were totally ignored. Article 16 stipulates equality during marriage and at its dissolution, whether through death or an act of law. Article 2 also stipulates that ratifying governments will see to it that laws, whether written or customary, that discriminate against women shall be revoked. I believe Kenya's ratification should have been based on mutual agreement that women are respected and given equal opportunity, eliminating all discrimination in our day-to-day life. Only then could we have reason to believe that our government is committed to everything laid down in the convention. We must create forward-looking strategies for the year 2000 and beyond. Any strategy for women's economic development in East Africa, and

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Kenya in particular, must be rooted in agricultural policy. Agriculture has been adversely affected by poor climatic conditions, leaving Kenya's economy vulnerable. The government is trying to diversify the economy and strengthen manufacturing, yet women's ability to contribute to the nonagricultural sector of the economy is hindered by the small number of women in wage labor and the bias against them in the professions. Most women wage laborers are employed as secretaries, nurses, and teachers. Only a handful hold higher positions in industry, finance, insurance, or personal services. Millions of Kenyan women are to be found in the informal sector, where workers are self-employed; women may be stall owners (market women), brewers of beer, prostitutes, or domestic workers. Only a few are engaged in properly run businesses. There has been very little change since 1985. However, women have an important role to play in the production of handicrafts, especially in the Eastern Province, Turkana District, and Northeastern Province, which are too dry to farm. A number of constraints impede Kenyan and East African women's ability to make larger contributions to their economies. One fundamental constraint is the male domination that characterizes traditional African societies. At the Wingspread Conference Mrs. Okwenje, a Ugandan who was then working for the All African Conference of Churches, also talked about the problems in East Africa. Men control women in virtually all aspects of life, including development, inheritance, education, employment, and culture. Women have no avenue or forum in the government decisionmaking bodies to decide their own destiny. We are mere tokens in Parliament or on local and city councils. We can influence nothing. This was brought home to us in 1979, when we had campaigned for a law to revise Kenya's marriage law. This law addressed, among other things, the taking of a second wife, violence against women, and wife beating. The bill was shelved and declared un-African. We were bitterly disappointed, for despite our long campaign and the courage of the women in Parliament who had supported the bill, the male majority argued that such a bill would be a violation of our culture. Again, male majority prevailed, maintaining control over virtually everything, as men do almost everywhere, but especially in developing countries. In Kenya, men own the land, make the laws, determine official recognition, and control the tools and methods of production. A husband tells his wife how much time to spend on cash crops rather than food crops, even though profits from cash cropping belong to him. Male ownership and control of land is a major factor impeding the advancement of women. A woman owns neither the land nor the crops produced on the land. Even if she is the sole rural producer, when her husband is employed and living in an urban area, she cannot sell land or major produce without her husband's consent. As Mrs. Okwenje stated, although women do most of the work in agriculture, they are denied access to land. Even if a woman sells her

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produce through a cooperative society, she may not receive payments because her husband, not she, is the registered member. Such is the case in Kenya with cash crops such as tea, coffee, pyrethrum, and maize. A new law allows Kenyan women to inherit land, but fertile land is very scarce and men are reluctant to accept this change. As a result, women have not yet realized benefits from the law. The lack of opportunities to own land and the inability to realize benefits from their hard work both kill women's incentive to produce and deter rural women from making their maximum contribution. Women's inability to own land also affects their ability to obtain credit. African women cannot pledge land as collateral and are, therefore, generally unable to obtain credit that would permit them to expand their productivity. Slowly, some changes are occurring in this area. Single women who are solely responsible for cash crops may be eligible for credit; those women who have flexible, understanding husbands can sometimes also secure credit. Another fundamental impediment to women's development is the lack of basic education or training; sometimes they do not get the right kind of training. Although as many girls as boys attend primary school, the percentage of girls in secondary school drops to 40 percent. The percentage of women at university is a mere 20 percent, owing partly to early marriages and pregnancies and partly to the burden of household work required from young women. Probably only 10 percent of women in rural areas have enough formal education to participate in gainful wage employment. Even when a girl obtains an education, she faces a bias as to the course of study she should follow. Girls attending secondary and higher institutions of learning are encouraged to concentrate in subjects of nursing, teacher training, and other liberal arts training. Sciences courses are generally reserved for boys. Even government training courses discriminate against women by offering teacher training, nursing, health, secretarial, and home economics courses for women and making agriculture and technical courses available only to men. The Kenya government protects men producers: it has established marketing boards to protect producers of coffee, tea, and pyrethrum, for example. Yet the government seems reluctant to protect women producers of handicrafts. Businesswomen who produce and market handicrafts are exploited by middlemen. None of these businesswomen receive a fair return for their labor. By 1983, as I informed the Wingspread Conference, some efforts were being made to introduce alternative labor-saving technologies-for example, new kinds of stoves and fuel-to rural areas. However, the Kenya government does not give priority to the expansion of free primary school education, although primary enrollment quadrupled in Kenya in 1973 and 1976 and continues to rise year after year. I appealed to the women of the United States to help us in fighting the exploitation of

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craftswomen in Kenya and elsewhere in Africa and to assist in exploring markets for their own crafts. Handicrafts are improved but markets are lacking. Industrialized countries like the United States could assist Kenyan women by helping them identify export markets.

TRAVELS IN THE UNITED STATES

After the Wingspread Conference, the Kenya ambassador to the United Nations asked me to perform two duties for the Kenya government. The first was to attend the Kenyatta Day Celebration (October 20) at our embassy in Washington, D.C., as a guest of honor. Even though I realized that I was being manipulated by Moi's government, I agreed to speak. I was expected to address Kenyans who were living and studying in the United States. The holiday commemorates the day Jomo Kenyatta was arrested by the British during the freedom struggle. Moi did everything he could to reduce the importance of the Kikuyu when he came to power. He recalled almost all of them from our missions abroad. As a result, our Washington embassy was very understaffed. A charge d'affaires was sent from the Zambian embassy to Washington as a caretaker. Kenyans were very annoyed over this action. When the charge d'affaires tried to introduce me, the Kenyans yelled at him, "And who are you?" He could not stop the shouting and I ended up introducing myself. I spoke to them in very complicated Kiswahili and reminded them of our African tradition of respecting our elders. The Kenyatta Day observance had been moved to October 22 to allow me to finalize arrangements for the second duty the ambassador to the UN asked of me-attendance at the Triennial Conference of the AfricanAmerican Institute, which was held in Maryland. The participants included ministers of foreign affairs, assistant ministers, and diplomats. The president of AAI and his vice president were in charge of the conference. They were assisted by Hon. Mae Sue Talley of the United States Advisory Commission on Public Diplomacy, and Chester Crocker, assistant secretary of state for African affairs. I was Kenya's only representative, the sole representative from a women's organization, and the only KANU official at the conference. When the conference was held at Aspen Wyne Plantations in Maryland, Kenya was organizing national elections and the Kenyan ambassador in Washington, His Excellency John Mbugua, had been recalled. The meeting was highly political. It touched on Africa's declining economy, politics, and the problems of diminishing food production. There was a general debate on whether Africa would ever be economically viable and free of corruption. To the surprise of many delegates, I took a very active part in this debate. Some had thought that Kenya had sent only a

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token woman, and for that matter one not highly placed in the government. I must admit that I was also a bit shaken, as I was not expecting or prepared for such a hot debate. Yet I had to support my country, even if I had noticed some shortcomings. If the debate had been held in Kenya, my contribution would have been different-but washing dirty linen in public was totally unacceptable. The other delegates' view that I was merely a woman was not shared by the African-American Institute, which knew me well. Its representatives had just been at the Wingspread Conference. I had met these same AAI delegates in other places where high-level discussions had taken place. I sincerely thank them for their support. The official United States position at the Triennial Conference was mostly given by Assistant Secretary Crocker, whose major preoccupation in the debate was tying support for Namibia's freedom to the removal of Cuban troops from Angola. My view, which I still hold and which I shared with many African delegates, was that Namibia was a colony and Angola a sovereign state. I could not see how Namibia could have influenced Angola in any way; they had not even been able to convince their colonial masters to free them. I thought that Crocker's position was only a delaying tactic; there was no logic in it at all. As much as I may dislike communism, there were better ways of fighting it; and to me, Crocker was being unreasonable. From the Triennial Conference I traveled to Pennsylvania, to attend the Artisans' Cooperative seminar. The Artisans' Cooperative is one of the largest handicraft producers in the United States. The workshop participants were mainly women artisans from rural areas. I lectured on marketing handicrafts, crisis management, and leadership. My main points were the meaning of a cooperative, how to start one, and what business benefits were open to its members. Since American cooperatives are not supported by the government, the cooperative movement in the United States is less developed than in Kenya. I managed to teach the participants the basics of starting a voluntary cooperative, based on common needs, and how to run it. From Pennsylvania I traveled to Kentucky, where I visited Berea College, a tuition-free liberal arts institution founded in 1955. Berea lies between the mountains and the bluegrass region of Kentucky. Its 100 buildings occupy 140 acres. The school had an additional 1,113 acres of farmland and 6,000 acres of forest at that time. Some 80 percent of its students come from the southern Appalachian region. Each student works for a minimum of ten hours a week to earn part of his/her college expenses. To provide enough work for all, the college created the student craft industries, which include weaving, woodworking, needlecraft, and broomcraft. It also runs a bakery, a candy kitchen, a dairy farm, a hotel, and a printing shop. Some of the work is connected with the students' academic interests. I stayed in the college's hotel, which was run by students, and you could compare it with our five-star hotels. I was very impressed by the craft department and the work-in-exchange-for-tuition program. I felt that if this

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program was introduced in Kenya, it would benefit many of our poor students who drop out of school for lack of school fees. The Berea program was similar to the one the missionaries had used in Kenya before the 1930s, although their motives were suspect. Missionaries had taught agricultural subjects, domestic science, and carpentry. The things produced with student labor were sold to get money to run the schools. However, the missionaries claimed to be getting money to run the schools from their home churches in England and the colonial government. By the mid-1920s, they started charging school fees. By the time I went to school, my parents had to pay fees or their children would be expelled. What had begun as "free" education was really another method of indoctrination. Once people felt the need for education, fees were introduced. The missionaries were tricky, and in fact, they were aiding and abetting the colonialists' control of people's minds. Realizing that missionaries were hand in glove with the colonial masters, freedom fighters used to sing, "Gutiri muthungu na mubia" ("There is no difference between the European [colonialist] and the priest"). I felt that the Berea model was very different. They honestly tell about their program. We in Kenya are not creative enough in financing postsecondary education. After the visit to Berea College, I went to Alabama, where I was met by Mrs. Alice Paris, a director of the Federation of Southern Cooperatives in Epes, Alabama. An outgrowth of the civil rights movement, the Federation was chartered in 1967 by twenty-two low-income cooperatives with the common goal of helping black and poor people produce an income and improve their way of life. Alabama has a large, very poor black community and this may explain why the cooperative movement was well understood and accepted. The Alabama cooperatives are very much like Kenyan cooperatives. The Federation of Southern Cooperatives is a service, resource, and advocacy association with a constituency of 30,000 low-income families organized into 100 cooperatives in rural communities across the South. The membership is primarily black but it also includes white, Chicano, and Native American members. The Federation is itself a cooperative that has adapted these same principles into a self-help community development program. It is based on the commonality of need for services, technical assistance, and resources expressed by its member organizations. The 100 cooperatives' activities include small farmers' collective marketing and purchasing, consumer stores and buying clubs, credit unions, handicraft productions, housing, fishing, and manufacturing. They also have day care centers where cooperative members' children are taken care of while their mothers are working. Each co-op is owned and controlled by its members. Some cooperatives are very small, involving as few as ten people. And some are large regional agricultural concerns with as many as 2,000 members in a ten-county area. They are all governed by the basic cooperative principles such as open membership, one person-one vote, and continuing

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education. When I visited them in the 1980s, they were realizing a limited return on their investment because the operating costs were high: rents, day care expenses, secretarial and bookkeeping salaries, salaries of trainers and directors. They received no private support. These cooperatives were doing something worthwhile for the rural populations. Because of their existence, these poor people were able to maintain their families with their meager earnings. After all, dry bread is better than none. Profits were also being returned to investment in order to make the co-op grow. These visits were a good experience for me, for I had visited only big cities in the United States and had no idea that people in the rural South used coal to heat their homes and coal ovens to cook their meals. Mrs. Paris escorted me on my visits to cooperatives located throughout Alabama. I visited the spot where Martin Luther King, Jr., spoke to his fellow blacks about the civil rights movement. I was told that after they went to this meeting, black sharecroppers on the white plantations had lost their jobs and were not allowed to go back to the houses that had been assigned to them by their white masters. This place marked the beginning of the revolution for social change. I visited a historical spot that had once been an open-air market where whites purchased captured African slaves. I was shown where the auctioneer stood, where the purchaser stood, and where the slaves stood, waiting to be purchased. I felt the lingering spirits' pain and I wept. As we toured the countryside, I noticed that there was still some segregation. In one area you would find only white farmers concentrated together, while in another, there were blacks only. Their only common place to meet was at the supermarket. Church services were either predominantly black or predominantly white. Visiting Alabama and Mississippi let me see the other side of the United States-the one that is different from New York City and Washington, D.C. I had privately visited America quite often since 1979 but had never been able to visit the rural areas, since such travel was difficult without assistance. I had learned a lot about slavery in the South and the civil rights movement. Some of the films I had seen and the information we learned in school about the way blacks were treated were unbelievable. I needed to hear it from the horse's mouth. I thank Mrs. Alice Paris and her husband for the warm hospitality they accorded me. I am especially grateful to Mrs. Paris, with whom I had long discussions of our different views of cooperatives, for taking me throughout Alabama and translating my English into the English spoken in Alabama. Otherwise I would not have been understood and I could never have understood the people I wanted to speak to most. Her assistance helped me see many people and how they lived, to assess the information I had obtained from books. Through her translations, I was able to ask questions of those who were more knowledgeable about slavery and how it could have been more severe than colonialism. When we were children, the pictures we had been

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shown by the colonialists to prove that they were more considerate than the slave traders had frightened us. I was, and still am, grateful to Mrs. Paris for taking the trouble to escort me to all those historic places in Boyd, Montgomery, and Andalusia. I had traveled from New York to Minnesota to see my children when I was called to Maryland and Washington, D.C., to work for the ambassador to the UN. From there, I went to Wilmington, Delaware, before I toured the South. From Alabama I went to Dayton, Ohio, where I stayed with Mr. and Mrs. Chris Meyers, a white couple who ran a handicraft corporation in Xenia, Ohio. Chris Meyers, whom I had once met in Nairobi, met me at the airport. Since I had only his name in my program, and because I had met so many people here and abroad, I did not remember his name at first. When I recognized him, I was very excited to see someone I knew. I learned much about life in America when I stayed at the Meyers' home. I was astounded that a man who owned a corporation would wake up in the morning and prepare breakfast. He would clear the table and put everything in a dishwashing machine. His wife would make the beds before leaving for work. I felt so ridiculous, as back at home I had three servants working for me. I enjoyed every minute I stayed in their house and in their stores. The six weeks I spent in the United States were very educational. The American people are very friendly, totally different from our colonial masters. In Great Britain, few people greet strangers on the street. The best you will get is a forced smile. When traveling on the tube, they pretend to read the newspapers, which they use to cover their faces for the whole trip. Britain is boring, unless you have friends from elsewhere. As I walked around New York City, somebody on the other side of the road would say "Hi, there" to me, a total stranger. My last stop in the United States was to visit my children who were students at Moorhead State University in Minnesota. Seven of my children have been students at Moorhead State University, and I think of Minnesota as my second home. In Minneapolis, I met Dr. Arvonne Fraser, an associate professor at the University of Minnesota. She is a director of International Women's Rights Action Watch (IWRAW), which is a watchdog for women the world over, hunting for any discrimination against women. She has knowledge about the whole world of women at her fingertips. Her quarterly newsletter, which she produces with her colleague, Marsha Freeman, will tell you what is happening to women in any comer of the world. Arvonne Fraser followed my case throughout. She thanked me for setting the ball rolling, saying that my case helped bring attention to the plight of other women. For example, it has encouraged Flora Braganza of Tanzania, who sued her deceased husband's relatives in the Tanzanian supreme court on the issue of the right to bury her husband. Unlike me, she won the case. Flora's story was reported by IWRAW, who said my experience had encouraged her.

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Years later, when I visited Tanzania in 1993, my friends and colleagues related Flora's story to me. They were surprised when I told them that I already knew about the case from IWRAW and Arvonne's articles. The whole world of women owes a great debt to you, Arvonne. Keep up the good work. I was very grateful when, in November 1983, AAI asked me to arrange for Mrs. Coretta King, the widow of Martin Luther King, Jr., to visit Kenya. I had met this great lady during the conference at Wingspread. When she arrived in Nairobi, I greeted her, together with Mrs. K. Dar, treasurer of the Rural Development Cooperative Society. Mrs. King was accompanied by Mrs. Annette Hutchings, head of the AAI's women's program. Coretta enjoyed her three-day stay in Kenya, which inspired her to return to Kenya for the UN Decade for Women Conference in 1985. I learned a lot about American democracy from my interactions and observances of Caretta King. Even though Coretta was challenging the leadership of President Reagan, the American embassy in Nairobi organized her security, her transport, etc. Third World governments don't treat public opposition so fairly. The very different treatment I received from my own government could not prove my point better. If Kenya were a democracy, I would not have been attacked by organized security men and the socalled politically instigated Maasai warriors while on my way to open an office for the Forum for the Restoration of Democracy (FORD). I have a lot of admiration for the United States. Although there exists a lot of differences between whites and blacks, at least they are expressed freely. The atmosphere there is totally different from ours. Some argue that the newness of our country is the reason for this situation. However, even though we are a young nation, we should at least start having tolerance for individual views, beliefs, and principles.

GENDER AND POLITICS

During my extensive visit to United States in the early 1980s I still believed that Kenya was doing better than many other African countries. Although we had some shortcomings, I never expected that we would go down the drain this far. I was still joyful because of being independent after such a harsh colonial rule. And I was overwhelmed with being a part of the independent regime. I had noticed some faults since 1969 and more still in 1979; I had expressed my concerns at the KANU Delegates' Conference, especially in 1979. But it never occurred to me that within just a few years we could no longer walk with our heads high, especially when attending conferences in other countries. I could not imagine in 1983 that the respect I had received since I started attending conferences soon after independence would not be there. I had not realized that corruption, which had now

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become deep-rooted, would ruin our economy, good governance, transparency, and tolerance. I also assumed that the organizers of the UN Decade for Women Conference and Forum '85 would receive total support from the government. As it turned out, the political climate in Kenya evolved in a direction that was completely opposite to my expectations. Tribalism was being deliberately planted and hatred manufactured. As treasurer for the Kenya Non-governmental Organizing Committee, I experienced a lot of hardship, abuse, and blame, which at that time did not register with me. I was accused of hindering some people, including women, by the way I handled donor funds. Requests had been made that I give out money for activities not approved by the donors. This I refused to do. Had I yielded, I would have been guilty of misappropriating funds. I was responsible to the donors as well as to the Treasury and Ministry of Culture and Social Services. We wasted a lot of time in accusations and counteraccusations over nothing or over minor differences. Somebody would tell a permanent secretary to convene a meeting to sort out problems-most of them imaginary-only to say that the Kikuyu do not promote any other person or leader unless that person is a Kikuyu. I was a target of such tribal politics due to the fact that I come from various tribes: my great-grandfather was a Maasai, my greatgrandmother was an Ndorobo, my grandmother was a Kikuyu, and my husband was a Luo. I was accused of being difficult with the money and being a tribalist. These charges were totally nonsensical. I personally invited, and funded, women from all parts of Kenya to attend seminars, sometimes sending a plane from Wilson Airport to bring women to Nairobi from places like Turkana. I also personally transported their crafts for exhibit and sale at handicraft seminars in the United States when I was a guest of AAI. I also campaigned for funds from Finida, Ford, and other donors to help women buy craft materials. We worked long hours into the night and some of those who did not have understanding husbands were harassed. We were looking for volunteers to work to make the conference a success, and I cannot see where we practiced tribalism. I can only say that Kikuyus may have been the majority in the Kenya Non-governmental Organizing Committee and in the cooperatives. As a matter of fact, Kikuyus are also the majority in jails, hospitals, streets, and mortuaries. The NGO Committee was elected by heads of voluntary organizations, and the majority were Kikuyu. To me, it was surprising that so many women from other ethnic groups, who had kept aloof from the voluntary organizations, expected to be elected and to become members of the NGO Committee. My disgust and bitterness over the false charges of tribalism helped me make the decision to leave the organization, mindful that my first business was to take care of my ailing husband. I started to see where Kenya was going and made up my mind to resign from all women's organizations and

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from the leadership of KANU. I remember once when my office was jammed by members of Parliament and assistant ministers alleging that I had refused to refund money spent for delegates' air travel from the Garissa, Marsabit, and Wajir districts. However, those very delegates had not traveled by air but by bus, their expenses for which had been refunded. Had it not been for the community development officer, who had accompanied them, I would have been in trouble. I asked the officer to put in writing how these ladies traveled to Nairobi. I took the letter to the permanent secretary for culture and social services. He was shocked at how far my accusers had gone to invent misconduct. I resigned from KANU in 1985 because of the way party leaders were elected. They would be preselected and delegates were told only that these were the people the government wanted. A paper bearing their names would be circulated for us to copy. The first one (which we were supposed to choose) was pink and the rest were white. This is nothing but the truth and I gave it as my reason for resigning at the Kenyatta Conference Center during the 1985 Delegates' Conference. It was, indeed, a difficult decision for me, a founding member of the Kenya African National Union, to walk out after serving the organization in many capacities for twenty-five years. I had no malice in pointing out these ills; my aim was to seek improvement. My husband died the following year and some people got a chance to hit me below the belt. I was really harassed. I had done so much for my country since joining politics at a very early age and had assisted, even if in a small way, in bringing freedom and independence. It is my strong feeling that I should have received a little consideration. To my surprise I was abused and ridiculed, subjected to surveillance and harassed by politically motivated tax assessments. To say the least, I lost the freedom I had helped to bring about. There was very little difference, if any, between the time I was in colonial jails and the rough times of 1986-1987. I resigned from the handicraft cooperative in 1986 to give more time to my ailing husband and because I had failed totally to get any cooperation from the government. At the time I left, I gave a detailed account of all the constraints that hindered our organization's progress. The principal ones were in management and production. In general, there was a lack of experienced and trusted managers. Officers who were employed to take care of accounts were a total failure. Before I took over, the crafts made in the cooperatives were of low quality. But by the time I left, this had been improved and women's groups were producing quality goods. A larger constraint was the lack of an international market. No policy had come from the government to protect the producers. Those entrusted with securing the legal protection of producers from the middlemen actually connived with them to exploit women producers. All these problems crippled the progress of the society, and although a general manager had been employed with

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voluntary funds, she could not promote export sales on her own. She also lacked funds to travel to explore new markets. The Kenya External Trade Authority, which was the mainstay of handicraft export, needed to be streamlined. The Kenya NGO Committee supported the Rural Development Cooperative Society with funds from the Ford Foundation and Finida in 1985, in preparation for the end-of-the-decade conference. The funds helped make possible the production of a catalogue and the purchase of crafts for display and sale. However, a follow-up was necessary. I advised the Kenya Non-governmental Organizing Committee that future strategy should be based on organizing local and overseas markets and controlling middlemen to protect producers from exploitation. The relevant government ministries had not given the support that craft producers expected. A few members did, however, realize the importance of helping rural women by supporting the movement. Ms. Peggy Snyder, who was with the Voluntary Fund, and Mr. George Green, of the International Labor Organization and the Kenya Non-governmental Organizing Committee, supported me while I was chairman. The Kenya NGO Committee was the one organization that was very interested in my commitment to raise the living standards of less fortunate women. I hope that the government ministries will come up with a solution. Although the project did not fully achieve its goals, it was very important to ordinary women. I was convinced that if it were supported by the government, it could improve the lives of the members of our society. It would improve their morale, for they would be able to earn their own incomes and reduce exploitation by rich middlemen. We owe it to these Kenyans to come up with a solution to end the prolonged menace of exploitation, which has frustrated our craft producers. It is my earnest belief that to obtain economic freedom, we have to start from the grassroots level and reduce the gap between the haves and the have-nots. This gap is now so wide that its harvest is, slowly but surely, creeping up on us. The many crimes of burglary, theft, robbery, and murder are a sign that our people are poor and hungry; our cities and towns are filled with street children and the homeless. This is a challenge that Kenyans must face objectively.

NOTE 1. Gikuyu is an alternate spelling of Kikuyu. GEMA was similar to other ethnic associations, such as the Luo Trade Union or the Abaluhya Association. GEMA had begun as a highly political association of businessmen and landowners. After Moi came to power, he ordered GEMA and other ethnic associations to disband, stating that they were merely "social organizations."

Joash Ochieng' Ougo (right) and his stepbrother, John Omondi Ougo (left) in 1987. Photo© Nation Newspapers Ltd.

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S. M. Otieno's Death and Joash Ochieng's Betrayal

SM's health began to worsen in late 1985. On November 9, 1985, we organized a get-together for relatives and friends who had offered to assist us in preparing the wedding of our son Tiras Eddie Waiyaki, who was getting married on November 16. I remember very well that I had asked SM if we should involve his relatives and even invite his stepmother Magdalena Akumu, who had never been to our home before. He answered that he did not care if they were invited, but I insisted that we invite them. On that Saturday morning, SM had briefly gone to the office and was expected back home to join us in making the wedding arrangements. When he came home, he said he wanted to lie down for a while, as he was not feeling well. He told me that he had become breathless in the office and had lost consciousness. When he revived, he asked for tea; after drinking it, he came home instead of driving or taking a taxi to Nairobi Hospital. I gave him some food to eat, but he couldn't eat much. He lay down for quite a while. When I checked on him, however, he assured me that he was only tired. I pressed him to go to the hospital but he refused. When the guests began to arrive, he asked whether we were ready to start discussions. And although very few people had come, one of the people from the Umira Kager clan said he could not wait, since he had to leave to go to another meeting, and asked to see SM before he left. SM went to confer with his relatives at the back of our house. While SM was speaking with the Luo side of the family, I consulted with my sister, who is a nurse. After I told her that I was very anxious about SM's health, she became very worried and asked me to call him so that we could take him to the hospital. However, he would not come inside and continued to talk about the wedding. I went back to my sister and told her that since she was a nurse, she was the right person to explain to him the importance of being checked by a physician. When he did not come 131

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quickly, I spoke to my friend, Mrs. Priscilla Nguhi Kimani, and explained to her what had happened. She agreed that SM had to go to the hospital. Priscilla asked how it was possible that the people he was talking with could not understand that a sick person should be hurried to the hospital. She managed to get him away from them; my sister Roxana Wanjiru Thuku and I drove SM to Nairobi Hospital. On the way, he admitted that he did not know how he had managed to drive home. I told my sister that apart from tonsillitis and the usual colds, my husband had not been sick. Normally he was very healthy and I had no cause to panic. Therefore, the moment he went to bed during the day, I guessed that something was very wrong. He had never been a patient in the hospital except for one time when he had a car accident. It was I who had been in the hospital several times. All this time my husband was joking with his sister-in-law, of whom he was very fond. They used to share the nickname "Peter." He was regarded as her father, for in Kikuyu culture we give children names of relatives to honor them. Since our daughter carried Roxana's name, SM stood as a father to her. At Nairobi Hospital a nurse went to call a doctor after taking his blood pressure and giving him oxygen. I realized that things were very serious. The doctor checked SM's blood pressure twice and then asked us whether the patient had walked to hospital or whether he was carried on a stretcher. My husband answered, "Oh, no! I walked from the car, but I was driven here by my girlfriends." The doctor admitted him to the hospital. I had asked my good friend, Mrs. Jane Kiano, to take charge of arrangements at home. She was assisted by my dear relative Mrs. Njeri Mungai and Priscilla Kimani. And since they were there, I didn't worry about how our guests and plans for the wedding were faring. To me, the wedding was now less important than my husband's health. Roxana and I were able to stay with him for quite a while. When we got home, Jane Kiano confessed to me that she had been unable to keep the secret for long and had explained the reason for our absence. Njeri Mungai and Priscilla had tried to appear cheerful, but their concern had spread to the other neighbors and guests who anxiously asked questions about SM's condition. I assured them that he was all right, for the moment. I had forgotten all that I wanted done for our son's wedding. With their help, I got a few things arranged and then I returned to the hospital. I found my husband looking much better after treatment. He was sedated and so I decided to leave him to rest. Back at home, my son Tiras was very worried about his father's health and the wedding arrangements. Despite my assurances, he began to panic because he looked to his father for the success of his wedding. I assured him, Wairimu, Frederick, and Patrick that all was well with their father. Through the night, we periodically telephoned the hospital to get reports. When we visited him early in the morning, he was looking quite well. But

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he fretted that this was the second time in his life that he had been admitted to a hospital. I assured him that it was all in order to have a checkup when one feels a bit unwell. "It is not serious," I said, "but it is good to see a physician when things are not okay." Dr. Wilson Kiragu, a neighbor, friend, and family physician, assured me that SM could have gone home that day (Sunday, November 10) had it not been that he felt that Dr. Silverstein, a heart specialist, should check him. After doing all sorts of tests, Dr. Silverstein concluded that my husband need not see him again. Silverstein's diagnosis was that SM did not have heart disease; he had high blood pressure brought about by overwork. Nevertheless, he advised my husband to rest. When I went to the hospital to see SM, he was very excited that he had no serious illness and could go home. "I told you! You panic for nothing!" he said. When I told him that I would go home to bring his clothes, he said "You'll go all the way to Lang'ata while I am waiting? Settle the account and then bring the car near the door. I'll jump into my dressing gown and then we leave." I obeyed and drove my husband home. As soon as he was settled in bed, I left to go look after his office. I had no difficulties in handling his office work, since he had trained me well enough during the years I had worked for him. If I had a question, I would consult him by telephone. It took about three days to organize affairs at the office. I then got busy organizing the Saturday wedding of Tiras and Elizabeth. Luckily, I have a habit of arranging things very early and the only day I expected to be busy was Friday, November 15. The natural excitement of a first son's wedding had been washed away by the happenings of the last few days. Yet I had to keep going. I have a stamina very few people have. Harassment, arrests, and the torture I experienced during my early involvement in the freedom fight had made me stronger. On Saturday, the wedding day, I was very worried about my husband yet I wanted the wedding to succeed. I also knew very well that if the wedding didn't meet his expectations, then things would be even worse. I was very tired and worried at the same time. My husband's relatives had arrived from Nyamila; members of the Umira Kager clan in Nairobi also came. Apart from talking and singing, they did nothing to assist us. The sole exceptions were SM's nephew Owino Opiyo, a lawyer, and his cousin Otieno Ombajo, who was the master of ceremonies. SM murmured to me, "You see, you insisted on calling these people and you know that they are just an embarrassment. Strangers are working and they are seated." I remember very well that when I told him to write the names of his relatives who should be invited, he said to me, "You know, I do not care whether you invite them or not." I reminded him that whatever our differences, it would be very embarrassing for family members not to be present for a wedding, which is a serious family occasion. If the wedding were being held today, I would not think the same way.

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I have been rehabilitated. I would welcome friends and not people who were merely relatives, with whom we shared no ties of affection. When these Umira Kager relatives testified in court about the day they came to the wedding of Nyathi Otieno (Otieno's child), they and their advocate used tones that queried the legitimacy of our son, as if my son were on trial or dead. This was disgraceful. There were a lot of tricks played in the case, as if there had been a classroom somewhere where witnesses were coached. SM was right-1 should never have invited them to Tiras's wedding. After all we had to go through at their hands during the trial, I decided that was the only time they would attend one of my children's weddings. From the day of the wedding on, SM was not very well. He reduced the number of cigarettes he smoked and stopped drinking completely. He also began to talk about death. I presume God made him prepare me for things to come. SM resumed working but reduced his workload. When he did not feel well, his nephew Owino Opiyo would appear in court on his behalf and I looked after the office. Our usual routines continued, although I had a lot of anxiety about his health. SM organized a birthday party for me on June 21, 1986, and also honored our wedding anniversary on August 17 with a party at the Panafric Hotel. In hindsight, I now realize that we were marking the end of our marriage. He continued having checkups by a doctor who prescribed drugs to control his blood pressure. However, two weeks before he died, he complained of feeling unwell. He called my sister Roxana to check his blood pressure. She was on leave from the Rhodes Avenue Clinic. Despite his assurance that he merely wanted a routine check, Roxana asked him to go see the doctor who worked with her at Rhodes Avenue Clinic, which he refused to do. Then she suggested he go to see our elder sister, Gladwell Buliro, who is also a state-registered nurse. Since Gladwell had a stethoscope, which Roxana didn't have, SM promised to do so but did not go to see Gladwell. Instead, he came home, where he related the story to me and said that there was no need to see her because he was feeling much better. I asked him to let me take him to Nairobi Hospital but he declined. He took the usual medication and had a nice sleep. On Sunday, December 7, 1986, we drove through a rainstorm to visit our two small farms in Lower Matasia and Upper Matasia. After we had tea at Upper Matasia, we drove home to Lang'ata. As we started cleaning the car, Patrick, our last born, joined us. Before we finished washing the car, Rahab Wambui Muhuni and her son Kenneth came to visit. As Wambui was a regular visitor, there was no hurry to invite them into the house, so we continued cleaning the car while we chatted with them. Once in the house, I prepared tea while SM discussed financial matters with Kenneth, who worked for a financial institution. Kenneth went to join Patrick in his upstairs flat. Suddenly, from out of the blue, SM started talking to Rahab Wambui about death. He said, "Msaja, you know Mr. [meaning myself]

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will have a lot of problems when I die. She will have a lot of problems from my relatives and the Kager clan." Then he stood up and shouted to me: "I come from a very bad tribe. I come from a very bad clan. If they deprive you of the right to bury me, do not pass Westlands, do not attend my funeral at Nyamila, for if you do, I will kick the coffin, come out, and fight you and all those who would be accompanying you and then go back to my coffin and die, for dying I must die." He continued with, "Leave them. I shall deal with them." Before I could absorb what he had just said, Wambui Muhuni asked SM how Msaja would do it when he was dead. He quickly answered, "If I cannot do it, God will do it for me." Finally he said, "My clan will start from me, SM!" Over the next few days SM continued to speak about death, although he did not appear to be very sick. I was actually the one who was sick from worrying, as I could no longer bear listening to SM's pronouncements about death. Even at a party we organized to celebrate the homecoming of our son Frederick, SM's thoughts centered on death. Frederick had graduated with a B.A. degree in economics from Schiller International University in England. He arrived home on December 16. I met him at the airport, as SM had to go to court. SM had arranged to slaughter and roast a goat to celebrate our son's arrival and had invited my sisters and our neighbors, Mr. and Mrs. Musa Muna and their daughter Njeri, to the family celebration. When SM started telling Musa about his death, I intervened and told him to consider that our son had just arrived home and the information would depress him. Musa, who was also feeling tired and worried, was not prepared for SM's preoccupation with his own death. SM had spoken of his wishes regarding his death and burial to us and to all our neighbors so many times that nobody wanted to hear it anymore. To cheer up people and to distract our company, I made it look as if we were having a dinner party.

THE DAY MY HUSBAND DIED

That Saturday, we kept our family tradition of having the children join us in our bedroom for early morning tea. My husband woke up early, smiling as usual. He took a cup of tea sitting down near the dressing table. We were joined by Patrick, but Frederick was still sleeping. My husband talked about preparations for Christmas. I told him that it was too early to bother to prepare Christmas for only four people. Since we did not anticipate traveling anywhere due to his ill health, I saw no reason for hurrying to purchase food and drinks. He commented that I should buy drinks because all we had was a bottle of Teacher's whisky, since most of the liquor in the house had been consumed during the party on December 16. Even if he himself did not drink, he stated, a mzee who drinks might visit us and it

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would be embarrassing if we had nothing. I told him that since I had a women neighbors' meeting that day, I would buy the drinks on Monday. After going on with discussions, he laughed and said, "I must go to the bathroom. These meetings we hold in the morning make me late for work." When I reminded him that it was a Saturday, he said he had a meeting with a client named Kuria. He asked me to meet him at the office, since he knew I was going to town to purchase wool. I was knitting a cardigan for Patrick to take with him when he went to college. Patrick had sat for the Cambridge School Certificate! and passed in June 1986. He should have left for further studies at Moorhead State University, but because he was so young, I wanted to accompany him and get him settled in the new surroundings. Initially, we had planned to go to Moorhead on September 1. Because of his father's illness we had postponed our departure several times-first to December 1 and then to January. Maybe a sixth sense was telling me that by the time Patrick registered for studies, he would be required at home because his father would die. God planned it all. Around one o'clock my friend Margaret Njanja and I went to SM's office. Like me, Margaret had errands in town; she was going to buy food, as she was the host for that day's women's meeting. We discussed Christmas preparations and what drinks SM wanted me to purchase. SM had learned that we needed to cash a check to pay the veterinarian who had treated a sick cow on our farm in Ngong. So I went to the market where we usually shopped and cashed a check to cover this and the cost of the supplies for the Christmas celebration. I cashed a check for Ksh. 3000/-, paid the grocery bill of Ksh. 500/-, and gave the rest to SM. SM planned to travel to Ngong to pay the veterinarian in the company of his nephew and a cousin who had unexpectedly come by his office. SM had encountered his young cousin, a son of Ben Omondi, who had recently come to live with his brothers in Nairobi. SM told me that he would bring them home for lunch before taking them to Upper Matasia; he wanted them to see how people farmed there, as it was very different from farming practices in Nyamila. I had a strong, unexplainable urge to see SM before he went to Ngong. I told him that the food I had asked the cook to prepare was not good enough for rural people (I had planned a meal of spaghetti and mincemeat, or ground beef). After making our purchases in the market, Margaret and I went back to Lang'ata. I stopped at home before proceeding to Margaret Njanja's place to tell the cook to prepare meat, vegetables, and ugali, in addition to the food I had previously instructed him to make. When SM came home, I was still with Margaret helping her cook for our group. At about 3:00P.M. I told Margaret that I wanted to see some dresses she was selling that were leftover stock from her shop in Reinsurance Plaza. I meant to buy a Christmas present for my daughter-in-law and ask SM to take it to her. I bought two

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dresses for my daughter-in-law and four for my daughter Elizabeth. I noticed one that was black with a cream top. I asked Margaret why she had not told me that she had such a beautiful dress that could fit me. She answered that since the dress was black and she had never seen me wear that color, she did not think I would like it. It was true that I never wore black but I bought it, not knowing that from that day on, this was going to be my most famous dress. I then proceeded to my house, accompanied by Muna's daughter Njeri, a very intelligent nursery school child. When we got home, SM and his relatives were in the garden. I placed the dresses in the drawer but left the two meant for my daughter-in-law in a packet that I planned give to SM. As I was writing a note to my daughter-in-law, saying that we could exchange the dresses if they were the wrong size, my husband came in to tell me that they were leaving. I felt an urge to tell him not to go, yet I had no reason for saying so. I asked him to come with me to our bedroom. I really had nothing to say, other than to ask him to give my daughter-in-law the dresses and the note. I tried to explain about sizes. He interrupted and asked me whether I had written a note. I said yes, I had. Then he started to walk toward the car. Anxiously, I tried to delay him again and started telling him that I had gotten the dresses from Margaret and the amount of money I required to pay for them. He said we would look into that on Monday; then he got in his car and drove off. I stood waving goodbye as if he were going on a long journey, not knowing that I would never see him alive again. Little Njeri followed me back to the bedroom. She wanted to help me select a dress to wear to the women's meeting. Whenever I took out a dress from my wardrobe, Njeri would object and ask me to wear the black dress. Eventually, I agreed. I wore the black dress, and because of the cream color on the top part, I wore cream stockings. Njeri wanted a handbag. I had a small handbag I gave her and we decorated ourselves like smart ladies going out for dinner or a cocktail party. At Margaret's house, the other women congratulated us for being so smartly dressed. This was one of the few light moments that day. Normally when we met, we were all in a jovial mood. But on that day, most of us had one complaint or another. First, Priscilla Kimani had walked over two kilometers from her place instead of calling one of us to pick her up. Alice Mugo was complaining that she had to go soon, for she had to prepare and serve dinner to a newly wedded couple. The general mood was somber. I finally spoke up and asked whether our behavior was meant to spoil the happiness and generosity of Mrs. Muna. Nobody had an answer. Each person would say, "I am just not in the mood." Before long, my son Frederick and Priscilla's son, Kenneth Kimani, entered the house and called me to the door. Frederick murmured to me that Dad had fallen sick in Ngong and had been taken to Nairobi

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Hospital. At once my mind started to whirl. I told the other ladies and we immediately got into the car. Frederick and Kenneth were to follow us to Nairobi Hospital, but unfortunately they had a flat tire, which they repaired before they joined us. As we approached the Lang'ata Barracks bus stop, I felt a cold shiver throughout my body. I said loudly, "I do not like blood pressure! I do not think I'll find my husband alive." I had this premonition because once we had seen Mr. Gitau, a friend of ours, at the Nairobi Hospital Casualty Department when we took our child for treatment. Gitau, who was suffering from high blood pressure, had been brought in by his wife. Within five minutes of his arrival, Mr. Gitau was dead. The other women in the car shouted at me, wondering what I was talking about. I decided to keep quiet because I could see that they did not understand; they had not experienced the same forbidding shiver. My stomach was now roiling but I kept quiet. When we drove past the city mortuary on Mbagathi Road, I said to myself, "Ngai na umuige handu hega" ("God rest him in peace"). Then I wondered why I was feeling that my husband was no more. As we passed the city mortuary roundabout, I saw my Mazda. Thinking that my son had arranged for me to be picked up at home, I said to the other ladies that we should continue on to the hospital. At the hospital, my daughter Elizabeth was standing alone outside the main entrance. When I approached her, she asked me, "Mum, have you come?'' I answered, "Yes." "Do you know that Dad is gone?" "You mean he is dead?" I asked. She answered yes and started crying and my friends started crying as well. The noise was so loud that we woke the sleeping patients, who rose and looked out the windows. Workers, too, stopped to look. Elizabeth told me that she had been told that Dad had been taken to the Kilimani police station after he was pronounced dead on arrival at the hospital. Then I remembered having met our vehicle at the roundabout and guessed that SM had been taken to the city mortuary. From Nairobi Hospital we drove to the city mortuary. There, the body of my late husband was laid on a steel bed. My eldest sister, my son, SM's nephew, and his cousin were standing beside the body. When I checked for a pulse, it felt as if his heart was beating. Priscilla Kimani agreed with me. However, my elder sister and the mortuary attendant confirmed that he was dead. "SM," I murmured, "have you decided to go, knowing so well that our children are scattered all over the world?" I felt the cold shiver leaving me as something white, like a cloud of snow, rose from my legs. When it covered my chest, I regained my strength and asked that we say prayers. I asked that God grant SM peace. I prayed for forgiveness for any wrong I might have done to him and for God to forgive SM for any wrong he might have done to me or any sins he might have committed. I asked for God's help so that I might accept his decision to take my dear husband. After we

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concluded our prayers, my brother-in-law Joshua Buliro asked me whether we should inform SM's brother Joash Ochieng'. I replied that he and my daughter Elizabeth should go tell him. This they did. We waited for their return for quite a while before going home without them. Everything had come to an end; there was nothing we could do. God's decision could not be changed. At a time like that one is numb, miserable, and unable to think. It is hard to believe that from then on I would be a widow and my offspring would be orphans. Never again would SM introduce me as his wife. In widowhood there is no seriousness in the word "Mrs." I was alone; only God will be there if I called him. I did not know where to start. Then fear gripped me. It took a long time for fear to penetrate the numbness because I was deeply in love with my partner. Then debt collectors pounced, demanding large sums for things I did not know existed. Tax collectors were not far behind. Friends also drifted away, even relatives disappeared. God was my only friend. My shock, fear, and desperate loneliness were made all the worse by problems with Joash Ochieng', which started from the day SM died. Elizabeth brought Joash Ochieng', his wife, Rispa, their son Charles, Idalia Awino, and a cousin and nephew to Lang'ata after they went to the city morgue. I met Joash at the gate, expecting him to console me. I thought that I could look to him for support and strength, that he would assist me through the sorrow. He entered the main sitting room without saying a word of pole (sorry) to me. His younger sister, Idalia Awino, was wailing. Although I tried to calm her and asked her to control herself, as my son Patrick had just received the sad news with utter disbelief, she continued. When I saw her later on in court, I wondered how people could pretend such grief. Here, in court, was my mourning sister-in-law now mocking and cursing me as if nothing had happened. The moment Otieno died, it was a case of "out of sight, out of mind": his beloved family were to be despised and harassed by Joash, Idalia, and others in the Umira Kager clan. I will forgive them, but never, ever will I forget what they did that night and later. Around nine-thirty that evening Joash, who worked for the railway and lived in quarters they supplied, asked to be driven to his quarters at Ojijo Road No. 1 to pick up his blood pressure medicine. There was no driver, so I asked Elizabeth to drive him. I said to her that I knew how hard it would be to drive so soon after her daddy's death, but we had to save one of them. In times like these, I added, someone with high blood pressure could collapse from shock. My children are not known to argue with me in matters of importance such as these. In any case, my children were brought up very well with Christian beliefs, so Elizabeth drove her uncle to Westlands and my son Waiyaki went with them. Joash went in the house and returned quickly. Then he asked her to drive him to Plums Hotel. There he used a

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coin-operated telephone to call all his relatives. Elizabeth did not know the people he was calling. In any case, she dared not question her uncle. He continued making calls for a long time, then came back to Lang'ata about midnight. We had already begun to worry about them, as the trip to Ojijo Road should have taken less than an hour at night with so little traffic. Joash should have known that keeping my daughter out for such a long time on such a night would cause us to panic. After losing her father that very day, Elizabeth was not stable enough to be out driving. Additionally, I really wanted Joash to be around since I did not know how to handle mourners, especially those from the Luo community. If I could not handle Idalia alone, how could I handle a dozen of them? I must admit that I was a bit naive. When Joash finally returned, he came with his niece, Jane, whom I had treated like my own child. Jane soon took Joash away. When I tried to say to her that she should not stay too long, she asked me sarcastically, "Aunt, are you chasing me away?" I did not understand the question until the next morning, when I was informed that she had been to Hilary Ocholla's house at Madaraka and left a message that if Mrs. Ocholla arrived from Koru, she should not come to Lang'ata but go straight to Ojijo Road. From the day SM died, Jane turned on me and forgot how I had supported her all those years. I had educated her and had taken care of her wedding arrangements. I financed Jane's education from Form One through her postgraduate studies. I had begged my friend Mrs. Kiano to award Jane a Soviet Women's Committee scholarship. I had also held a party in honor of a delegation from Russia and convinced Ella Gaeyava, of the Soviet Women's Committee, to support my petition for Jane; and in 1985 I had engaged Jane as our Kenya NGO Committee interpreter for the Soviet delegation. When Joash returned to Lang'ata at about five o'clock in the morning, I was outside the house speaking to his stepbrother John Omondi, who had learned of SM's death. He had arrived from Kaloleni around eleven at night, intoxicated from drinking too much chang' aa, an illicit homemade brew, which he frequently did. He grabbed my shoulder and shook me, asking several times, "Otieno ni kure?" ("Where is Otieno?"). I told him to ask God. Soon John was asleep on a chair. Early in the morning, when he was awake and sober, I called him to come outside to speak to me. I did not want people who had been praying and singing hymns throughout the night to hear what I wanted to tell him. Outside I asked him about his unbecoming behavior the previous night. He could not remember exactly what had taken place, so I reminded him. I also told him that I did not expect him to shout at me when I had just lost my husband. He was apologetic, saying that he must have acted on the spur of the moment. It is then that Joash arrived.

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FIRST CLASH WITH jOASH 0CHIENG'

I called Joash aside and asked him where he had been the whole night. I also asked him whether we should send somebody to Nyamila to inform Magdalena, Uncle Ben Omondi, and other close relatives before they learned from the radio that SM was gone. He told me that he would think about it. He then started walking toward the sitting room. I called him and told him that there was something I wanted to discuss with him. When I again asked where he had been, he said he had gone to inform other relatives about SM's death. Then I asked Joash to sit down with me, away from the others, to discuss how to handle the relatives when they came and what we should tell them. Our unity was necessary and it would be absurd if we disagreed. He asked me, "What do you have in mind that you would like to discuss with me?" I replied that there were several things, but the most important was the burial, since we both knew where SM wanted to be buried. Surely, if SM had not told Joash where he would like to be buried, then Joash should have asked me. Instead, and since he was fully aware of SM's wishes, he shouted at me in such a loud voice that everybody inside heard, "Beba mali, beba mali! Lakini ndugu yangu nitazika kwetu nyumbani Nyamila Kaluo" ("Take the property, take the property! But I will bury my brother at home in Nyamila Kaluo").2 He entered the house and told his wife, sister, and other relatives who were seated in the sitting room that SM would be buried at Nyamila. They all started wailing, shouting, and jumping so that they nearly hit the ceiling. That is how it all started. All of us-family, friends, and neighborspanicked. We thought that they would attack us, that now it was either them or us. My son Patrick tried to talk to his uncle, who was now wild, but Joash took no interest in what he was saying. He told Patrick that he was going to bury his brother at Nyamila, come what may. He then called me all sorts of names and also said that I had ordered people to remove things from the sitting room. They were not thieves, he claimed. He added that they were not like Kikuyus, who were political thieves. (When he testified in court, Joash repeated this. He agreed slightly with some of the things I have mentioned, but he twisted many of the facts.) Emotions were running high, and we were all fearful that our lives might end. My sister put a knife inside the Bible she held in her hands and prayed to God that if it came to fighting, he would help us to fight. I removed all hoes, rakes, hammers, spades, machetes, and shovels from my garage and locked them in the storage room in the main house, for, as I said to my relatives, people can be killed with their own weapons. Then Joash told me two busloads of his clansmen were coming and warned me that I would have it rough. Idalia walked around the sitting room, saying, "Otieno amefariki na mali yake yote mama yoo!" ("Otieno died, with all his

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property!"). Obviously, she was insulted that my neighbors had removed small items from the sitting room to create more room and had brought in more chairs from other rooms. She thought that we had removed them to keep the Kager clan from stealing. Joash complained that I had ordered people to remove things from the house. When Joash Ochieng' spoke about this in court, he said that he noticed that the carpet and other items had been removed. Perhaps, he said, it was because we expected more people to come in. And one could think that way because with so many people in the house, things could disappear. However, that night at Lang'ata, Joash spoke and acted very differently. The statements he and Idalia made alarmed us all. With the threat of two busloads of people coming, I had to put aside my grief and prepare to protect myself, my children, relatives, neighbors, friends, and our property. I entered my bedroom and fetched SM's Somali sword, a gift from a Somali client whom he got acquitted. I gave some of my neighbors my golf clubs, pangas, hoes, and any weapon available. I then ordered my cook and neighbors to stop making tea, which my in-laws had been enjoying the whole night. To contain these people in one place, I locked doors to the toilets and all other rooms. The gate was locked to keep other people from coming into the compound. However, I was still worried that young people could climb over the gate to our compound. My neighbors and my eldest daughter decided to call the Lang'ata police station. The police arrived very quickly. When they asked me what had happened, I explained about Ochieng's threats and told them that my neighbor and friend Priscilla Kimani had tried to persuade my brother-inlaw to leave, suggesting that these matters could be discussed later in a better atmosphere. He had rejected her suggestion and threatened us with the arrival of more people. Joash's threats explained why he had been away until5:00 A.M., roaming all over the town looking for relatives. His purpose was not to inform them about SM's death, but to arrange an attack on SM's widow and children. He had also told Priscilla that, like John Godhard Mburu, a former provincial commissioner whose widows fought in court over the right to bury him, SM would stay in the city morgue for a very long time. I then told the police that I had made the decision that if we had to go to court, then there was not going to be any point in mourning SM under the same roof with Joash and his relatives. I said that they had to leave. Joash shouted that this was his brother's home, that if somebody must leave, it was Wambui, for he was the chairman! At this juncture he was walking to the back of the house, where a small gate separates the house from the garden. I supposed he was looking at the garden and imagining himself in possession. Sarcastically, I told him that it was still early in the morning and therefore difficult to view his garden properly. He shouted again that he was now the chairman. I turned to the police and told them

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that the property was registered under the names of Wambui and S. M. Otieno and that I was now the surviving owner. I said in no uncertain terms that Joash had to leave, as he no longer enjoyed my invitation-he had totally abused my hospitality. After all, the body of my late husband, his brother, was in the mortuary and not in the house. After Joash threatened me with the arrrival of two busloads of his relatives, I had called people from Muthiga, where I was born, and some of them had arrived; I knew that Joash's stone-throwing group would get nowhere. The presence of even one person from my clan was enough to cause Joash to worry. The police intervened, trying to persuade him to leave and apply for a permit to mourn in the house he was claiming until the legal proceedings he was threatening were resolved. When he refused to leave, I told the police that I wanted to go to the police station and register a complaint charging him, Idalia, and their allies with trespass, since I was the only surviving owner of the Lang' ata property. All this time, Joash Ochieng's son had been following me wherever I went. I told him to stop, that I did not need any of them, as I had four sons and two foster sons. I pointed out that his father had only two sons, so he could not afford to lend me any of them. By this time I was very angry and fed up with Joash's behavior. Only a few hours earlier I had thought that he would advise and console me and that we would cling together to handle SM's burial and comfort his children, especially the five who were away at school. I had thought I would get the normal care given to a bereaved family member. Now I realized that this was not going to be the case and that I had to take a strong stand to clear them from my compound. Joash and his people stayed on until 11:00 A.M., but with much less noise, as they were already tired and hungry-the sanctions were working. The police kept a vigorous watch over the compound, and my relatives from Muthiga were seated outside the house, asking what had happened to SM and what had brought about the argument. Finally, Joash and his people left peacefully, on foot. As they left, I reflected that they had asked for my stern treatment. I knew about Joash's hot temper because I remembered that he had threatened to kill me in 1985 when I attended the burial of his brother Simon Odhiambo. I thought he had tried to bully me into leaving him in my house while I sought refuge at my parents' home. I was not going to allow this to happen. I therefore wasted no time in clearing my home of these undesirable characters. I admit that I acted so swiftly after Ochieng's outburst because I believed it was a matter of life and death. In truth, his behavior that night was a clear indication of things to come. As I was now solely responsible for my children, I feared the consequences of ignoring his behavior. Other recollections of how maliciously the Kager clan had behaved ran through my mind. I remembered what they had done when Hilary Ocholla died. Hilary and his wife, Hilda, had purchased

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land at Koru. Hilary wanted to build a house there and raise sugar cane. However, Hilary died before the house was built. His immediate family decided to bury him at Koru and finish building the house. But the Kager clan intervened and decided that Hilary Ocholla should be buried at his clan's ancestral lands in Ugenya. The children protested this. One of them even refused to attend the funeral! Another instance of Umira Kager clan's arrogance had to do with Mr. Okoko, a member of the clan. While burial arrangements were being made for SM, Okoko tried to force my children into a car, but I intervened. I told him that he should not molest the children who had just lost their father. He yelled at me, called me stupid, and threatened to slap me. When I dared him to do it, he backed down. I also remembered how the clan had forced Dr. Robert Ouko's widow to bury her husband in U genya rather than at their Chemelil farm, as he had directed in his will. At the Kariokor City Council Estate, young boys manhandled Ouko's widow while we looked on helplessly. She was thrown into the car because she had said that she would not attend the burial if it was held in U genya. SM did not participate in these violations. He was the first person to be informed about his Uncle Hilary's death, and although he had contributed generously to the burial, including paying for the body to be embalmed, he did not attend the funeral. SM did not attempt to seize control of his uncle's burial, nor did he usurp the rights of his uncle's widow, even though he was the eldest surviving son of Jairo Ougo. When Ochieng' threatened that "two busloads are coming," I believed that I was going to be victimized, just like the widows of Ouko and Ocholla. I made sure that I had enough security. The only thing I did not do was lose my mind. I kept saying that Ochieng' was SM's blood brother, that he should be allowed to behave the way he was behaving because of SM. I honestly believed that I saved a bad situation from becoming worse. God guarded me through it. A small mistake would have resulted in violence. I remembered how SM had warned me on December 7, 1986, about what would happen when he died; he had also said that I was a brave woman who could tackle the problems that would come my way. The sense of danger reached a point where some of SM's former clients called me stupid because I would not allow them to defend their "ambassador" the way he had defended them in life and at a time when he could not defend himself. I kept on repeating that I was a Christian and that there was no way I could allow bloodshed. I told them they would be falling into the hands of those who would like to see the enmity between the Kikuyu and the Luo widened. Such a showdown would give those people (whose names I will not reveal) the success they wanted. Open battle between Luos and Kikuyus was not going to happen in my name. Later on, I explained to them why Jaramogi Oginga Odinga, too, was openly concerned. He was a good politician and had recognized the intentions of those

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who wanted intertribal violence. I asked my allies to rely on my knowledge of politics and to keep calm. I told them, "Never let your enemy laugh at you by falling victim to his devilish ideology." Then I would remind them of the saying, "He who laughs last, laughs best." The events of December 20 left me with a scar that would not heal. I must emphasize that my sole reason for asking Joash Ochieng' to sit with me and to discuss SM's burial was to protect my family. I knew Umira Kager's potential because of what they had done to Hilary Ocholla's widow. I only wanted Ochieng's assurance that whatever SM had told us about his burial would be respected. I expected him to be the one to break the news to his relatives when they arrived. Fear had gripped my whole body as I waited to learn if Joash and I were on the same side. I was also puzzled as to why he kept leaving Lang'ata to go to undisclosed places instead of staying with us and consoling us. I thought it was very strange that with his brother dead, he did not spare a single minute to console me and the children. I suppose I expected too much from Joash. I was haunted by the fear that SM's expressed wishes would be violated; my only hope was that my brother-in-law, SM's only surviving brother, would sustain me. To my surprise, all my hopes were shattered; I lost confidence in him when he shouted with such hate in his eyes, "Beba mali!" At such a time, property means nothing to a new widow. On April 4, 1956, SM had written words to this effect in his diary. "When a person begins to distrust his closest relative/friend, that element of unity that is essential for concerted actions vanishes into air, into thin air. And as the distrust assumes its greatest extent, by so much does the bond of relationship/friendship tend to disappear. What remains is nothing more than indifference and hate." This is exactly what happened between me and Joash on that fateful night. I could never again trust him; henceforth he was my number-one enemy. He remains so to date. I viewed his action as that of Judas Iscariot. The consolation I expected from him did not materialize. When I looked at him, he was a total stranger. I did not know him. I needed not to know him at all. He was dishonest, as far as I was concerned, and deserved to be treated as such. I also wondered how he could ignore my request to send somebody to Nyamila immediately to inform Mama Randiga, Uncle Ben Omondi, and other close relatives about SM's death, instead of allowing them hear it on the radio. I did not realize that at that particular time, Joash had taken over authority and had no need to discuss anything with me. As far as he was concerned, I was to be seen and not heard. I was being silly thinking that he was being brutal and uncaring of his stepmother and other close relatives. But much later, when his relatives were behind him supporting him in all he did against me, I was made to remember the saying "Blood is thicker than water."

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SM had been the only bond between us, and now he was no more. I had to accept that fact. Even though I was experiencing a lot of emptiness, I could not change the situation. I remembered that SM was not there to protect me, so I should wake up and start protecting myself and my children. I was a widow and they were half-orphans. I remembered that during the last year before his death SM had stopped calling me "Msaja," except on very rare occasions; he preferred calling me "Mr." Now I realized his meaning: I was on my own and the head of my family too. I had chased Joash and his relatives away from my home; I had also directed my workers and my security men that Otieno's relatives were now personae non gratis, totally prohibited from entering my homestead. I told them that we would be risking our lives if we allowed them in. As for Joash, he would have no more chances to look on my garden as if it were his own, and that, moreover, before his dead brother had been in the city morgue for a full day. At that moment, I had started distinguishing between my relatives and those of Otieno.

TRIBAL POLITICS AND THE BATTLE FOR

SM's

REMAINS

Tribalism and mistrust had now crept in; I had become what my Luo relatives used to call me-Ukuyu (a Kikuyu). From then on, I assumed that I would have nothing more to do with my Luo in-laws and they would have nothing to do with their Kikuyu relations. The estrangement became total when they all ganged up against me in court. The experience changed me. My upbringing and years of political comradeship with people from different tribes and races had kept me free from the taint of tribalism-I had been innocent of having allegiance only to my tribe. I had not chosen my friends according to tribe; if someone was my friend, I did not care. After my rough treatment at the hands of my Luo relatives and their clan, I found myself unable to communicate with members of the Luo community. These feelings heightened when I saw that even those Luos who had been close family friends never came to give their condolences to me and my children. I assumed that they were all headed for Joash Ochieng's residence on Ojijo Road. The sole exception was those who were related to or friendly with Odinga, who quickly came to visit my home in Upper Matasia. Later on, Mzee Odinga was the only member of the Luo community who supported me. He made it clear that what had been portrayed as Luo customs were nothing but the fabrications of an emotional people who wanted to twist the customs to suit their selfish ends. In the first days after SM's death on December 20, I little knew to what lengths selfishness would drive Joash. Between December 21 and 26 I sent several messages seeking reconciliation through friends and relatives and

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also wrote a letter to Joash. I specifically told him that the children would be arriving soon, although he could not be bothered on that first night to discuss how they would come. I also told him that, when it all was said and done, it was he and I who would have to answer to our children for our actions. I wrote that the people he was associating with would have nothing to do with it. Later, I sent a delegation to Joash to ask for a meeting and to plead for reconciliation. My representatives were Dr. Julius Gikonyo Kiano, Dr. Joseph Njuguna Karanja, a member of Parliament, my elder sister Gladwell Wathoni Buliro, and my younger brothers Dr. Peter Gichuhi Waiyaki and Reginald Mwathi Waiyaki. Julius Kiano was a respected and dear family friend. He and his wife Jane had officiated at many family events for us when SM was alive. He was a great comfort during the days of strife with Joash and was in charge of the home as the closest friend of my deceased husband. Joash kept my representatives waiting outside his residence for several hours under the pretense that Omolo Siranga, the chairman of the burial committee and the Umira Kager clan spokesman, was unavailable. When the "chairman" came, he told them that the place of burial was not negotiable. At this juncture, and without my knowledge, Joash had written a letter to the superintendent of the city mortuary, instructing him to refuse to allow me to view the body of my late husband. I reciprocated by writing a letter that I was the one who registered SM's body in the city morgue and that nobody had my permission to view the body or remove it without either a letter from me or a court order. If I had no right, they didn't have any either. My children Patrick, Frederick, Waiyaki, Jane, and Liza were in Nairobi with me in the first days as Joash attempted to keep SM's family from viewing his body. On December 22 and 23, I was busy telephoning the other children in Germany and the United States. It was difficult to reach them because it was the Christmas vacation and each one of them had gone out for the holidays. Eventually, arrangements were made for them to arrive home on Christmas Day. I forgot the time difference and was at the airport on December 25 instead of 26. Gladwell was already home from Germany, where she had gone to study. On Christmas Day Dr. Kiano, the head of my reconciliation group, allowed Omolo Siranga, Joash Ochieng', and Fred Ouma to come to Lang'ata to see SM's children who were expected home on that day but who actually arrived the following day. Joash asked for milk to drink because of his ulcer; the others opted for a soda. I gave him milk but told him that that might be the last service he would receive from me. Joash, Omolo, and Frederick returned on December 26 and found that my daughters Peggy and Rosalyn had arrived. Jairus, however, had missed the flight at New York's JFK Airport; although his sisters could see him through the window of the plane, the door had been closed. Rosalyn and Peggy had

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already learned how their uncle had behaved and had no time for him, but they said hello. Jairus arrived on December 27 at one in the morning. We were therefore very comforted that the family was now home, though we did not know how long we would be reunited. Jairus surprised us. The following day, he borrowed a friend's car and, without our knowledge, went to Ojijo Road to talk to his uncle. After asking for and being granted an audience with Joash, Jairus spoke to him about SM's burial. He asked his uncle whether he remembered the lunch his parents had given for Joash and Aunt Idalia in 1982 before he and Peggy left for the United States. Joash said that he did recall the occasion. Then J airus asked if J oash remembered what SM had told him about where he wanted to be buried when he died. Joash said that he did not remember that. Jairus asked if SM had not told him that he would like to be buried at the Lang'ata residence, but knowing that this would require presidential consent, which might be withheld, he would want to be buried on his farm as an alternative. Jairus asked Joash if he did not remember that SM had said that the furthest he wanted to go was the Lang'ata cemetery. Again, Joash answered that he did not remember. Jairus then told his uncle that this was the end of their relationship. When he returned to Lang'ata and told us what he had done, we told him that going to Ojijo Road was a dangerous thing to do, as he might have been attacked by the likes of Omolo Siranga. When Musa Muna, our neighbor, asked Jairus why he had gone to see his uncle, he answered that he had gone on a fact-finding visit because his first reaction when he arrived was that there was a problem between his uncle and his mother. He had not wanted to take sides before finding out the facts. He said that he could not believe his ears when his uncle denied all that he had been told, in his presence, in 1982. He added, "You know sometimes my mother may have been emotional and disagreed with Uncle, but now I am sure that Joash is lying." From then on, meetings between Ochieng's group and my representatives were useless. I was present at one of those meetings held at Dr. Kiano's home. I have great respect for Dr. Kiano's patience throughout. Dr. J. N. Karanja had already become fed up with Siranga, who pronounced at each meeting that the venue for burial was not negotiable. Joash was being led around by the nose. I had already heard rumors about state involvement and how it came about. Now the state had found a way to punish me, an insurgent who dared to speak out about political corruption, and every Tom, Dick, and Harry had permission to say what they had wanted to say about me all along. It was a free-for-all. Yet even under these difficult circumstances, I tried to reconcile with my brother-in-law. But when all attempts failed, I assumed that other powers prevented him from seeing the inevitable: that when all was said and done, only he and I would remain with the memories of the day we broke up our family.

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I suppose that Joash was made to feel very important with visits by cabinet ministers Robert Ouko, Odongo Omamo, Ndolo Ayah, and others to his railway quarters. I was quite optimistic that one day he would find himself alone, without all that glory, and be willing to reconcile. My last letter to him was dated February 23, 1987. In my whole life, I do not remember having tried to persuade anyone else as I did my brother-in-law. He would, in turn, come to my Lang'ata home and tell my mother that he was dropping all the people who were making us disagree and that we would have the matter sorted out between our two families, the Ougos and the Waiyakis. But on the following day, we would again read in the newspapers a statement that contradicted the agreement he had made with my mother. This made us truly believe that Joash had reached a point of no return. And since we were monitoring his movements and had planted people on Ojijo Road, we concluded that he could do nothing; others were controlling him. When the case was completed in the courts, I would read in the newspapers blatant lies told by my brother-in-law about his attempts to include me in arranging SM's burial. He said that he had called me on the telephone and asked me to go to Ojijo Road to discuss the burial arrangements with him. On another occasion, he said that he had not been able to get me on the telephone. Which telephone? Surely he knew that someone in the government had disconnected my telephone to stop me from getting in touch with anyone. It was only later, after the burial, that a cabinet minister ordered its restoration-but with a different number, since my old line had already been given out to somebody living in Ong'ata Rongai. Joash also said that he had asked me to present one item in the program. This tale was repeated by Omolo Siranga and Joseph Obare, the chairman of the Ger Union. Obare also said that they had appointed the head of their women's wing to give me advice on Luo customs and the behavior expected of a widow during the funeral. To her I say, "You can't teach an old dog new tricks." Joash was telling lies because he understood that he was doing wrong but had put himself in a tight comer. He could neither tum nor swallow the words that he had promised his masters. I am not trying to give the impression that I would have gone to discuss my late husband's burial in his younger brother's house, or for that matter in the railway quarters, had he truly attempted to contact me. It was against Luo custom to mourn or discuss the burial arrangements of an elder brother in a younger brother's house, unless he did not have any facility for such discussions. The mourners should have assembled in SM's home and that is where burial arrangements should have been discussed. It is also Luo custom, as with many other African peoples, to take the deceased's body to its residence and lay it out in state overnight. This could not be done in his brother's house in the railway quarters. SM was, therefore, taken directly

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from the morgue to the airport before his body was flown to Kisumu. Finally, considering SM's status in life, I could not see any reason why his burial should be discussed in the railway quarters. The quarters were government housing provided to its employees in a very poor part of town. SM had never spent one night there. My probable actions and reasons aside, Ochieng' lied. If his lies were intended to make people believe that he was, after all, concerned about his sister-in-law and her children, then it does not make sense to me, as they were uttered too late. As far as I was concerned, the matter between me and the Ougo family-including the burial-ended on May 15, 1987, after the judgment of the Court of Appeal, which directed that SM be buried in Nyamila. I purposefully sent my children back to school on May 18 and 19. I could not, therefore, have entertained discussions from any quarter about the burial, which I considered to be a betrayal of my family. I was not then, nor am I to this day, willing to betray my family. I personally feel that anything that makes one change his/her principles and personal behavior is evil, whatever the gain. I am glad that I am holding on to mine, whatever the loss, and to the bitter end. I suppose that now Ochieng' understands how seriously we viewed the matter.

*

*

*

The agony of having to see my late husband's body remain unburied for nearly six months was torture; it was a bitter experience that is still very fresh in my mind. The experience was made even more bitter by the actions of the government ministers who influenced the president, claiming that they were totally loyal to him, that they would not see Parliament again if he did not help them win the case and get the body. Many of these ministers left Parliament soon after, for various reasons, some never to return. Those untouchable civil servants who put up such a vigorous fight against us reaped their share of bitter disappointment. Hezekiah Oyugi, for example, lost his position as permanent secretary in charge of provincial administration in the president's office. His role in the saga was to order the office of the provincial commissioner to issue Joash a permit for mourners to gather in his house, as if it were Mrs. Rispa Ochieng's husband who had died. That is what the Third World is all about. Oyugi should have publicly declared his interest: one of his wives was related to SM. Surprisingly, after his death, his family was not even given the usual exaggerated condolences normally given to the families of government henchmen. There were no public promises to take care of the deceased's wife (in this case wives) and children. There was talk in town that the president had even warned his henchmen not to send any condolences to Oyugi's family unless they wanted to face dismissal. I presume this to be true because none of them did,

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and it cannot be that Oyugi worked in government all these years without making friends among his colleagues. His case is a good lesson to the henchmen, which they do not seem to heed; once you have performed heinous actions, you have to go. Minister Robert Ouko (deceased), who is related to Ochieng's wife and who appealed to the president to influence the court case, also left Parliament. These Machiavellian rulers stop at nothing. A reading of Machiavelli's The Prince shows exactly how Kenya has been ruled since 1978. The Florentine statesman's strategy is used by minds that are poorly equipped for such a heavy responsibility as ruling justly. Everything is wrong in Moi's rule and I hate his dictatorial tendencies and cruelties. His cruelty does not exclude his divorced wife and mother to his children. The ministers had to fight me in order to be acceptable henchmen; opposing me meant that they gained Moi 's support and won parliamentary seats. They knew that Moi hated me because of my outspokenness in the KANU Delegates' Conferences and because of my opposition to the undemocratic way of electing KANU officials. They used the death of my husband to win a seat in Parliament, a gate to corruption, and wanton riches. Anything in their way had to be trampled. The lust to go to Parliament has led many to darkness and even death. First, the KANU stalwarts start imagining that they will drive a Mercedes, own a skyscraper, have access to credit and women (including married ones), and be rewarded with state security, free of charge. Second, they imagine that they will not be prosecuted for any offense, whatever the damage it may cause. They can have verbal diarrhea, make inflammatory, provocative statements, and cause chaos-and get aw,ay with it. For the member of Parliament, money will no longer be a problem-th~ only problem will be how to spend all the new, politically derived wealth. The obsession is so strong it atrophies the mind. Even those who are supposedly Christians forget God's curse on Adam (Genesis 3: 17-19) and the Ten Commandments (Exodus 20: 2-17), especially those commandments forbidding us to place any other gods before him or to bow down to their likeness. The implication here is well known to Kenyans. The head of state is worshipped like a god. At public gatherings, KANU stalwarts address the president as if he were a god, especially at political fund-raising events when the vice president, cabinet ministers, or provincial administrators call on the president to address the nation in these terms: "Our almighty president, our father, we support you, like your children. Assist us to build this school's foundation. We ask you and praise you, that you alone have the strength and capability and knowledge to lead us humbly to achieve proper development. Almighty president, come and address your people."

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("Mtukufu Rais, Baba wetu. Sisi tunak:uunga mkono, kama watoto wak:o, utusaidie kujenga shule hii ya msingi na tunak:uomba na kukutukuza, wewe peke yak:o, ndiye una nguvu na uwezo na mawaidha ya kutuongoza kwa unyenyekevu kupata maendeleo merna. Mtukufu Rais kuja uzungumzie watu wak:o.")3 Once my fate was decided, sympathizers and supporters were scarce. People had to be seen abusing and persecuting me in order to win political favors. Even those not involved in the dirty political game avoided me for fear of being persecuted. The dispute between Joash Ochieng', the Umira Kager clan, the Ger Union, and my family became public and political rather quickly. Several lawyers took an interest in what was befalling their colleague. Many of them offered advice, but Luo lawyers mostly allied with Joash and his cronies. Not all Luo lawyers were against me, although most were noncommittal because they feared becoming outcasts. After Joash Ochieng's abuse and threats in my home, we next clashed over the postmortem. I was driven by my neighbor, Harry Mugo, to the city mortuary to identify the body for postmortem, which was to be performed by Dr. Kaviti, the police pathologist. Another police pathologist, Dr. Kung'u, was present to represent the family. When I was called upon to identify the body, I changed my mind and asked the doctors to wait so that tests could be done by the chief government chemist to determine if poison had been present. I remembered that SM had always told me that most Luo believe that no Luo dies without being poisoned; there has to be a reason other than natural causes. I decided to report the matter to the Kilimani police station, which assigned a police officer to accompany me to the police headquarters and to the office of the chief government chemist. The chief government chemist took whatever was required to check for poison and found none. They were, therefore, now answerable to Omolo Siranga, the mighty. Later, when Omolo Siranga claimed that SM had been poisoned and announced that the clan intended to hire a pathologist from abroad, I realized that it was God's hand that guided me to investigate the issue. Why Siranga challenged the government pathologist's report remains a mystery to me, especially as the same government let him loose to say whatever he pleased about me and about the rule of law. Both Omolo Siranga and Joash Ochieng' stated that "Luo customs are paramount and above the law." Even after the case was over, there was no comment from the judges or the government itself. However, when Siranga questioned the credibility of a government official and threatened to bring a British pathologist to Kenya to determine whether SM was poisoned by a member of his household, he went too far. I did not need to respond to Siranga, for, though the government tolerated his harassment of me, when he questioned the credibility of a government official, he was warned to desist. After the postmortem, the body was embalmed, at my cost, and a grave

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was dug at Upper Matasia. Nearly all funeral arrangements, including the program and announcements for the date for the funeral service, were ready when on December 29, 1986, we were given a rude shock by the officers in the Kenya Broadcasting Cooperation (Voice of Kenya). They informed us that any burial announcement for SM had been stopped. When I asked by whom, I was given the usual answer told to Kenyans when there is an order from a high government official, "By higher authority." I asked whether there was a court injunction to stop the announcement, which to me was the only legal method. I was told that there was no court injunction. That alone confirmed, beyond reasonable doubt, that I was not dealing solely with the Umira Kager clan, but with the invisible "higher authority." It was no longer a mere rumor that very powerful forces were working against me, but a reality. Even though I was aware of the Kager clan's secret collusion with powerful, unseen politicians and how dangerous this combination would be, I felt that I was left with no alternative but to file a case in court, for whatever it was worth. From that point on, I knew with whom I was dealing; I had to go on, for I did not intend to abandon my husband's remains in the mortuary. At the back of my mind I knew I was fighting a lost battle. To my surprise, I won the first two rounds, but I was warned that exhumation could be ordered if I lost the appeal. The first order rendered by Justice Shields (December 30, 1986) restrained the defendants Joash Ochieng' Ougo and Omolo Siranga or their agents from removing SM's body from the Nairobi city mortuary. Noting that since SM had died intestate, the court ruled that his widow was plainly entitled to his corpse in accordance with the decision in Civil Appeal No. 12 of 1979, Apeli et al. v. Priscilla Buluku.4 The ruling also gave me time to notify the defendants. Justice Shields's ruling was delivered very late in the afternoon. And though we had prearranged SM's burial for December 31, I had to make a decision about whether to go forward with the services, bearing in mind that the body could be exhumed if the case was heard inter partes. In order to bury SM as scheduled, I had to get a certified copy of the judgment; serve it to Voice of Kenya so that they would allow the announcement of the burial; serve the judgment to the city mortuary so that I might be allowed to remove the body; finalize arrangements at the church; prepare flowers; emotionally prepare myself and my children; and then, after all this, I had to be prepared for exhumation, should I lose the case on appeal. The mere thought of a court-ordered exhumation of my dear husband's body filled me with horror. Moreover, I saw no reason why I should look as if I were stealing my own husband's remains for burial-! could not see sense in rushing the interment, as if I were burying a dog that died at home. I still hold those views. I believed then and now that SM was an important person in the society whose burial should have been honored and respected.

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How, I asked myself, would the short period of only one night allow SM's many friends, clients, and relatives to travel from all over the country to attend the funeral? I also remembered that SM had repeatedly told me of his mother's wishes that he take care of his sisters. Would I be right to ignore all that and exclude them from the burial? Rather than bury SM in an unseemly rush, I opted to wait but resolved to honor his wishes if I lost the case: they would have to bury him without me and my children. Finally, I knew that since December 31, 1986, was a Saturday, a burial on that day would have deprived SM's relatives of a chance for the inter partes hearing. I would have played the ignominious role of taking advantage of them, something I was not prepared to do. Ironically, gossip during and after the trial spread the nasty story that I refused to bury SM on that day because I was proud and wanted to show off. Surely each person is entitled to his opinion, but to me the burial of a loved one is nothing to be proud about. Having struggled with the issues of whether or not I should hurriedly bury my husband in such a dishonorable way, I conveyed my thoughts to the burial committee on the night of December 30. In light of my feelings, I told them, we would postpone the burial to January 3, 1987. Lawyers who were present at the meeting cautioned me that failing to bury SM on Saturday would give Ochieng', Siranga, and their lawyers a chance to contest Justice Shields's ruling. Still, I stuck to my guns, remembering how SM would say that one should never take advantage of another person on matters of law. "Justice must be seen to be done," he would say. I was not prepared to go against my husband's beliefs and I knew that I had no excuse to do so since I was the only one who knew him well enough to judge what he would like me to do or not to do. This, after all, was his burial. I was abiding by his wish to be buried at Lang'ata or Upper Matasia, and therefore I had no excuse for violating his beliefs. SM had never taken advantage of prosecutors nor of younger, inexperienced lawyers throughout his practice, and who was I to do so after his death? On Monday January 2, 1987, Ochieng' and Siranga's lawyer, Richard Otieno Kwach, filed a counter-injunction. The case was heard by Judge Shields who, on January 5, 1987, again ruled in my favor. Justice Shields's opinion was that S. M. Otieno was a metropolitan, cosmopolitan person; and although SM undoubtedly honored the traditions of his ancestors, it was hard to envisage such a person as subject to African customary law, and in particular to the customs of a rural community. Justice Shields found that under Kenyan law, I, as SM's widow, was entitled to be his personal representative and was therefore the person entitled to the custody of the body, including the authority to remove the body from the city mortuary and arrange for burial. Neither of the two defendants had

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any legal right to stand upon in the matter of burial of SM's body. He adjudged that I was the next of kin. To my total amazement SM had predicted what would befall us when he remarked, "I come from a very bad tribe. I come from a very bad clan. If they deprive you of the right to bury me, do not pass Westlands, do not attend my funeral at Nyamila, for if you do, I will kick the coffin, come out, and fight you and all those who would be accompanying you and then go back to my coffin and die, for dying, I must die. Leave them. I shall deal with them." Years after Joash's infamous victory, he told reporters that history would judge me for failing to attend the Nyalgunga burial and the following anniversaries. Given all the terrible things that have happened to Joash and his cohorts-the instances of death, mental illness, and economic hardship-! know that God's ultimate judgment was in my favor.

NOTES

1. Equivalent to an American high school degree. 2. Nyamila Kaluo was their home area. Kaluo was their mother's clan name. The land claimed by the Umira Kager clan had initially belonged to the Kaluo clan. Some Umira Kager clan members moved to Nyamila from their ancestral land in Simero Ugenya; their claim to Kaluo land came about because Jairo Ougo married a Kaluo girl, Salome Anyango. 3. President Nyerere of Tanzania rejected the title mtukufu because it translates to "Almighty," not "Excellency," as some leaders would like us to believe. These inflated forms of address started with the KANU governing council, over which the president officiated as president of the KANU party. Another example of this is the chant commonly heard at political rallies: KANUwapi? Majibujuu! Wananchi wapi? Majibujuu! Serikali wapi? Majibujuu! Na Rais arap Moi wapi! Majibu, juu, juu, juu zaidi!

Where [do you place] KANU? Above! Where [do you place] the people? Above! Where [do you place] the government? Above! And how about President Moi? Above, above, above, absolutely above!

4. Priscilla Buluku's husband was buried by his brother and other relatives while she was in the hospital. She filed a suit in court asking for an order to exhume her late husband's remains and move them from his father's home in Bunyore, western Kenya, to a place they had acquired in Bungoma, western Kenya. She won the appeal.

Coming from court, from the right: Rahab Wambui Muhuni, witness; myself, held by Gladwell Otieno; Elizabeth Wanjiru Waiyaki, my daughterin-law (slightly behind, wearing a sweater); Albert Mulindi Mayari, Khaminwa's law clerk and my witness (behind me and to my left). Photo© Nation Newspapers Ltd.

Front row,from left: Joash Ochieng', shown holding a file; Richard Otieno Kwach, lawyer; and Omolo Siranga, the clan spokesman, chairman of the burial committee, and a defendant in the case. Others are relatives of SM.

9 The Burial Saga

My decision to delay SM's interment had the anticipated result. Joash Ochieng' and his allies forced me to go to court again to try to keep the right to bury my dear husband. The case began to be referred to as the SM Burial Saga.l Through their lawyer, Richard Otieno Kwach, Joash Ochieng' and Omolo Siranga went to the Court of Appeal on January 5, 1987, the very day Justice Shields had ruled in my favor,2 seeking an injunction to restrain me from removing the body for burial by myself, my agents, or my servants pending an appeal of Justice Shields's ruling. In this appeal, Judge Shields ruled in my favor for a second time. Kwach filed a second appeal and was granted an injunction on January 8, 1987. The appeal was served to my lawyers, Khaminwa and Khaminwa, Advocates. Appeal Judges J. 0. Nyarangi, H. G. Platt, and J. M. Gachuhi heard the case on January 10, 1987.3 They ruled that Justice Shields's original judgment and ruling against the second appeal should be set aside; Nyarangi, Platt, and Gachuhi issued an injunction to restrain me from burying SM "anywhere other than Nyalgunga sublocation" until trial by the High Court or until further ordered. Nyarangi, Platt, and Gachuhi ordered that the trial be heard by a different judge. We knew, of course, that the order to switch the case to a different judge would affect the outcome. We were also very much aware that the judges tied the hands of any High Court justice through their specific order allowing burial only in Nyalgunga. Later, when I appealed Judge S. E. 0. Bosire's decision (rendered February 13, 1987), that restriction presented an insurmountable problem. From the day Judges Nyarangi, Platt, and Gachuhi issued their opinions, it appeared to me as if they had already made up their minds, and I would not receive justice in the Kenya courts. They tied the hands of the judge in the High Court, for in his ruling he held that

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Mau Mau's Daughter The Court of Appeal concerning these same parties ... held that there was no basis in this matter for invoking S.l6 of the Public Health Act, or the Law of Succession Act, as the issues in this case do not touch either on succession or Public Health. That being a Superior Court and their adjunction having been based on the facts of this case, I am bound by their holding and say no more on that.4

My lawyers filed a case in the High Court,5 which was set for hearing on January 21, 1987. The judge's decision, public opinion in Kenya, and the debate in the newspapers declared the case to be about tradition. Yet the most private family and financial matters were prime targets for Kwach. Tradition, which was implied to flourish only in the rural areas, was used as a cudgel to dispossess me and my children of the right to bury our beloved. SM was influenced by his upbringing to live the way he lived. Before his death, SM's mother, Salome Anyango, was a church elder. My father-inlaw, who lived with us in Nairobi from 1971, when he fell ill, making only occasional trips to visit his wife in Nyamila, had been an elder of the Church of the Province of Kenya since 1913. He brought up his children in a Christian manner. I never saw Luo traditions practiced in that home for the three funerals I attended. My father-in-law demanded a Christian burial and asked to be buried at the back of the house. Had he intended to be buried according to Luo custom, he would have asked to be buried at the front of his house. My father-in-law's response to our choice of names for one of our sons also shows that he was not a "traditional" man. We named our son after him when he was still alive and he never complained. On the contrary, he was very happy and proud, though Luo tradition does not allow naming a child after a living person. I never said that only people who live in urban areas abandon their traditions. Indeed, I was brought up in Kiambu District within a rural community, but my parents were Christians and practiced few such "traditions." I was brought up when the Kikuyu still practiced the traditional circumcision of girls, yet my Christian family had nothing to do with that custom. All the hullabaloo about tradition was only meant to deprive me and my children of the basic human right to bury my husband. The real issue was about gender, not tradition. In rendering his judgment, Bosire showed that he was persuaded most by the witnesses for Joash who expressed their views of what the proper role of a Luo wife should be and by Richard Otieno Kwach's arguments. Long after the judgment was handed down, Kwach's slander and views about what women can and cannot do, according to tradition, was quoted in an interview he gave to Blaine Harden, a reporter for the Washington Post. Kwach, the Luo lawyer, told me that Wambui was nothing but a woman of the streets, a bossy whore. He continued, "A woman cannot be the head of a family. There are things she cannot do: she cannot preside over negotiations for·the marriage of her daughter. There is traditional regalia for

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attending burials, which she cannot wear. She cannot sit on her husband's traditional stool. She cannot organize a beer party. Women accept this. Not a single Luo woman, I repeat, not a single Luo woman has ever gone to Court over these matters ever since the world began. "6

Kwach asserts that women cannot preside over their daughter's marriage. Well, I do not know what men do in that context, apart from sitting and demanding bridewealth. But, in fact, it is the mother who has the heaviest burden of cleaning the home and buying and preparing the food to be served to the in-laws and other wedding guests. Joash claimed that SM should be buried in Nyamila because he had intended to establish a home there according to Luo tradition and that SM had not established a proper Luo residence in Nairobi. This was a flat-out lie. False statements were made about SM's residence in Nairobi. For instance, it was attested to in court that S. M. Otieno was living in a rented house until 1979, when he bought plot L.R. 10039, Karen. It is frightening that people swear by the Bible and later on tell lies without any conscience at all. SM did not intend to build a home in Nyamila. The truth is that, as I said in court, the plot was purchased in 1970 by us and a title acquired in both our names as tenants in common. I was not a signatory to three of his bank accounts and therefore nothing would have stopped him from doing what he wanted. Judge Bosire compounded the mistake when he commented that "[SM] was until then living in rented premises. In 1979 however, he bought a property at Lang'ata where the house he lived in before his death stands. The property is referred to a L.R. 10039."7 The Otieno family broke so-called Luo tradition time and time again when it came to marriage and residence. Against Luo custom, Joash got married and established a home in Nyamila while SM, his elder, unmarried brother, was still in school in India. Had their father been a traditionalist, he would never have sanctioned building a home for Joash before one was built for SM. Bosire said in his judgment that he got the impression that even if one followed the custom of establishing a home according to Luo tradition, it is no guarantee that you would be buried at your home. He went further to say that for a person to be buried also depends on whether or not he has been survived by his father. If a man predeceases his father, he must, under custom, be buried next to his father's house. When does he become a father himself, dictating the locus of his son's burial? J oash also lied in court when he said that they had performed the manyasi ritual when he got married to dispel any bad omens (because he got married before his elder brother) and that I had attended and participated. According to Joash, SM must have lived a secret, traditionalist lifestyle unknown even to his wife and children. Judge Bosire believed Joash's portrayal of SM as a traditional man, adhering to Luo customs.s Did he practice them without us, his wife and children? For, had SM done so, most of

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them would have been performed with our participation. The ceremony I was supposed to have taken part in, known as manyasi, was meant to drive away bad omens. The ceremony never took place and there was no way my husband could have been involved with such a demonic ceremony. Joash either lied or was very confused about basic family events. According to him, I participated in an Otieno family ceremony before I met anyone in the family! SM returned home from India while I was still in detention on Lamu Island. He went to visit Joash in Kisumu railway quarters on his way to Nyamila, where he was going to visit his father. According to Luo custom, SM should never have visited Ochieng's house if he had married first, and then should have waited for a year or two before Ochieng' performed manyasi. I left detention camp on January 23, 1961, and met SM in June that year when he was already practicing law in his chambers in Rajah Manzil Building. Ochieng' gave evidence in court that his brother Isaiah Odhiambo died when he was very young; later, on cross-examination, Ochieng said that Isaiah had died in Mwanza in 1966. He also said that he got married in August 1956, five years before I even met SM. It was disgusting and hurtful to have Joash's witnesses state that his only motive for insisting that SM be buried in Nyamila was to give my children identity (but only those for whom SM was the natural father, since Joash Ochieng' did not acknowledge that the others were a part of our family). Today in Kenya, the identity of a person is gauged differently-it is no longer solely tied to the locality of his/her clan lands. The concept of identity in a modern society is shaped by the way you carry yourself, your acquired knowledge, the way you establish yourself, and your general behavior. Children's identity can never come exclusively from a clan, and in this case a clan that is totally unknown to them. I cannot see how a person like Omolo Siranga, whom we all met because of the burial, could confer any respect on us, SM's survivors. Cynically, these suggestions were made to try to convince the court that Ochieng' and his clan were very concerned about SM's widow and children. Many of Joash's witnesses spoke and acted as if they had something to gain by supporting his position. However, the truth was that whether SM was buried in Nyamila or Upper Matasia, they really had nothing to gain. Nor were they related to us. Those who testified for us, men such as Musa Muna, James Ligia, Harry Mugo, and Alfred Adema and his German wife, Juta Johanna, came to court only to assist in establishing the truth. They could not be bribed into telling lies, since they were people of established means. Kwach raised many issues that were unrelated to that of the appropriate burial place for SM. For example, a good deal of time was spent trying to determine which plots of land SM and I owned. Kwach exhibited minutes and an agreement from a meeting involving a discussion about family land, dated May 4, 1981. This land had nothing to do with the burial. Yet

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Ochieng' made it appear as if SM intended to return to live or be buried at Nyamila. If Ochieng' had told the truth, he would have testified that Otieno's reason for establishing the ownership of this particular plot of land (Alego Central/ Nyalgunga/1983) was to protect Magdalena, who was being harassed by the late Simon Odhiambo. SM only wanted to clarify that Simon had nothing to do with A1ego Central/Nyalgunga/1983 and that Magdalena had a life interest in it; finally, SM wanted to clarify that Simon had been given Plot No. Alego Central/Nyalgunga/1994. My husband did not want Simon to force Magdalena and her only son, John Omondi, to move away from her home to Ujwang'a Plot Alego Central/Nyalgunga/ 1603. SM had told me that his father loved Magdalena and intended that she should be left to live out her life in the house they had shared. Rather than telling the truth about SM's wish to protect his stepmother, Ochieng's people falsely testified that he was interested in the ownership of the Alego properties because he viewed Alego as his ancestral home. This was nonsense. As I said in court, Alego was not Jairo Ougo Oyugi's ancestral land in a Luo context. Alego Kaluo belonged to the Kaluo clan, to which Salome Anyango belonged, not her husband Jairo. Jairo Ougo Oyugi was born and raised at Simero, U genya. He moved to Ale go only when he was an adult and occupied the Kaluo's land through his marriage to Salome. Therefore, the use of the concept of ancestral land, in this case, was wrong. How does a family meeting about land constitute evidence on burial if, due to the fact that I had not received the letters of administration, Succession Law Cap 160 could not be considered? SM and I had always listed each other as next of kin on legal forms. In the absence of one of us, our children were responsible. That is the way it should be by any standard and practice. Succession Law Cap 160 Section 66 clearly states who should administer the estate of .a deceased husband/wife. During the trial, when I applied for letters of administration, Kwach hurriedly filed objections by people who had no locus standi-only to withdraw them soon after the burial. The burial saga ended on May 15, 1987, and I obtained the letters of administration on June 23, 1987, after Kwach withdrew the objection. Are those the ethics our advocates are supposed to parade before the eyes of lay men and women? I could only conclude that the objection was meant to subvert my right as executor and administrator, which should have given me authority to bury my husband. The Court of Appeal later said: Letters of Succession not yet granted and although she would be the preferred choice in section 66 of the said Law of Succession Act she has not received the grant and therefore cannot act on that presumption. She cannot legally claim to bury the body of the husband, as personal representative. She cannot sue as the personal representative. The Judge emphasized that until the grant of letters of administration are granted to her. The difficulty remains that, the general rule in relation to Administration can do

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Delaying my designation as administrator of SM's estate was one of the many tricks that were used in court; there was no other reason why the deceased's stepmother, the two widows of SM's elder brother Simon Odhiambo (Selina and Mary), and their sons should jointly object to my being appointed the sole administrator of SM's estate, only to withdraw their objections soon after the burial. The behavior of Kwach, Ochieng', and their allies was expected to some degree. However, the bias from the bench was truly shocking. I was deeply offended by Judge Bosire's judgment, which described me and my children as arrogant. When questioned by Kwach as to whether we would go to Nyalgunga for the burial should Ochieng' win, we said we would not. With due respect to the judge, our position was based on SM's personal wishes, which I had not taken lightly, and I specifically said that he told me not to attend his burial if it was in Nyamila. Surely I had no moral obligation to obey anyone else except my husband. But was my comment worse than Ochieng's pronouncement that Luo customs are above the law? The judge made no comment on that. To this day, I believe that Bosire acted out of fear. The other disturbing issue was that Bosire said that I portrayed my husband as a hypochondriac, a man who spoke of almost nothing else save his burial. tO I cannot answer that, but such behavior is not isolated; there are many people who, just before death, gather their families together and tell them what they expect from them or how their properties will be divided. For that matter, I had no reason to disbelieve SM when he told me what his mother had told him on her deathbed. The premonition he had could only be explained by him or by those who have experienced it. Unfortunately for us, no one has come back to explain these episodes. Justice Bosire's main reason for awarding Ochieng' burial rights was Luo traditions. He took Kwach's submission at face value, and I would not blame him if, as he said, he had no other information as to why I did not adduce evidence on Luo customary law and he therefore had to rely on the evidence from Umira Kager witnesses. (The same comment on my failure to produce witnesses on Luo traditions was repeated in the Court of Appeal.) That may be so, but Bosire had the option, had he been interested in justice, of inviting nonpartisan assessors to court. As I said before, Jaramogi Oginga Odinga supported me on the question of Luo burial traditions. Oginga said also that, during the days of Luo Union East Africa,ll he had advised Luos to buy land anywhere. We did attempt to bring other Luo witnesses to the courtroom. Mzee Odinga sent Mr. Luke Obok, a friend,

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and retired Justice Bena Lutta to Nyanza to bring two Luo elders to give evidence on Luo customary law. Nyawango son of Ndony (of the Kager clan) was to give evidence on the customs of the Luos and on those of Ger descendants. The second witness, who was to testify on Luo customs, was Mr. Sewe Olweny. He was from Sidindi, North Ugenya, and a former official of the Luo Union. Had these two given evidence, then the third witness would have been Jaramogi Odinga, who would have confirmed their evidence. Nyawango and Olweny were driven to Nairobi from Nyanza by Obok and Lutta. They were put up at Hotel Fransae, on Moktar Dada Street, which is near Koinange Street. Owuor Tago (now deceased), the proprietor of the Sega Chemist on Koinange Street, saw them after they arrived. Apparently, one of them had sold him a piece of land at Sega. When he asked why they were in town, they innocently revealed that they had come to give evidence along with Mzee Jaramogi Odinga. Owuor Tago, who was one of Joash's witnesses, immediately alerted Kwach and things moved very fast. The two old men were secretly moved from the hotel and were driven home the following day in a GK Mercedes (a government car is identified by its GK registration letters). My lawyer and I walked all over town looking for them. We phoned Mzee Odinga, who said that he was waiting for them in the office. We had to go to court with no word of their whereabouts. In court we applied for an adjournment. Kwach was suddenly very cooperative, saying that he would not object to his learned friend getting an adjournment. All this time he knew what they had done the previous night and that under no circumstances could we produce these witnesses. Most likely by then Olweny and Ndony were past Naivasha, if not Nakuru, and on their way back to Kisumu. Hezekiah Oyugi (deceased), who was a permanent secretary with the president's office, had organized their transport quickly. Hezekiah had the power to authorize the use of government vehicles for private citizens. When Kwach, with tongue in cheek, was submitting that Wambui did not adduce evidence on Luo customary law, he knew very well how they had hijacked my witnesses. I still wonder if Bosire knew of this dirty trick. And if he did, is he a judge litigants can trust to give them justice? "Power tends to corrupt and absolute power corrupts absolutely."I2 Although Bosire said he found no credibility to our witnesses' statements that SM did not wish to be buried at Nyamila because of supposed inconsistencies in their statements, it had been established beyond reasonable doubt by several independent witnesses that SM had expressed his wishes,l3 Yet the judge was not bothered by gross lies and inconsistencies from Joash and his kin. Could Ochieng' have convinced any serious court that he did not know his own brother, Isaiah Odhiambo Ougo? Is there any explanation that can be given as to why he was believed, unless it was for

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reasons known only to those concerned with the maneuver? Joash's stepmother and sister told their share of lies in the witness box. Idalia Awino, a member of the Mother's Union of the Church of the Province of Kenya, supported the lie. Magdalena and Idalia were unable to recall basic information about the family. Magdalena stated that Jairo Ougo and his deceased wife, Salome Anyango (SM's mother), had five children: Simon Odhiambo, Helen Akinyi, Idalia Awino, S. M. Otieno, and Joash Ochieng'. Yet Julia Akoth Oroka, the eldest of the children who survived, was seated in court; but to Magdalena, she was not Jairo Ougo's daughter. This is the same Julia Akoth who, with her husband, brought up Joash Ochieng' at the home of Dr. Wood, for whom her husband worked, at Ruiru after Salome died. "Maheni ti thiiri" ("Lies are not debts," i.e., it is easy to lie). To set the record straight, Mzee Jairo Ougo and his wife Salome had eleven children. One of them, Lydia (deceased), is the namesake for Joash Ochieng's daughter. It is hard to comment on every lie that was told in court, especially bearing in mind that freedom of the judiciary at that time was nonexistent. President Moi also never hid his involvement. During the trial, while he was speaking at a women's group fund-raiser at Githunguri (Kiambu District), he said that if a woman decides to marry a Luo, then she should follow their customs. While I do not pay much heed to what Moi says, since I do not respect most of the things he says, this comment cannot be ignored for it amounts to interference with the judiciary by the person who should guard our constitution and protect the rule of law, as he swore he would do when he took office. All this time SM's body was lying at the city morgue, as ordered by the court. Because of the court order, the mortuary superintendent and his assistant used to keep the key for SM's cubicle so they could remove the body for me, leaving one of the attendants there as guard, until I finished. I visited the mortuary every week to see that the body was okay; if I detected anything wrong, I would call the superintendent or his assistant and make sure that everything was corrected. For all those months, I saw the remains of my late husband at least once a week. The children and I would go to the morgue to pray beside the body until one day they told me that they could not take it anymore. One week before the High Court judgment was disclosed (February 13, 1987), I left for the office to sort out my late husband's files. Unexpectedly, I heard an inner voice say that I should seek out a minister, get all the children, and go to the mortuary to conduct a Christian burial service. The spiritual voice told me to start the service at 2:00 P.M. and ask the minister to end with the words, "When the body will eventually be buried, the soil will return to the soil and the ash to the ash." I looked for the church minister first, as I did not want to call the provost of All Saints' Cathedral. Since I had already put him in a difficult position with the system, I decided to avoid him. He had already been accused of being a tribalist because he

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supported me. I decided to approach Rev. Edward Ndirangu Njoroge, another minister of the Presbyterian church, whom I could also trust. After telephoning his office several times without locating him, I telephoned his home and was informed that he had left for the city but was off duty. I asked my children to be ready and to have lunch early. I called my eldest daughter, who was in Kilimani at a kindergarten school she was running. I also telephoned my foster daughter and asked her to come with the others. I knew that my telephone in the office was tapped so I did not reveal to them where we were going. I selected some hymns for the service and a passage from the Bible to be read for the family. I had faith that God would not give me an assignment and then abandon me. I kept calling Rev. Njoroge's office, just in case he decided to stop by there, all this time leaving messages with his colleague. Ultimately, Njoroge's colleague asked what I wanted done and offered to do it. I did not reveal to him why I was looking for Rev. Njoroge, but I asked him to stay in his office, to await my call, in case I was not able to reach his colleague. Though time was getting short and I could not find the minister of my choice, I never lost hope. To the contrary, my faith was increasing. Surprisingly, at exactly one o'clock Rev. Njoroge walked into our office. He had been to the Ministry of Education, which was nearby, to see the director of education, as he needed assistance to get his granddaughter into a boarding school. I heard him talking to Ann Wamaitha, SM's secretary, who called him "Bwana wa Sarang'ombe." He had been given this nickname because he used to preach to chang'aai4 drinkers at Sarang'ombe, Kibera. After I related my story to him in SM's private office, he agreed to conduct the service at two o'clock, as scheduled. Since time was against us, he said that his business at the ministry could wait. He hurriedly left to pick up his car, which was at Jogoo House, and drove to Kenyatta National Hospital, where he was a chaplain, to pick up his ministerial gowns. I had telephoned the mortuary and requested that my husband's remains be put in the chapel, as I was visiting at two o'clock. We all met at the morgue and the service was conducted exactly the way I had been told. After the service the others left and I stayed behind to see that the body was put back in its cubicle. When I was leaving, newsmen were already there-but they had come too late to see what was happening. They asked what I was doing at the mortuary, who had accompanied me, and who was the church minister. I told them that I was not bound to say who he was. After several more questions, I told them that I had gone to the mortuary to bury my husband and that all that remained was to put the body back into the soil. I also told them that as far as I was concerned, my husband was already buried. I sincerely thank Rev. Njoroge for conducting the service. It is he who really buried SM and committed his soul to God. A week after our private family burial service, we were notified that

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Judge Bosire would give his judgment. I woke up in the morning of February 12, 1987, and decided to take a lawn mower and cut grass around my compound. I used to do this to avoid being idle, with too much time to think and brood. Some days I would plant napier grass for my cattle, other times I would knit a cardigan. Frequently, I attended the prayers organized by mourners. Some of them were total strangers who had been moved by the strange happenings. By keeping busy, I kept sane. I did not realize that the stress of the last year had caused me to lose a lot of weight and that my wedding ring was loose. While I was cutting the grass, it fell off and was never discovered, despite a lot of searching. While we were looking for the ring, a message was brought by our neighbor that we were required in court the following day to hear the judgment. After a sleepless night, I woke the children and asked them to get ready quickly to go to court. When we arrived at the lawyer's chambers, I was very nervous; I asked for the key to the rest room. While there I heard myself singing a Catholic chorus in Kikuyu, "Thii na wega baba witu" ("Go in peace, our father"). I wanted to tell my lawyer that I would not be going to court after all, but then I asked myself what I would tell my children. "At least," I thought, "I have a moral obligation to be with them when their father is being taken away from them." My sixth sense had already told me that I had lost the case. When the judgment was delivered, the body was given jointly to Joash Ochieng' and myself for burial in Nyalgunga sublocation, Nyamila, Siaya District. Throughout the trial, many things were done to make it impossible for us to win the case. I was abused by Ochieng's lawyer time and time again. Judge Bosire also showed a clear bias against us. Even the court record was changed to exclude testimony that would have made it more difficult for Judge Bosire to rule against me. This is very apparent in the way Judge Bosire misrepresented the testimony of Harry Mugo and Rahab Muhuni when he wrote his judgment. Rahab Muhuni testified that she was there when SM told us not to take his body to Nyamila to be buried. When Bosire issued his opinion, he lied blatantly and said that Muhuni did not mention the events of December 7, 1986, in her testimony. Tricks were also played with Harry Mugo's testimony. He told the court that at a Christmas party at his house (in December 1985), while he and SM were alone inspecting Mugo's new cattle shed, SM told him about his wishes regarding burial. SM had recently been released from the hospital, and Mugo said that SM remarked to him that life could be brief. After SM told Mugo that he was considering adapting some of Mugo's improvements on our property at Ngong, he told Mugo that he wished to be buried on the Ngong farm when he died. Judge Bosire totally misrepresented Mugo's testimony in his judgment, claiming that Mugo said the deceased spoke to him about his burial in the

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presence of Musa Muno. Musa Muno's evidence really recounted what he had heard on December 16, 1986, about four days before SM's death, when he attended a dinner in honor of our son's return from overseas. Muno testified that he was present when SM expressed his wishes as to where he wanted to be buried. There was a full year between the time Harry was told about SM's burial wishes and when Muna was told about SM's burial wishes. The typed proceedings from the trial left out important testimony and concocted statements to make us appear to be arrogant and contemptuous of the Luo. For me, the most hurtful statement made by the judge in his decision was his criticism of my son Jairus Otieno. Jairus gave evidence about all that he had been told by his father with regard to his wishes for burial. He also testified about the opinions his father expressed about the Umira Kager clan and his immediate relatives. Although this evidence was resented by the clan and the court, it was the truth. SM was justified in telling Jairus that some members of his own family were lazy. SM had the heavy responsibility of maintaining Simon's family. His brother, an able-bodied man who was trained as a builder and as a carpenter, refused to work. From the time I married SM until his death, Simon engaged in meaningful employment for only three months. When he earned the salary from that job, he took a third wife. After he left the job, the girl took off. Simon would parade himself in Siaya and Nairobi wearing Saville Row suits, carrying a briefcase that had been given to him by SM. SM covered up for his brother to help him save face. Simon's wife Selina was also unproductive. Their family lived on a fourteen-acre plot that had two river frontages. And yet they did not cultivate it. They left it wild, and only about half an acre was cultivated by Mama Randiga. SM had to give them money to buy food. If they had cultivated their farm, they would have had enough to eat without coming to me and SM. They also had another, larger plot that had been given to them by Simon's father and that, too, remained bush throughout. If this does not constitute laziness, then I don't know the meaning of the word. Siaya is the most profitable market in Kenya. The family could have made a lot of money raising crops and selling them in the market. But instead, Simon would come to me and ask me for maize and beans I had grown in my small plot. If I did not have enough to share with him, he would complain as if he were disabled and unable to work! Rural people usually keep a few chickens and goats-something Mama Randiga did, for example. But Simon and his wives could not be bothered. Even if I had been mean, as they implied in court, I would have been justified. What caused me regret was that I ignored their laziness all during my marriage, sometimes annoying SM by being too generous with them. SM did not want to build a house in Nyamila. Contrary to what was said in court about my stopping SM from building a house in Nyamila, it

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was actually SM who stopped my plans to build at Nyamila. Once when I went to Nyamila, accompanied by SM, to pick up his father and take him to Nairobi for his checkup, his father said to me that he wanted to point out the spot for me to put up a house. Mzee showed me where he wanted me to build while SM was trailing far behind us. Later on I asked a contractor who used to do repairs on our properties in Nairobi to introduce me to an architect. Since registered architects were so expensive, and a rural home did not require one (since approval by a municipal council is not required), I asked him to introduce me to one who was not yet fully qualified. He did the plans from a sketch I drew, showing the kind of house I would want my husband to build. When I showed the plans to SM and told him that I would appreciate having my own house at Nyamila so that when we visited we would not have to spend the night in a hotel in Kisumu, he told me politely that he did not expect his wife to build a house for him. I told him that I had merely prepared the plans and that he was the one to build. He told me that he had no intention of building there but wanted to buy a plot near Nairobi to build his rural home. I now appreciate SM's decision not to put up a house in Nyamila because I would have lost it to Ochieng'. SM did not want his children to go through what he had in Nyamila, so he revealed his problems and experiences to them. They had to know. It was very considerate and realistic of SM to prepare his children for what to expect in the future from these same relatives. Jairus cannot be condemned for repeating what his father told him, nor can his father be blamed for telling the truth about his clan. These people had only themselves to blame. Jairus stated in court that his father gave him this information when they took Mzee Jairo home in August 1978, the first time Jairus visited Nyamila. His father said that he did not want to build a house there because of the way his relatives behaved. Jairus simply recounted what he had been told, and Judge Bosire should not have called him arrogant. If SM had been alive, he would have defended his son. Jairus also stated in court that his father did not want him or his brothers and sisters to visit Joash Ochieng' on their own. There must have been a reason for this attitude. I couldn't understand why SM wished to keep them from their uncle, why he did not want them to attend the unveiling of the cross for their grandfather in December 1978. They were on holiday from school, so there was no reason why they could not travel with us. When I talked to him about taking them to Nyamila, he refused. For a whole week, he and I were not on speaking terms. It was only when I told SM that my brothers and youngest sister were going to accompany us that he agreed that the children could come with us. However, he made several conditions. First he gave me an itinerary, according to which we departed from Nairobi on December 30 and went to the Kisumu Sunset Hotel. The children had dinner there and spent the night at the hotel. He and I proceeded to Nyamila

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to make the arrangements for the ceremony, then returned to spend the night in Kisumu. We returned to Nyamila the next morning to complete the arrangements. The children stayed to have lunch at the hotel and then left for Nyamila about 2:00 P.M., accompanied by my brothers and sister. They were not to eat in Nyamila. As soon as they arrived, SM started the ceremony. This was on December 31. SM's behavior reflected his memories of his sister-in-law's attempt to poison his father and the broad animosity Rispa Ochieng' showed to us that made him fear for the safety of his children. He was also remembering mistreatment at the hands of his stepmother when he and his brother were young. SM also insisted that the children not enter anybody's house and leave as soon as the ceremony was over. Jairus testified to all of this in court and was reviled by Judge Bosire in his judgment as if this were his attitude alone and not one that his father had expressed.

THE APPEAL

After the judgment was read, we returned to my lawyer's chambers, where after some discussion, I instructed him to file an injunction to restrain Joash Ochieng' from removing the body for burial, pending my appeal to the Court of Appeal. I was now faced with the dilemma of returning to a court that had already come out against me. Judges Nyarangi, Gachuhi, and Platt of the Court of Appeal had proved their bias by previously issuing an injunction restraining me from removing the body for burial in any location other than Nyalgunga and ordering that the case be heard by a judge other than Shields, who had twice ruled in my favor.ts At that time, these were the only judges of appeal that could form a quorum. If the chief justice had any intention of seeing that justice was done, he could have selected judges from the High Court bench who had no prior relationship to the case. However, when we made our written submission to Chief Justice Cecil Miller (now deceased), he said that he was not prepared to do this and ordered us to appear in his chambers. After haranguing me for an hour, he ruled that although we had a constitutional right to come to court, and while it was the duty of our courts to hear and determine cases with patience, tolerance, and expedition, he would not allow us to go further with the case. "But ye advocates and litigants must assist the courts to remain true umpires and not subjects of your private empires!" He admonished us, saying that he did not want to see any more cat-and-mouse games in the courts. "For my part," he said, "if burial as such be the cause of the unending wrangle, ... the matter might easily have been settled in the back room or vestry of a church, and the body already properly and with deserved dignity laid to rest, instead of giving the incidental, dirty

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Myself, outside the court at the back, after Chief Justice Cecil Egbert Miller had dismissed my application to appoint a different bench to hear the appeal. I was upset after the chiefjustice's personal abuse, lost the way coming out of his chambers, and found myself alone. Photo© Nation Newspapers Ltd.

impression of tribal dissension now apparently destined to run into March next year. With so much to do, I pity the courts. It appears that there is truth in the classical saying that when beggars die there are no comets seen." He added that those involved should stop fooling around with the judiciary and judicial processes. Off the record, he said that this matter had been prolonged to what the press had called "a saga" due to one tribe thinking it was more important than the other. After hurling abuse at us, Chief Justice Miller ruled that our application be made to the same judges in the Court of Appeal. As chief justice, Miller had the power to allocate cases to a particular bench and even to disqualify a bench if it was proved, beyond reasonable doubt, to be biased. Miller lied when he said that he had not nominated that bench and claimed that there were no other appeal judges available. I cannot accuse Miller of being unjust, but I can say that he frustrated my efforts by failing to recognize the bias of the appeal bench and by sending me back to the same judges. This ruling, that the justices of the Court of Appeal were competent to hear our appeal, gave Justice Nyarangi (now deceased) an opportunity to ridicule me. "Mrs. Otieno," he said, "this is the bench." His words wounded me very much. And almost every day he repeated them in a sarcastic tone, an expression of his reaction to our petition that they should have disqualified themselves from hearing the appeal. For those of you who do not know, plaintiffs and defendants are silent during these appeal proceedings. It is only the judges and lawyers who address one another. At this

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stage, no witnesses are called. Lawyers merely argue on behalf of their clients on matters involving the law. Therefore, for Justice Nyarangi to keep saying to me, "This is the bench, Mrs. Otieno" could only have been intended to humiliate me. Nyarangi and the chief justice were trying to frustrate my pursuit of justice and I believe they should have disqualified themselves. They acted and spoke like colonial administrators in a detention camp. I had begun to cry in the chief justice's chambers and could not see where I was going as I left. Murmuring the words to the Christian hymn "Trust and Obey" ("For there is no other way to be happy with Jesus but to trust and obey"), I asked God not to forsake me. It helped me to get out of the court, and although I got lost, at least the press didn't see me crying. The local and international press were waiting on the verandah outside the chief justice's chambers. It was a windy day and I never realized that the skirt of my dress had blown up. I only saw it in our daily papers the next day, for this was the shot of me the papers printed. I was, and still am, astonished by the animosity flung at me. I am, nevertheless, grateful to God that I made it through those humiliating times. Even after all the humiliation, I wrote to Joash Ochieng', pleading with him that we reconcile. February 23, 1987 Dear Joash, I am yet writing to you another letter still trying to reconcile with you on my husband's burial. I do realize that Otieno was your brother and that we are one family. The people who come to rejoice outside the Court are not our relatives in any way. It is only me and you who can restore order in our family. Instead of doing this, we are destroying it. Kindly make a point of seeing me if possible so that me and you alone may find a solution to this very hurting problem. As a widow of Otieno I am very concerned; and even if you buried my husband without me and my children, you will not be satisfied. The same thing applies to me. We must work hand in hand. Please, my brother, think alone without outsiders and probably God will show you more light. I am writing this letter with a lot of pain but I do not have any pride at all. We are one family and let us join hands if possible. I wish you God's love and spiritual forgiveness. Your sister, Wambui Otieno (Mrs.)

However, my brother-in-law would not reach out to me. I concluded that Shakespeare described him long ago when he wrote, "There is no more mercy in him than there is milk in a male tiger." Thinking that President Moi, whose public image is that he loves children, might show mercy and stop the conspiracy against me, my children had written to him.

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13th January, 1987 His Excellency The President of the Republic of Kenya State House P.O. Box 40530 NAIROBI Your Excellency the President, We the children of the late S. M. Otieno wish to write to you, as a father who loves all children. Four among us traveled home from schools abroad on hearing of the death of our beloved father. As you are aware, the burial has been postponed for the reason of the matters waiting to be determined in Court. This has not only been most agonizing and depressing, but we have also had to delay returning to our studies abroad since we have to await the burial indefinitely. For the reason given above, we humbly seek your kind intervention in this matter in that, if it does not prejudice the Court Case or any persons interested in the outcome of this matter, we request that our father's body be taken on by the State and be buried elsewhere in neutral ground, hopefully Lang' ata Cemetery, pending the outcome of the suit. We feel that this is the only way you could save us as your children and citizens of this Republic. We sincerely hope that this will be possible and we strongly feel that it will not hurt either party. Our late father taught us to regard ourselves as Kenyans as opposed to Luos or Kikuyus. Your action in this matter will be highly appreciated. We remain, Your Obedient Children Signed by All the Fifteen Children and Foster Children of the late S. M. Otieno.

I had not wanted to discourage them. They were anxious to have the matter sorted out, even if the body had to be exhumed later. While I am not trying to imply that Moi should have complied with this request if it would have interfered with the judiciary, it is my strong feeling that he should have replied to their letter, if only to console them. Justice Nyarangi acted as if I had thrown a stone at the police station by applying to be given another trial. When the hearing in the Court of Appeal began, I was greeted by Nyarangi with the sarcastic remark, "Mrs. Otieno, this is the bench." Quoting Shakespeare in a whisper, I said, "And here I stand; Judge, my masters." Nyarangi assured my lawyer that the court was going to be impartial. And yet, to my astonishment, throughout the whole appeal he interrupted my lawyer and openly supported the argument of the Umira Kager clan's lawyer, even at times directing him when he missed a point; at other times he added to whatever Kwach said. I had worked in my husband's chambers for many years and was not

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My children and foster children: (sitting from left) foster son Michael Arina, Patrick Otieno, Rosalyn Otieno, Elizabeth Otieno (reading the letter to the president), Jane Otieno; (standing) Frederick Otieno, Jairus Otieno, Tiras Otieno, Peggy Otieno, Gladwell Otieno,foster daughter Nellie Arina. Four are not present-two were out of the country and two could not get time offfrom their jobs. Photo© Nation Newspapers Ltd. ignorant about legal practice in Kenya. So you can imagine the humiliation I felt, knowing that I had no hope at all, that I would not receive fairness, let alone justice. Knowing Kenya the way I know it, since I had been in politics for all these years, I knew my case was doomed. But I swore not to give up in the middle. I decided that this must be completed to expose the corrupt system. I am proud that I stayed the course. The Court of Appeal judgment became a precedent, and therefore, it became the law. The outcome of the struggle over my husband's remains helped foster a law that will make many Kenyans want to change the law. The case ended, a decision was made, but that wicked judgment is on notice. Throughout those terrible days friends, relatives, and sympathizers came to our house in a constant stream. Because we received mourners every day, we had no peace. But at least these people kept us going. Although I had been brutally treated in detention, I had never experienced this kind of hardship before. Ironically, in those terrible days, I sometimes wished to be able to thank sincerely those who had detained and made me face hardship at a tender age because it hardened me. At least, I kept on smiling through the hardship and could say without fear whatever came to

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my mind. If the Umira Kager clan's harassment was meant to frighten me, it had the opposite effect: it made me stronger and prepared me to face reality. It also made me savvy enough to make decisions. One very difficult one

is that I am done with the Otieno family-I shall never know where they buried SM, come rain or come shine. I am just not interested. Those were his wishes. SM's other wish was that I establish the S. M. Otieno clan. On May 14 my lawyer sent word to me that I was to go to court the next day to hear the judgment of the Court of Appeal. I informed my children and told them to start packing, as they would leave for school soon after the judgment was delivered. I had already decided that the court would not suddenly reverse its animosity to rule in my favor. I also knew that Moi could never leave me alone because I knew everything that was going on behind the scenes and because I had opposed him openly on many issues such as the election of KANU officials. If he could not forgive or pity his estranged wife, excluding her from family celebrations--even their children's weddings-who was I to be pitied? The next morning I prepared, as usual, to go to court. I walked out of the house to wait for the children and stood near a rain tree that my husband had liked very much. The sky was very bright, and to my surprise, I saw the remains of my husband being flown to Kisumu as if in a dream. As he passed our home he started singing, "Wish me luck as you wave me good-bye." I joined him in singing and completed the song. The courtroom was filled to capacity and suddenly I was very tense. I was sitting on the same bench with Ochieng' when his wife entered the room. As she had no place to sit, Ochieng' rose to get a chair for her; when he passed where I was seated, he stepped on my toe. I nearly screamed from the pain. He did not even apologize. He could still run to get his wife a chair but could abuse me because my protector had died. I comforted myself with the thought that God was now in charge. I had to face widowhood and loneliness with only his support. Justice Nyarangi and the other judges came into the courtroom and delivered their judgment: the body was given to Joash Ochieng' for burial at Nyamila, Nyalgunga sublocation. The judges agreed entirely with Bosire's judgment, which, of course, confirmed Joash as the head of Jairo Ougo's family, including that of the appellant. How the court was going to execute that order, giving Joash authority over my family, I do not know. I have not seen Ochieng' since that final day in court. I am running my family and he has nothing to do with us. SM had taken over the leadership of his family after his elder brother, Simon Odhiambo, died. He gave material support to the two widows Simon left behind, sending them money and aiding them in repairing their homes. And if assisting a deceased brother's widow is a criterion for leading the family, then Joash did not measure up at all. He did not care how SM's children would return home to attend the

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May 15, 1987: Omolo Siranga addressing the crowd outside the court after the judgment of the Court ofAppeal. The jubilant crowd are members of the Umira Kager clan and Luo friends. Photo© Nation Newspapers Ltd.

funeral, which was a major expense. I do not think Ochieng' could pay my electric bill, but that is beside the point. The court also decided that even if SM had left a written will, that would not have been enough to affirm my right to bury my husband. His oral communications to our friends and office staff were dismissed by the judges. "It is now clear to us," they wrote, "that it is not sufficient to write wills. There are often disputes about burials."l6 That observation confirmed SM's position on written wills. He feared that his will could be contested; he had seen it happen repeatedly. When a will was contested, it took the aggrieved party and court a long time to sort out the dispute. SM had said that since there was no property involved in our case and since Succession Law Cap 160 stipulates who should administer the estate of a deceased person, there was no use writing a will about burial. He also thought that the oral will, which African people fear and respect, would assist his case. For African people, it is a curse to change an oral will left by a deceased person. Judges Nyarangi, Gachuhi, and Platt blamed my lawyer for not adducing evidence on customary law, citing a decision in a previous burial case. In this case Camelina and Mary Nduta, the two widows of John Mburu, contested for the right to bury their husband and control his estate.l7 John, a former provincial commissioner in Nairobi, had married Camelina as a first

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wife and followed all the customs of the Kikuyu traditional marriage; they later legitimized the marriage in the church under African Christian Marriage Act Cap 150. Subsequently, Mburu married a second wife, Mary, following Kikuyu customs. As far as I am concerned, John decided his fate by following customs. When an African man marries two wives, the one with the authority in everything is the first wife. Camelina did not divorce him when he married a second wife and neither could she take him to court for bigamy, since his first marriage was polygamous. After Mburu's death, Mary had no right to decide where he was to be buried-it was Camelina who had the right as senior wife. John's brother Thaddeo Mwaura should have been on Camelina's side because, according to the customs John had followed, the first wife had the rights. Mary did have a right to put up a house in Murang'a, where Camelina had her home. And equally, Camelina could have demanded a share in John's farm where Mary was residing. If John had not had another home, he could have put up a house for his second wife in the same compound with the first wife. John Mburu was buried at the first matrimonial home at Murang'a. In my view, John Mburu lived a mixed life: he had a customary-cum-Christian marriage and a second, customary marriage. Mburu died a polygamous husband and was therefore subject to the customary practices of the Kikuyu. Despite the justices' attempt to use this case to justify their decision to give SM over to Ochieng', this case had no relevance with my case at all. I was not fighting with a co-wife. When I left the court I was totally frustrated, dejected, and not myself. I wanted to tell Moi how disgusted I was with his involvement in the case and the judges' decision. On May 15, 1987, soon after the judgment, I had called the State House in Nairobi. However, I was told that Moi was in Nakuru and I was given that number. When I called Nakuru to demand to speak to the president, I was told that he was not in; he was presiding over the passing-out parade of the armed forces at Lanet, Nakuru, but he was expected back at 5:00 P.M. I rang back at ten minutes past five. I was told to hold for the president. However, someone else, who did not identify himself, came on the line. The president must have listened in on another extension. When I said bitter words, I could hear his comments in the background (I am very familiar with his voice, having known him in KANU for years). Although I spoke for over an hour, I spent most of that time cursing and yelling. I was delirious, too angry and hurt to say sensible things. I had not experienced that kind of pain before. The only important thing I told him was that he was not the one who had married into the Luo community and he did not know them well. One day, I said, I shall be on the same side with the Luo, fighting him for his misuse of power and dictatorship. This has truly happened. In 1991 I was elected to the steering committee of the Forum for the Restoration of Democracy (FORD), whose chairman was Jaramogi Oginga Odinga, a Luo. Even after FORD split in two,

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one wing led by Kenneth Matiba and the other by Odinga, I chose to remain with Odinga's group, although it was predominantly Luo. During those first days after the judgment, I said and did things that I had never done before. Why me? I wondered. But why not me? I tried to convince myself that God could not make a mistake. He could not burden me with what I cannot carry. I recalled all the good things that I had done for that family, and still I couldn't understand why they had decided to ruin me. I had been told that Jane Obonyo, SM's niece, had said that I had done nothing for her, that it was her uncle's money that had educated her. I asked myself, "When did SM go to Russia to meet the Soviet Women's Committee, who educated Jane?'' Ultimately, I decided these people were nasty and not worth my consideration; I should forget them and concentrate on educating my children. On May 16 I called a travel agent I had known through SM and instructed him to book my children on a British Airways flight leaving Nairobi on Monday, May 18. I had heard a rumor that my children would be stopped from leaving the country, so I told him not to reveal their names. He agreed to do a block booking for the five children, using Ms. X and Mr. X on their tickets. I did not care if anything happened to me but I wanted my children to proceed with their education. After all, they were not responsible for my being married into the Umira Kager clan. They were also not interested in politics, which had contributed to my downfall. As for me, when I joined politics I knew very well that it was not going to be a bed of roses. I picked up their tickets very late in the evening on Monday and then drove them to my parents' home at Muthiga to say good-bye. So that no one would suspect that the children were leaving the country, we stayed a long time. We had also made other arrangements, just in case somebody tried to stop them from leaving the country. When we returned to Lang'ata, we found two vehicles at the gate, one from the Standard newspaper and the other one from the Nation. I felt like wailing. All our arrangements had been discovered and my telephone call to Nakuru could have made things worse. I allowed the reporters in and the first question they asked me was to confirm their information that the children were leaving the country. When I tried to deny it, they kept insisting. They left when I showed no interest in further discussion on that subject. Hurriedly, I put my children in two vehicles and we sped to the airport. As we were parking the vehicles, my sisterin-law came and joked, "Mrs. Famous, the whole airport is packed with newsmen!" The newsmen hovered around us as we proceeded to the British Airways check-in counter. I asked that they wait until my children had boarded before they attempted to get information from me. I said goodbye to my children and promised to come to see them in May 1988. Finally, after a report was brought back that my children were now safely inside the aircraft, I thanked those who had assisted me. I sincerely thank them again.

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Their consoling words that my children were beyond Moi's reach were very encouraging. The people who assisted me told me that once the children were inside the British aircraft, nobody could get them without a warrant for arrest or a court order. It was like being on British soil. Even if this was not true and their words were only meant to console me, I was very happy that at least somebody, somewhere, had given my children some consideration. As the children boarded the plane, I could see the Kenya Security Forces at the airport. The two men whose presence alarmed me the most were a former deputy commissioner of police and a member of the Umira Kager clan. They stared fixedly at me and my companions. I decided to talk to the newspaper people to try to discover whether they had sensed anything else, as I still had one daughter who was to leave for Germany the next evening. I was still talking and entertaining journalists and friends who had escorted my children to the airport when somebody came and said the plane had left and I could go home. The following day the same procedure was followed and my daughter left.

ALuoBuRIAL

While I was busy organizing my children's travel back to school, Joash and his allies upbraided the provost of the All Saint's Cathedral, who had been asked to conduct the funeral service at the church but had refused. These people had obtained SM's body to bury him at Nyamila according to the Luo customary law. They had precisely said that there were some rituals, such as teroburu, they had to perform. And that being the case, why did they want a church service? Mixing an African, non-Christian burial tradition with a Christian ceremony is worrisome. The purpose of a church service, or any service held for a deceased one, is for the bereaved family and people who are still alive. When the provost said he was not going to hold the prayers, these people cursed him, telling him that he was a tribalist, that he had taken sides with Wambui, who was not even a member of the church. Rev. Olilo performed the ceremony for them. As he preached under a tree at the city mortuary, he did not spare the provost. Bishop Okullu also attacked the provost. I could not understand what the quarrel was about. These people should have been told that you cannot have your cake and eat it too. They opted for a customary burial and therefore could not tum back and demand a Christian burial. SM's soul had long gone, he was not in charge of his body-his brother was-and therefore his brother was answerable for all that was happening to SM's remains. SM's cousin, the late Hannington Odhiambo Mududa, for whom I had organized a church wedding, shouted at the provost, as if to swallow him. Was the church right in refusing a Christian burial? What of the mar-

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riage vows? Wouldn't the church have violated the rule of God in holding a service that was not organized by the widow? Those questions remain unanswered. Christians must be involved in solving this problem. They cannot keep quiet when their Christian flock is subjected to anything that is against Christianity. They must be there to protect the members, even approaching the government to change some of those outmoded laws. They cannot leave the courts to translate what is repugnant to justice and morality. Once the morals have been violated, then the church should be up in arms against the government, which is the custodian of our laws. "Onward, Christian soldiers," let us fight this evil from our midst. We cannot afford to keep aloof when Christianity is being mixed with teroburu. While the church was going through this tribulation, I had my share also. I had invited journalists to come to my home so that I could read the eulogy for SM before it was twisted by people who knew very little about him. It appeared in the papers on Wednesday, May 20, 1987, filled with errors. I called a reporter from the Daily Nation newspaper to come to Lang'ata, as I wanted to correct some errors they had printed. As we were discussing and making corrections, Winifred Nyiva Mwendwa and Julia Ojiambo18 arrived. At this juncture I thought that the case was over. My children had gone to school and I thought that I would be left alone to relax, even if it was only until the time my husband was to be buried. The heckling relatives and psychopaths, I hoped, would be moving to Nyamila toward the end of the week. Nairobi, I thought, would be getting back to normal. However, the visit by these two women shattered all these hopes. Mrs. Mwendwa was a friend of mine. She had rung me that morning, very concerned about my loneliness, and asked me to come over to her house to rest. I told her that, as I was receiving so many visitors, it was totally impossible to leave my home. When I saw her come in the house at ten o'clock, I guessed that something was very wrong, that my hopes of getting time to relax were limited. When she asked to see me privately, I asked her to follow me into the bedroom. She told me that they had been sent by the president to urge me to attend my husband's funeral. She told me, "Ndugatumire githuri" ("Don't use your chest," i.e., don't be arrogant or rock the boat), because I could lose all my property.t9 Before we returned to the sitting room, she also told me that she did not want the other lady to know that she had already told me the purpose of their visit. I immediately finished with the journalist, who left to go back to the office to make the corrections I had asked of him. Knowing that the many sympathizers would walk in and out of my house and that I should talk to these ladies in private, I asked them to come with me to my bedroom. Julia Ojiambo asked that we say prayers before delivering the message. She said a beautiful prayer, but in the middle of it I asked myself why I was participating in this prayer. One reason was that Julia had been a friend for many

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years. She had also been a colleague in women's organizations. Yet she had not come to see me since my husband had died. Why now? Was this the time I really needed these prayers? Hadn't I needed her inspiring prayers more the day my husband died and during the court saga? I thought that their prayers were filled with hypocrisy, which was not and still is not unusual in Kenya. I opened my eyes. When they finished praying, they found me looking through the window at my trees. I do not remember which of the two started delivering the message that the president wanted me to come to the funeral. The president had told them that he could not attend the funeral if I did not. Further, they said, the chief justice had adjourned a case in Nyeri and had returned to Nairobi in order to travel to Nyamila for the funeral. Julia said that the judges, lawyers, members of the cabinet, and the attorney-general were interested in giving my husband a distinguished funeral, as he was a very distinguished lawyer. Asking myself whether Moi thought these people's attendance was more important than SM's children's, I quickly made up my mind to refuse the request. I also remembered that I had already informed the Economic and Social Council of the United Nations of the facts of the case when I wrote to Chafika Sellami-Meslem, the director of the Branch of the Advancement of Women Centre for Social Development and Humanitarian Affairs, on January 13, 1987. I had also written to the director of IWRAW in Minneapolis, who had circulated information about my case to the women around the world. I had also written to the Committee on the Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination Against Women, and my comrade-in-arms Professor Wangari Maathai, the chairwoman of both the National Council of Women of Kenya and the Green Belt Movement, had also done a lot to create awareness of my case to human rights groups and women the world over. Because of the discrimination against me as a woman, I had said publicly-both inside and outside the court-that I would not attend the ceremony. As Julia continued to try to persuade me, I reflected that I knew the trick Moi wanted to play on me; since my call to the State House on May 15, 1987 (to which these women never referred); I had known the president's aim. He wanted, first, to show the world that I had no principles. Second, he knew that if I went to the burial, that would stop the matter from being discussed as a violation of human rights and as discrimination against women. I readily gave these women my answer to Moi's request. I told them that I had been brought up by a father who worked for the judiciary; I also married a lawyer who believed in the rule of law. The court had decided that I and my children were irrelevant to SM's burial. We had accepted this decision from the highest court in the land and my children had returned to school. I would not, therefore, attend the funeral. I also told them that there were three men involved in stopping me from burying my

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husband-what was left for them was to distinguish between themselves who was the first, the second, and the third wife of SM. Then they could proceed to bury their husband. Finally, I said that as far as I was concerned, I was through with it. I considered myself to have done the best I could, under the circumstances. Both women tried to persuade me, even pointing out some injustices that had been done to them by the system. Yet, they said, they had not chosen to use their chests. I told them that I was not like them and that I could not condone injustice. In the course of her argument, Julia revealed all the arrangements. She and her cousin Bishop Okullu were to leave for Nyanza to prevent the observance of any Luo customs that I did not want. I would also be given top security protection. I could choose to fly to Kisumu in a plane that would be hired especially for me, or I could travel in my friend's Mercedes to Sunset Hotel and stay overnight under tight security. I would then proceed to the burial, in the president's company, to at least lay a wreath at the grave before returning to Nairobi. My friend Winifred confirmed that she had agreed to make whatever arrangements I wanted. When I retorted sarcastically that I had no dress to wear for the occasion, they promised that the government would import a dress from Great Britain if necessary! They pretended that the most important thing was for me to go to the burial to lay a wreath, knowing full well that this was all a trick to get me to attend the funeral and defuse international comment about my case. When they realized that I was not going to be easily persuaded, Winifred promised to call me the following day after she attended a board meeting at Egerton University. She had been in touch with me throughout the case and turned against me only after I refused their request. When all this was happening, my eldest son had become worried and had telephoned some of my brothers and sisters. When they came to Lang'ata I related the whole episode to them, stressing that I had told Julia and Winifred that I would not attend the funeral. In the meantime, my ailing father rang. When he tried to speak to me, my mother demanded to be given the telephone, and when my father did not give it to her quickly, since he also wanted to say something to me, my mother said something I had not heard since I was young: "Waiyaki! When I was in the labor ward giving birth to Wambui, you were not with me." She added, "Even Moi was not there!" The old lady was wild and very upset. When she was given the telephone, she said to me, "I know your telephone is being listened to and that is just fine. Let Moi know that my daughter will not go to Kisumu. Wambui, Waiyaki and I have decided that even if we are going to be murdered, you will not go to Kisumu!" She then returned the telephone to my father, who also said, "If they want the properties, let them have them; we have more than enough for you and our grandchildren." I promised my old parents that I would not go. Surely, I do not know

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why they should have worried like that, since they obviously knew me better than anybody else. I told them how funny it was that the president and his henchmen had only now realized that SM had a wife they should protect on the public occasion of his burial. Now, I said, they appreciated that here was a dead lawyer who deserved a distinguished burial. As I put the telephone down, I realized what damage my marriage had caused to my old parents. My father never recovered from his illness after this-it was the strain of the whole saga that eventually took away his life. I shall live with guilt till I die. Before my father died, he said to me that I should never go to Nyamila. I am determined to abide by his words. And I have also told my children that even after I am dead, they should never go to Nyamila. Till this day, my mother talks about Julia's betrayal. She had admired Julia for acquiring an advanced education; but she destroyed all the faith Mother had in her when she let herself be used to tell me to go to Nyalgunga. I shall always remember that day, May 20, 1987. There followed several peaceful days; no emissaries from Moi arrived, and Joash proceeded with his arrangements. For SM's burial clothes, he bought cheap, ill-fitting clothes, a white court shirt with no collar and a Bata shoe, size twelve (SM wore a size eleven). And, just as I had seen in my vision, SM was flown to Kisumu after a service at the mortuary. Joash was suddenly a very important person who could speak to me only through the media. People bowed to him when he passed. He was interacting with people who were not his peers. He, a Kenya senior yard foreman, had become extremely important and had no time for small women like Wambui and her children. At the city mortuary the day he took the body, he held a service under a tree. As the press reported his eulogy, he said that his brother married Wambui in 1963, that it was unfortunate that Wambui and her children were not there. He told the gathering that he had expected some of SM's children but did not see any. Then Joash seemed to lose his voice. A woman soloist, obviously a Luo, sang, "Tera adhi ane Khaminwa, Tera adhi ane Wambui. Wambui odong a dalagi" ("Take me to see Khaminwa, take me to see Wambui. Wambui has stayed at home"). The mob went straight to Uniafric House, where Otieno had his chambers. When the watchmen refused them entry, they broke the windows of the building and threw green leaves all over the place. If the energy used by these people during funerals were utilized in important work, Kenya would not be an underdeveloped country! At Nyamila, Joash again said that there was still time for reconciliation, stating that he was ready to receive Mrs. Otieno and her children, if they chose to come. It seems to me that at this juncture it had dawned on Ochieng' that we were not so irrelevant after all. He seemed to be lonely. His attitude changed. While his friends and mentors, including his lawyer, were cursing us, he was thinking about reconciliation. The time was near for everybody else to go his own way. The glory Joash had enjoyed was

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S.M. Otieno's burial at Nyamila, his birthplace in Alego. Photo© Nation Newspapers Ltd. coming to an end. He had suddenly woken up from his dream. Before that, when I was pleading with him, calling meetings, and inviting important men like Mzee Walter Midamba (a former city councilor) to talk to him, he would not listen. When I wrote letters to him, he did not reply. Joash was openly chided by Mzee Jaramogi Oginga Odinga, who went to Kisumu Ofafa Memorial, where SM's coffin lay the night before the funeral. Odinga said prayers in Luo, honoring SM's ancestors, and then asked to speak with Joash, who avoided him. But Odinga told Mrs. Grace Onyango, a former member of Parliament, to tell Ochieng' to return the body to the owners; he then left and never attended the funeral. The day of the funeral, Saturday, May 23, 1987, was a difficult, depressing day for me; it was the day SM's body was buried by Joash and a mob. Even though Joash had access to his Uncle Ben, who lived in Nyamila, Ben did not attend the funeral. Ben refused to come, perhaps because he was a born-again Christian and did not wish to attend the ceremony, which included "traditional" rites. Ben had not shown up in court to support Joash's testimony about the burial of his father. I assumed that he did not appear for one of two reasons. First, it is possible that he took sides with his clan. Or it might have been possible that some clan members threatened him with beatings or burning his house down if he came forward to tell the truth. However, I think it is more probable that as a born-again Christian, he might have refused to come to court to tell lies. Ben was a devout Christian, and it would have

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been against his beliefs to participate in any pagan ceremonies. Even at his father's funeral, he told the mourners to leave as soon as the burial was over, refusing to perform any traditional rituals. I had thought that Ben, who was very close to us, would have come to Nairobi to console me, but he did not. My mother and members of the Women's Guild of my church came to console me. Relatives, friends, and neighbors kept coming to console me and to say prayers. Rahab Wambui Muhuni stayed on with me for almost a month. She would say, "You remember, 'Msaja' told me not to abandon you." She also made sure that I had something to eat. Sometimes I wonder how I can repay these people, but I have concluded that I cannot, and only God can bless them. Newsmen also came. I remember displaying the clothes I had chosen for SM to wear. My fellow church members sang songs and prayed throughout the day, trying to divert me. Yet my thoughts could not be diverted. It was impossible for me to believe that in modem Kenya a deceased husband could be taken away from his immediate family for burial by a brother supported by the rabble. During that whole week Joash had kept telling people lies: that he had demanded SM's clothes and court robes from me; that he had asked me to come over to Ojijo Road to discuss burial arrangements with him; that the clan had given me permission to include one item in the burial program; and that the clan had said that if I decided to attend the funeral, the chairman of the women's wing of the Ger Union would teach me the Luo customs related to the burial of a husband. Although Joash was telling lies about all this and the media was repeating them, I was not going to go to discuss the burial of my husband in his younger brother's house, or for that matter in railway quarters. All that had nothing to do with me. And although Joash was falsely saying that he had asked me for SM's clothes, I would not have given them to him had he asked for them. For had not Idalia Awino said in court that Hilary Ocholla had told her that SM had gone to his house wearing pajamas to ask for a place to sleep because SM and I had quarreled? She then continued the lie by saying that I had, in anger, burned SM's clothes worth Ksh. 40,000/-.20 On Sunday, May 24, 1987, Gary Stryker, the CNN Africa representative, came to my home to interview me. He had just arrived from Nyamila, Nyalgunga. After the interview, he showed me CNN's film of the burial service. I informed him that I had sent a video and camera team but they had not yet returned, although they had kept me informed of the goings-on in Nyamila via telephone. I am very grateful to Gary Stryker for highlighting my predicament before the whole world.

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The funeral at Nyalgunga was conducted by Bishop Henry Okullu of the Church of the Province of Kenya Maseno Diocese, whose only duty was to return the body to the soil, the real burial having been done at the mortuary. The so-called Christian burial, as Bishop Okullu would like us to believe, was contaminated by witch doctors, as was noted by Jeremy Gavron of the Daily Telegraph, when he reported what he saw at Nyamila: Traditional End for a Burial Row It was, perhaps, the most poignant moment of the 154-day case of the tugof-war for Otieno's body, the news story that has eclipsed all else in Kenya for the whole of 1987. On Saturday at around noon in the village of Nyamila in Western Kenya where the dead hero of the story was born in 1931, the local Anglican Bishop and Church choir were preparing to bring Otieno's coffin from under the tree where it had been on show, and into the canvasand-sticks shelter where the service was to be held. Hundreds of people were pushing and straining for one last look at the body of Otieno, one of Kenya's most distinguished criminal lawyers, when, at the edge of the crowd, a Suzuki motorbike pulled up noisily under a tree. Its rider, the area's most powerful medicine man, was dressed in long-haired goatskin from his head to his knees, and in his hand he held a four-pronged fork. Shaking his whole body and chanting, the medicine man began to dance toward the coffin. Hundreds of mourners fell in behind, taking up his song, and the rest of the crowd parted, until he came face to face with the purple-clad Bishop and his choir in pristine blue robes. For a brief moment the bishop and the medicine man stared at each other-Africa's frail embrace of Christianity confronted by the continent's heart of darkness-before the medicine man gave way and faded into the crowd.21

The funeral was also attended by cabinet ministers, the late Robert Ouko (Kisumu Rural), William Odongo Omamo (Bondo), Ndolo Ayah, Peter Oloo Aringo (Alego Usonga, Otieno's home area, and a relative), Bishop Ondiek (Ugenya), and Grace Ogot (Gem), all of whom had a share in abusing me and my children. All of them were either appointed ministers or assistant ministers. The fact is that they were all there pretending to look miserable-just to win votes. And, as I observed earlier, they all left Parliament, though not necessarily through Otieno's corpse. As incomprehensible as it may be, one has joined his ancestors at the hands of the same regime he served. At the time they were in favor, they cursed me and my children for boycotting SM's funeral. One of them said that Wambui and her children had decided to stick to their guns and decided not to come. The other one, a woman, said that Luo women are polite, whatever positions of leadership they hold. Grace Ogot's remarks were reported in the newspapers on May 24 and 25. My answer to her, which was reported in the papers on May 26, was that I left it to her conscience, since she does not know

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what is in store for her when her time of grief comes. This is the same woman who, during the burial of Dr. Zachariah Nyamodi, had asked the community to moderate some of its customs in order to bring them into conformity with the modem world. Later on, for reasons better known to herself, she changed her mind. She even instigated the arrest of people who were collecting signatures in support of a burial law that would help protect the rights of widows. Professor Wangari Maathai, who was then chairman of the National Council of the Women of Kenya and the Greenbelt Movement, and others had started the campaign. In order to secure the release of her co-workers, Wangari had to apologize to Grace for using the statement she had made at Dr. Nyamondi's funeral. These unprincipled politicians had no business attending SM's burial, for they had not visited us in our home for all the years I had been married to him. The idea of attending funerals of people one is not familiar with is totally alien to me. To this day, I cannot accept the way they sought political capital from my husband's remains. Just before the burial, one of Moi's notorious ministers, Ndolo Ayah, a former Odinga aide (whom Odinga disowned for bad behavior after he was charged in court on a serious criminal offense), used SM's corpse to make political capital. In a speech given at Kisumu airport, he enumerated the Luo community's three achievements. First, he said, Otieno had been brought home for burial; second, Omieri (the famous serpent who served as a kind of totem for the people of Nyakach) had also arrived back in Kisumu by air after medical treatment in Nairobi; and third, they were now waiting for Gor Mahia football team to win in a football match. Time and again, SM had warned me of his clan and how they strongarmed people. We were especially angry about their behavior after the burial of his cousin Hilary Ocholla, with whom he had been very close. SM had been surprised when Dr. Robert Ouko, accompanied by some Umira Kager members, met with Mrs. Hilda Ocholla in her home while the body of her deceased husband lay in the mortuary. Immediately, and without informing us, she changed her mind and decided to bury her husband at U genya in an abandoned home instead of at Koru, where they had resided. It was bad because there was no consultation with us, the close members of the family, nor with close friends like Mrs. Isabella Obura (now deceased), who had spent a lot of money to prepare Koru as the burial place for Hilary. This kind of interference angers me. Because of my wish to help prepare the burial of my most loved brother-in-law, I had delayed going to a meeting in Thailand, where I was leading the Kenyan delegation to an income generation conference organized by the United Nations Development Program. I had also sent a lot of food for mourners, only to receive the rude shock that the burial was now at Ugenya. It was upsetting to receive infor-

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mation about the new venue from Mrs. Kenyany instead of from Ocholla's widow. It was even more disgusting because while Christabel Ouko, whose home adjoins the Ocholla farm at Koru, can view and clean the grave of her late husband, Mrs. Hilda Ocholla has to travel all the way to Ugenya to visit her husband's grave site. My husband boycotted the funeral. A day after Ocholla's body left for Ugenya, I left for Thailand to attend the conference. This undue influence from Ouko was nothing but a mockery of justice. These self-styled Luo sages who appear only during funerals, some with ulterior motives of spending the funds contributed for the dead, are shameless and should be done away with. Future generations will reject these archaic customs. Even now, the younger people are openly debating this issue. While researching this book I have learned that never has there been an occasion where a married man-living happily with his wife and children-was buried like Otieno. Moreover, I have been told that the Umira Kager clan did not believe us when we said in court that we would not attend a traditional Luo burial at Nyalgunga. All during the ceremony, they turned their faces to check whether each approaching vehicle was bringing the immediate family. Siranga was filmed denouncing me, threatening to take my property from me, saying that I would not go back to my people in Kikuyuland with Otieno's property. Joash took the position of a mourning man, torn between his tribal people and his dead brother and SM's children. He maintained the pose that he was not very concerned about the severance of relations between me and his clan. Wambui 's utterances, he said, were characteristic of many women when they are confronted by trying circumstances. I am not one of those women he was referring to. Men have a tendency to belittle women, but Joash Ochieng' and others who feel that way should know that women are very strong. In detention I used to see men sneak to confess to the district officer in charge of detainees or the police officer because they could no longer bear the suffering we were going through. Each individual has his/her own limits of the body and mind. By now, Joash must know that I am not the coward he was trying to portray. More than a decade has passed now since SM died, and the fact is that I have kept my word, just as I will continue to keep it till the day I die. Siranga's threat to seize my family's property was an ugly theme that ran throughout the saga. I had been accused of trickery by Joash's family on more than one occasion, both inside and outside the court. The truth was that the few properties we had, movable or immovable, were jointly owned by SM and myself, and Joash knew it. Ochieng's son Charles, who worked at the Land Office in Muranga, checked property titles and then they called a press conference at Ojijo Road. They alleged that I had overly influenced SM; that I was so powerful that I persuaded SM to transfer everything that

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we had to my name before he died. Ochieng' knew that there was no truth in their contention. Nothing had been transferred to me since SM's illness in 1985. It had always been the tradition of the family to have joint title of whatever we owned. SM used to tell me that it would be easy for him to transfer anything that might be in my name to him if I predeceased him, but not the other way round. After Ochieng's conference, the newspaper reporters confronted me one morning when I was preparing to leave for court. I answered the accusation by telling them that I had been given all that SM had for services rendered. Because of the constant, humiliating questions from the press, I sometimes could not avoid being rude. There I was leaving my home to go to court, having only slept for an hour because of mourners who held nightly prayers in my home. The traffic congestion on Lang'ata Road was 'well known to these reporters. Yet when I suggested that we postpone the questioning until later in the afternoon, it was not acceptable to them. They even blocked my entry to my vehicle. I felt harassed, dictated to, and no longer in control of my life. I therefore told them the first thing that came to my mind at that time, under those circumstances. Before the trial, Kwach behaved as befits a former student of Oxford University. During the trial, he even shed tears, mourning that Otieno's children had said that some Luo customs were primitive and abhorrent. But, after his victory, he turned out to be the most primitive Luo in court. For Kwach, the Luo sages, and Judges Bosire, Nyarangi, Platt, and Gachuhi, the crux of the case was whether SM should be buried in Upper Matasia, as he wished, or in Nyamila. He had no home in Nairobi, they claimed, these residences were merely houses because he had not built a simba (boys' hut) or our home according to tradition. Therefore, they claimed, SM had to be buried as a bachelor in his ancestral lands. The Luo sages and Professor Odera Oruka (now deceased), professor of philosophy at the University of Nairobi and a member of the Kenya National Academy of Sciences, described in court how a Luo home was created.22 According to Luo custom, the building of a home has to be sanctioned by the man's father. Should the father be deceased, an uncle may substitute. One must have a child, preferably a son, to receive permission to build a home. The father rises early in the morning and is accompanied to the proposed site by the son who wants to build a home and the child. The son carries an axe and the father carries a cock and some fire. At the chosen spot, the father ties up the cock, covers it with a basket, and leaves it there overnight. The next day, they return to the spot. If the cock is not there, the site is considered unsuitable and an alternative spot must be sought. If the cock is still there, then the father starts a fire and the building can be begun. When the house is completed, the father and the son sleep in the house on the first night. The son's wife is not permitted to be there. Thereafter, the

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son is permitted to build another house for his wife or wives. When all the houses are completed, the place is recognized to be a home. The axe is the symbol of work; the cock is the cock of good fortune and remains in the completed house. The fire is to assist in starting the home fire, for cooking meals. The father has to be the first one to light the fire. It is only when these ceremonies have been performed that a man is considered to have a recognized home. Surely the business of being shown where to build a home by a cock cannot be anything else but primitive! I could not envisage that our modem courts and judges could hail such a custom. These Luo sages tried to force me to submit to such customs as ter and teroburo. If ter (the inheritance of a widow) is not abhorrent, then I do not know the meaning of the word. Normally, the widow is inherited by the brother or cousin of the deceased. In some places in Ugenya District, one way to ter (inherit) a widow is for the inheritor to have sexual relations with her. Otherwise, the Luo believe the children will die. Sometimes, they hire someone to perform ter. The inheritance is not complete unless the widow's eldest son and his wife witness the act. If this is not repugnant to justice and morality, then I am at a loss. If a woman rejects ter and dies, the act is performed on her dead body before she is buried. In a story that appeared in a 1987 issue of Drum magazine, one Luo man actually boasted that he had done this. I also know from reliable sources that a widow of my late husband's uncle refused ter and ran away to Chemelil to her farm, where she had wanted to bury her husband. She unknowingly went through the ceremony after she was dead. The ter man, who was a half-lunatic, was paid Ksh. 1,000/-, a cow, and a goat to copulate with the widow's dead body. The Luo sages also said in court that I should be made to wear my dead husband's clothes turned inside out. During the appeal, Kwach informed the court that long ago, a widow was spotted at a distance by this dress and one would divert his route to avoid meeting her during her period of mourning. Luo sages testified that the teroburu ceremony is performed to chase away demons before a widow marries again. Carrying a stool while her eldest son runs with an ax, the widow leads the way, directing the cattle and other relatives to where to throw the demons. After chasing them, she then turns back and gives the stool to the man chosen to be her husband. And there you are; she is ready for a go with the next husband. It is unbelievable. The day she gets tired of him, she puts the stool outside her door, and the guy is thrown out for good; then she can go for another one. If that is not prostitution, then I do not know what to call it. At four o'clock on the day of the funeral, the janeko (lunatic) who surely was either mad or a drug addict, was waiting at Nyamila and thinking about how Otieno 's widow had not come. The janeko began to sing:

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Sani saa apar! Wambui okobiro, Koro umiya chiemo! Umiya chiemo, utimanadi?

Now it is four o'clock! Wambui is not coming. You have been giving me food! What have you done to me?

I did not attend my husband's funeral, but my team of video operators and cameramen were there. If Joash Ochieng' and company think I do not know what happened, they should rest assured that I know it all. I am grateful to my team, who called my office from Siaya every day to inform us what was happening. In life, SM never would have imagined that these things would be done to his dead body. Umira Kager used a mixture of Christian and traditional burial practices. They had a white cock precede the coffin into the grave; a black cock, a sign of misfortune, had been thrown at Muthiga, my home on the Nairobi-Naivasha Road. However, the black cock was thrown at people who have no traditional beliefs. All that happened was that somebody picked it up, boiled water, killed it, cooked it, and had a beautiful free meal! My understanding of this Luo tradition is that you throw a black cock when coming back to Nairobi, Mombasa, or elsewhere from a funeral in Nyanza to chase away demons or ghosts in case they follow you. But doing it the other way around, to impress upon a community that does not give a damn or even understand its meaning, is an act by an emotional, heathen lot who believe in imaginary things. As I said before, many books have been written about this case, and some by expert authors. But I am writing as a layman, writing what I felt and still feel, not what people imagined went on in my mind. This is from my heart, regardless of what others may think. It is my experience, not fiction. It goes beyond mourning; it is history. I shall live with the memory that my private life was exposed and distorted by lies, even to my grandchildren. I was thoroughly ridiculed by people with whom I should have had no contact, except through marriage. I sincerely apologize to those who may feel that I should not tell what happened to me, but unfortunately, it is something I cannot hide. One friend of mine, who came from Nyanza, asked me whether my intentions were to spoil the name of the Luo community, whose customs I do not know. This question from a woman, a politician whom I met in the early 1950s, made me aware of the feelings of a certain section of people around Lake Victoria. She had been a good friend, or so I thought until my troubles began. She never came to see me, even to say pole (sorry); she never even gave advice to the people she now wishes to represent; nor did she try to advise me on what I should do, since most of the things I was being told were alien to me. As a matter of fact, women from the Nyanza region treated me as an enemy who had stolen their tribesman. The sole exception was Ida Odinga. She kept in touch, sometimes giving me messages from Mzee Odinga. There was no support from

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my former Luo colleagues. To imply that I have the intention of spoiling the name of the community is neither here nor there. All I am saying is that the Luo community should not have imposed its will on me and my children. Joash Ochieng' told the court that Luo customs are very beautiful, that they fit in with Christianity, that they are paramount and above the law. He also said that he would be haunted by ghosts if he allowed his brother to be buried anywhere other than Nyamila. All I am doing is to put all that evidence together, making my honest comments as a Christian and a nonLuo. I am a strong believer in freedom of expression as guaranteed by the Kenya Constitution.

NOTES

1. High Court of Kenya at Nairobi, Civil Case No. 4873 of 1986, Wambui Otieno plaintiff versus Joash Ochieng' Ougo. 2. The Court of Appeal for Kenya, Civil Appeal No.2 of 1987. 3. The Court of Appeal for Kenya, Civil Appeal No.3 of 1987. 4. High Court of Kenya Civil Case No. 4873 of 1986, pp. 12-13. 5. High Court of Kenya, Civil Case No. 4873 of 1986. 6. Blaine Harden, "The Battle for the Body," in Africa: Dispatches from a Fragile Continent (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1991), pp. 95-129. 7. High Court of Kenya, Civil Case 4873, p. 5 8. High Court of Kenya, Civil Case 4873, Judgment, pp. 7-9, 13-15. 9. Court of Appeal for Kenya at Nairobi, Civil Appeal No. 31 of 1987, Virginia Wambui Otieno v. Joash Ochieng' Otieno, pp. 19-20. 10. High Court of Kenya, Civil Case 4873, Judgment, p. 25. 11. The Luo Union (B.A.) was an social organization founded during the colonial era that dealt mainly with developing Luo land and promoting business through a subsidiary company known as the Luo Thrift and Trading Corporation. It was similar to the Gikuyu, Embu, and Meru Association, the Kalenjin Association, the Akamba Association, and the Abaluhya Association, all of which disappeared when President Moi proscribed them. 12. Lord Acton's letter to Bishop Mandell Creighton, April 3, 1887, quoted in Louise von Glehn Creighton, The Life and Letters of Mandell Creighton, Vol. I (London: Longmans, Green, 1904), p. 23. 13. High Court of Kenya, Civil Case 4873, Judgment, p. 11 14. Illegal, home-brewed liquor. Originally it was known as "Kangara," when it was brought to Kenya during World War I by Nubians who fought in the war. 15. High Court Civil Case No. 4873 of 1986; Civil Appeal No.2 of 1987. 16. Court of Appeal for Kenya at Nairobi, Civil Appeal No. 31 of 1987, p.25. 17. High Court Civil Case No. 3209 of 1981, Camelina Ngami v. Mary Nduta & Others, Judge Gachuhi, presiding. 18. Winifred Mwendwa is now minister for culture and social services in Moi's government. Dr. Julia Ajiambo was at the time the director of Women and Youth Affairs in KANU. She was a former member of Parliament for Busia Central District and a former assistant minister for culture and social services.

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19. This idiom is used widely in Niger-Kongo languages. The Kamba have a similar saying. In Swahili, the equivalent is "Usitumie kifua." 20. High Court of Kenya at Nairobi, Civil Suit No. 4873 of 1986, p. 104. 21. Daily Telegraph, May 25, 1987. 22. High Court of Kenya, Civil Suit No. 4873 of 1986, pp. 62-63, 72-74, 86-89, 93, 105-106. Testimonies of Omolo Siranga, Joash Ochieng' Ougo, Amos Frederick Owour Tago, Japheth Yathuma, and Henry Odera Oruka.

10 The Biography of S.M. Otieno

All along I have been writing about the man I married without telling about his life before I met him and his professional life after our marriage. SM's father told me a great deal about his early life. I know his professional life well, since I acted as his secretary and general office manager during the early years of the practice. Silvano Melea Otieno was born on February 20, 1931, in Nyamila, Alego, Nyalgunga sublocation, Siaya District. He attended Simenya Primary School and later attended the Church Missionary Society (CMS) secondary school at Maseno, western Kenya. He passed the Cambridge School Certificate with high marks and was awarded a London matriculation honor in 1950. This grade was awarded only to the students who did extremely well. In 1951 he moved to Nairobi in search of employment. There he was employed as a native clerical interpreter in the Supreme Court of Kenya. He was given this job by my father, Tiras Munyua Waiyaki, who was a senior officer of the court. Later SM transferred to Eldoret Court, where he became involved in the independence struggle. He rose to be the assistant treasurer of KAU in Uasin Gishu District. My father, who loved education and who assisted several people, including his own children, introduced SM to Fanuel Odede, Mr. Gautama (father of Krishan Gautama), and then to the Kenya high commissioner, Apa Panti. Apa Panti assisted SM in acquiring a scholarship to study medicine at the University of Bombay in India. SM enrolled in the university as a medical student in 1953 but soon decided to study law. He enrolled in Bombay University and later entered Elphinstone College. He excelled in his program, passing the bar exam in December 1959. He returned to Kenya, where he had to go through the same process in order to be admitted as an advocate of the High Court of Kenya. He did his pupilage practice in the chambers of Jean Marie Seroney, who was asked to assist SM by his friend, the late Mr. Argwings-Kodhek. 193

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SM started private practice in late 1960 in Rajah Manzil Building on Victoria Street; and from then, except for a few interruptions when he was asked to assist in running the Kisumu Municipality and East African Common Services, he practiced law until his death from an acute coronary occlusion on December 20, 1986. SM's skill and success in criminal law earned him the nickname "Perry Mason." The first case that brought him into the limelight was Regina v. Zainabu Nyambura (1962). Zainabu Nyambura was charged with obstructing a police officer in the course of his duties. The incident took place while Kenya was still colonized and courts were totally biased against the few young African advocates who had joined the bar. Nevertheless, in just a day SM showed that African advocates were indeed capable, mostly by his cross-examination of the government's chief witness, Superintendent Newman. "Superintendent Newman," he asked, "can you tell the court what it means by the term to obstruct in legal terms?" Newman gave four translations of the word obstruct. With each answer, SM would tell him, "No, that is not what it is." After the fourth try, Newman surrendered and agreed that he did not know the meaning, although he had earlier boasted that he was an Englishman, born and bred in England. From then on, SM's professionalism earned respect for African lawyers, and he became a pioneer in the Law Society of Kenya, which discriminated against African members. When SM joined the society, only seven African advocates had been allowed to join. SM loved arguing criminal cases so much that in 1974 he decided to stop accepting civil cases, except for election petitions. These he said had some criminal aspects and bordered closely on criminal law. SM conducted all types of criminal cases: treason, sedition, highway robbery, robbery with violence, conspiracy to defraud, forgery and uttering a false document, theft by servant, ordinary theft, perjury, obtaining money by false pretenses, manslaughter, rape, and murder. Not one of his clients was sentenced to hang, which is still capital punishment under the laws of Kenya. SM pleabargained all of the murder cases he conducted to manslaughter. He hated conducting rape, defilement, and indecent assault cases unless he was convinced that his clients were innocent. He preferred trying cases involving physical assault. He argued that anyone might resort to violence, for various reasons: provocation, self-defense, delirium tremens, or acting on the spur of the moment. I have the transcripts and judgments of hundreds, if not thousands, of his cases and it is my hope that our daughter Rosalyn, who is also a lawyer, will one day assist in publishing a book containing the work of her late father. Apart from excelling in law, SM was a first-class dancer; he loved music, mostly by Jim Reeves and Nat "King" Cole. He also loved football

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but preferred watching the matches on the television rather than attending the games because he deplored the outbreaks of violence in our stadiums. SM loved children very much and never distinguished between them on a tribal or racial basis. He fostered six orphans: four are college graduates, one has become an accountant, and the youngest holds a diploma in cosmetology. SM also financed the education of several members of his extended family. SM often spoke about his childhood. As was common in the old days, he helped his mother in all sorts of chores such as fetching water from a nearby stream, collecting firewood, and gardening. He also assisted his parents in looking after cattle. He had already become a herd boy and might have spent his life tending cattle had it not been for the advice his mother gave him on her deathbed in 1941. Salome Anyango had been sick for three days, and as usual, SM had been looking after the cattle from dawn till sunset. After he had locked up the cattle and entered the house, his mother called him to her bedside and asked where he had been all day. He answered that he had been looking after cattle. After asking him to come closer, she spat on him (a sign of blessing) and told him to stop looking after cattle and to go to school. She told him that his blessings and riches would come not from looking after cattle, but from education. She said to him, "That is how you will earn your living. Look after your sisters." SM was then about ten years old and had three younger sisters, Helen, Dorine Achieng', and Idalia. His mother, Salome Anyango, had borne eleven children. Four of them died at an early age. Two of his brothers predeceased him. Isaiah Odhiambo died in Tanzania in 1966 and Simon Odhiambo died in 1985. SM was survived by four siblings: Helen Ogutu, who died in 1996; Julia Akoth; Joash Ochieng'; and Idalia Awino Odongo. Salome's words lingered in SM's mind till the day he died. He was committed to obeying his mother's dying wish that he care for his sisters. He even insisted that I ignore them, even when they did something wrong to me, as he was not prepared to disrespect his mother's final words. SM would exchange angry words with his sister Helen and the next minute he would be assisting her in one way or another. After his mother's burial, the family spent about a year in mourning. SM took over the responsibility of looking after his little sister Dorine. The next year, he enrolled in Simenya Primary School, leaving his little sister in the care of his elder sister, Julia Akoth, who was already married. Irrationally, SM felt that when his sister Dorine died from dysentery, it was because others took over her care after he became a boarding student at the CMS Maseno High School. One unusual incident from his childhood days stood out in his memory. One day on his way to Simenya, he stopped to bathe in a river. A leopard

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came from a bush and SM ran away as fast as he could, but not without first grabbing his shirt, trousers, and slate. SM recounted to me how, on another occasion, he shocked his parents when he responded to an elder relative's teasing. Jokingly, the old lady called him her husband. The young SM strongly protested and announced that he would not marry her or any other Luo. When he recounted the story to me, he confessed that at that time, he did not know any other tribe and could not understand where he got the idea. His mother and father were left wondering what other tribe he meant. SM was a serious student, frequently reminding fellow African students that their real reason for being in India was to study. And although he made friends with women, some of whom were Indian, he made sure that he did not marry any of them. One of his close friends was Lenny Montgomery, an Anglo-Indian divorcee. SM often wrote in his diary about her and their friendship. Ironically, Joash and his cohorts tried to use the stories of SM's friendship with Lenny to their advantage during the burial saga. They spread rumors that my late husband had married an Indian woman. Although it did not matter to me what SM had done with his life before I met him, I was very hurt at the way Joash tried to spoil SM's memory with these stories. The Umira Kager were telling me nothing new when they unearthed SM's friendship with Lenny. If the aim was to tarnish my husband's good name, they failed completely. These clansmen struggled very hard to find a woman who would claim to have had anything to do with SM so she could claim not only a relationship, but also the right to bury him-but this, too, failed. I write this simply to set the record straight about Lenny. The two of them met through a chance encounter during SM's student days in India. Lenny's two daughters, accompanied by their uncle, were visiting Bombay from New Delhi when they spotted a black man at Marine Drive. Never having seen an African, the girls went straight to him and asked him whether they would be allowed to touch his hard hair. SM, who always loved children, allowed them to do so, as they had not met a black man before. They then asked politely whether he could allow them to take photographs, to which he agreed. Before their departure, they asked him whether he would like them to send him copies. When they brought the photos, their mother accompanied them. From then on, they became very good friends. Through him she met many African students from all over the continent. As a divorcee who must have been lonely, she enjoyed being in the company of students, together with her daughters. Often, when the girls visited SM, they would bring food that Lenny had prepared. This was always welcomed, as the African students' meager grants of 300 rupees were not enough to cover tuition, books, room, and board. Years later, SM

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wanted to reciprocate Lenny's kindness by inviting her to visit us in Kenya, but she left for the United States before we managed to do this. Lenny's friendship with SM came about because of his empathic response to her children. This is not surprising, for SM's first priority was his children. He took special pains to ensure that our children grew up to be adults about whom any parent could be proud. He would say that with very meager means, his father had brought him up and educated him and that as an advocate, he was not serving his people, but all people. SM never taught his children to speak either the Luo or the Kikuyu language, as he used to say that his children should grow up as Kenyans. He believed that intermarriage and knowledge of Swahili and English would eliminate tribalism in Kenya. Initially, my mother resisted my marrying SM because he was a Luo and not a Kikuyu. However, she and SM became as close as mother and son. SM cultivated a friendship with my mother to such an extent that within two years of our legal marriage, the two were inseparable. My mother loved SM so much that she used to call him "my son" and not "my son-inlaw." Whenever my mother has a legal problem involving her late husband's estate or any other legal matter, she laments, "If my son Otieno were alive, I. would have no problems." SM also had a special friendship with my father, but the two had known each other for years before he and I met. My family has never forgotten SM. He is forever Msaja and Uncle Otieno. In fact, SM was dear to my whole family-my brothers, sisters, nephews, and nieces. When he died, some of them openly grieved, especially my sisters. Shortly after SM's death, my sisters commented that if they had a chance to select who should have died first, SM or their sister, they would have chosen the latter. Years later, they explained that this did not mean that they did not love me; their comment had been made out of their fear about what would happen to me after SM died. It is common in Kenya for widows to be cheated by men, and sometimes they ignore their responsibilities toward their families. My sisters knew how SM wanted to educate his children and doubted my ability to cope. They also loved him so much that they could not see a future for our children without the eversmiling SM and his sense of humor. My sisters need not have worried that our family would collapse; I have survived him and am taking good care of myself, so as not to let him down. Whatever he owned or worked for, he made sure that my name was put down as a joint tenant or proprietor of our properties to protect them from being claimed by anybody else. He would tell me that as a lawyer, he would be able to claim anything if he survived me but that it would be difficult for me to do so. SM was very patriotic, taking an interest in the development of our country. He attended all functions, including the celebrations for Madaraka

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Day (the celebration of Kenya's achievement of internal self-government), Kenyatta Day, and Independence Day. Because of his known views on intertribal tolerance, in October 1963 SM was appointed as a deputy town clerk, Kisumu Municipality, so that he could prepare himself to take over from the European town clerk, Mr. Knorrs. SM was appointed as principal assistant legal secretary to the East African Common Services (EACS) in 1965.1 He prosecuted many income tax cases for the EACS and also prosecuted cases for the Tanzanian government, involving criminal murder appeals to the East African Court of Appeals. When he thought that the judgment arrived at should not be upheld, he refused to support conviction. In 1968 he resigned to reopen his private practice. All this time he had been allowed to continue his private practice in order to finalize his existing cases. This was especially true during his appointment as town clerk for Kisumu, since he had been requested to close down without being given time to wind up his private cases. I used to draft and type his private work at home. When he reopened his chambers in Uniafric House on Koinange Street, I became his secretary and office manager. Until such a time as the new practice started to make a profit, I worked as messenger, cleaner, and court clerk, as we had no money to employ people. SM loved his employees and was always available to assist them when they needed help. They returned his regard, nicknaming him their balozi (ambassador). When he died, they shared my grief. Out of grief his court clerk drank so much that I feared he would become an alcoholic. When I asked him why and explained the danger of what he was doing, he told me he did not care because the place to which Balozi had gone was a better place. His secretary Ann never forgot her boss. Often when she came to visit, she would talk about her worries about what would befall SM's children. I shall not forget the support of these people who worked with SM and helped him achieve his fame as one of Kenya's best criminal lawyers, which he retains even after his death. What surprises me is that some people seem to remember SM only for the burial saga. It is a misconception that this is the most memorable thing about SM, and one I cannot let go without correction. SM was a polite man who never did any harm to anyone. He readily and unreservedly apologized to me or our relatives if he made a mistake. He was always generous, never more so than when he agreed that we would take care of the six orphaned children of my friend, Mrs. Grace Wambui Arina. Without hesitation, he agreed to integrate them into our large family and give them a sound upbringing. SM was a Christian who brought his children up as Christians. He contributed generously to his church, the Church of the Province of Kenya (CPK) in Nyamila, and to my church, the Presbyterian Church of East Africa at Kihumo, Kikuyu, in Kiambu District. SM generously donat-

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ed money for harambee (pull together/join hands in support) projects,2 especially those connected with church work, the education of children, or building schools. One year, two orphaned children from Dagoretti High School came to our home at Karen to look for a Scouts' bob-a-job,3 which we gave them. When they passed their examination to go to Form One, they could not raise the school fees, so SM volunteered to pay for them until they graduated from high school. It is difficult to believe that when he died, SM's family did not want his children educated. They well knew that SM had helped educate, clothe, and feed their children, without asking for reward. Outside the court proceedings, Joash and others were heard to say that Wambui would not be able to educate her children or maintain a Mercedes-or any car at all. They also said that I would not be able to afford house slippers, let alone shoes. Once they said that I would not be able to pay for food or utilities or even buy knickers (underpants). SM lived a selfless life, full of honesty and humility. Although he did not like some aspects of the culture of the rural people, he loved them and he was very polite to them. He also remembered his childhood and kept no secrets from us about his simple upbringing and the upheavals in life when his mother died. Although he lived a cosmopolitan, metropolitan life, he did not abandon his rural kin. He took care of his father as well, whom he regarded as his mother too. After his father's death he said, "Now that my father has gone, I am through with the problems of Nyamila. I will assist when I can, since I'm now at ease, knowing that my father is not going to suffer because things I sent to him were, at times, taken from him." SM expressed his appreciation to me for having taken great care of his father during his last illness. He worked so hard to make us comfortable and it was difficult to convince him to take a holiday. I knew all his movements, and whenever he traveled to court from Nairobi, he would telephone on arrival. If he had to spend the night out of town, he would let me know in which hotel and room he was booked, just in case something happened either there or at home. He was very security-conscious. If he were to travel by plane, he would tell me what time I should meet him at the airport. If he traveled by road, he would estimate the hours he would take to get back. If he were delayed too long, I would decide to meet him, just in case there was any problem such as the car breaking down. He was a very considerate husband and father, who cannot be replaced. SM died before his children finished school in Germany and the United States. But I am glad that all his children were determined to do well, in honor of his memory. They would say, "Let us not fail our daddy. He wanted us educated." And with God's miracle they have done very well. I am very proud of them. I was haunted by his utterances before he died. During

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his last months, when he had a premonition about his death, he would say, "I am dying without educating Yugi." Patrick Oyugi, whose family nickname is Yugi, is our last born. Yugi had just completed Cambridge School Certificate in Greensteads School in June 1986. He was supposed to go for further studies in North America, but we kept on postponing his departure because of his father's illness. Yugi graduated as a mechanical engineer in May 1991 with very high grades. I am looking forward to his continuing with his second degree. SM's dream of educating his children has been fulfilled as he had wished. He would tell me that if he left his children nothing else, it would be a good education. I personally find it difficult to explain what SM was and what he stood for, but friends, colleagues, and strangers wrote letters attesting to SM's character. One letter, which was supposedly written by President Moi, appeared in the newspapers. The newspapers also printed letters from Matthew Muli, the former attorney-general; T. T. M. Aswani, the former solicitor-general; and G. B. M. Kariuki, the former chairman of the Law Society of Kenya, who was one of SM's close friends. These men knew SM very well and what they have said should not be taken lightly. SM left the legacy of a very united family. Ochieng' wanted to see our family collapse, but SM left a family that is like the Rock of Gibraltar. He left me a very proud mother. He helped to mold me in a big way. I would have been a nervous wreck after I left detention, but SM rehabilitated me. He made me forget those past experiences and start living. He urged me to forget anything undesirable. He helped me heal and take care of the daughter who was the result of the rape. Without him, I might not have been a good mother to this particular child. I was very fortunate to have met such a broad-minded man. SM loved all of our children. Mindful of the saying "Mtoto umuleavyo ndivyo akuavyo" ("The way you bring up your child is the way he grows"), SM taught his children Christian values. The lies Kwach told in court about how SM felt about the children did not impress anybody in our family. We thank God for giving us such a great, humble, considerate, stable, and intelligent husband and father. We shall always adore him.

NoTES 1. The East African Common Services Organization was started by the three countries of Kenya, Uganda, and Tanganyika. Its purpose was to coordinate many of the countries' essential services such as railways and harbors. They also created the East African Court of Appeal. Initially the idea was to create a political merger, an East African Federation, but this idea failed because of ideological differences between the three countries. In 1995, a new East African Corporation emerged.

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2. The practice of harambee was the brainchild of Jomo Kenyatta; harambee fund-raising projects usually are to build schools, hospitals or churches or to pay the high cost of treatment in hospitals. Projects are also started to pay tuition for underprivileged children or to send children to study abroad. 3. Boy Scouts' and Girl Guides' fund-raising activities. The children go doorto-door asking to perform odd jobs.

Inauguration service at SM's memorial, performed by Rev. S. N. Njoroge on December 20, 1989, attended by all my children,foster children, and grandchildren, my mother,friends, and relatives. The marble plaque on the left is my open will. The structure next to that plaque will be my own grave. Photo© Nation Newspapers Ltd.

11 State Trickery

After my husband was buried, I decided that it was time to relax and avoid anybody who would remind me of what had happened, as I was very worn out. For those of you who followed the events, you probably know that I never had time to come to terms with my husband's death. The whole time I was occupied with legal proceedings, I did not have the opportunity to mourn him. I had not realized how difficult it was going to be without SM or how lonely I would feel. Most days I would be teary-eyed, and sometimes I would just give in and really weep. I barely noticed the passing of the whole month of June 1987 because I was so preoccupied with my husband's death and what had happened to me and the children. Ultimately, I realized the truth in what SM used to tell me about people who act on the spur of the moment and do things, only to regret them later. Luckily, people from my church kept coming to the house for prayers, which helped me a great deal. I believe that God guarded me from evil. On Sundays I would go to church and find consolation. I was somewhat consoled when my attorneys told me that the objection to my appointment as the sole administrator to my husband's estate had been withdrawn by the clan's lawyer. However, I was informed by a friend that the government planned to attach my most valuable properties for unsubstantiated income tax. I decided not to pursue this information until I felt rested, because I knew that I was close to an emotional collapse. However, I told my attorneys to pursue the letters of administration for my husband's personal estate. We acquired them without the need for a court appearance because the Succession Law Cap 160 is very clear on that issue. (The clan's attorney had used only dirty, delaying tactics to stop me from burying my husband.) Meanwhile I rested. Whenever I felt weak, I prayed, "God, do not let my enemies laugh at me. Hold me with thy hands so that I do not fall. God, 203

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you have brought me this far. I had courage when my husband was buried in my absence, just through your mighty power. Please God, I need thee more than ever before." I told myself that I would not collapse because I did not want my enemies to get the better of me. I also had the difficult job of ensuring that my children completed their education. I knew that it would make Joash Ochieng' happy if my children returned to Kenya because I could not pay for their tuition and maintenance. I also knew that I was now alone and could not afford to be weak. After I had recuperated for a month and a half, I sent my husband's law clerk to look into the threats to seize my property. He returned with the information that there were false charges that we had failed to pay income taxes. He began to worry that they would take all my properties, but I told him not to worry, because no one was going to take anything away from me-l had decided to fight again. The Income Tax Department claimed that the accounts were defective and used Section 73(2)b of the income tax law to triple their claims. They backdated their claims to more than seven years, which is a violation of the law. In Kenya, if the government believes that the returns are not correct, the burden of proof is on the taxpayer (or his representative if he is deceased). I filed objections to the income tax claims and appealed to the local tax review committee. I began to visit the Income Tax Department as much as I had visited the law courts during the burial case.

COMMEMORATING

SM's DEATH

In October 1987 I decided to organize a memorial service for my husband at the All Saints' Cathedral. I asked Manasses Kuria, archbishop of the Church of the Province of Kenya (CPK), to conduct the service. The service was emotionally charged and well attended. The memorial program included the baptism of Silvanus Martin Otieno, Jr., my husband's namesake and the son of Tiras Eddie Waiyaki Otieno and Elizabeth Caroline Wanjiru Waiyaki. Archbishop Kuria started the memorial service with a renewed call to bury bygones. He reiterated that the traumas and conflicts that arose between the members of Otieno's family over his remains should not be allowed to resurface. He stressed that the memorial service was not intended to be political, tribal, or social, nor was it for the benefit of a particular clan. He called the service a commemorative one, in a manner prescribed by the Church of Christ for the departed soul of a professional man who was loved and cared for by his family and community. The CPK prelate recalled that while the battle raged in court, and despite the trauma I felt, I had made a bold move to commit myself to Christ, rekindling my spirit and faith. By doing so, he said, I committed myself to truth and was drawn to a situation where I found composure and solace.

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On the day we held our commemorative service, Joash Ochieng' held a separate memorial service at Saint Stephen's Cathedral in Kisumu. He also launched the S. M. Otieno Memorial Clinic and Cultural Library Project, estimated to cost three million Kenya shillings. He printed and sold T-shirts and badges. He also began collecting money for these projects, which never came to be. Soon after the fund-raising began, it died off. I believe that Joash exploited my husband's death and swindled people out of their money. In addition to announcing the fund-raising, the press reported that Joash lamented that history would judge me for failing to attend my husband's burial. He also said that he had expected me and my children to attend his memorial service in Kisumu and mentioned that we had attended a separate memorial service in Nairobi. However, he said that the door was still open for us to go to Nyalgunga. He told the congregation that the dispute between us hinged on SM's burial place, and since this had been finally determined by the Court of Appeal, there was no reason for me to boycott the burial and the memorial service. For all these mistakes, he said, he left it to history to judge me. Apparently, Joash had suddenly realized that while the court could give him the body, it did not have the power to order me to cooperate with him, disregarding my husband's stated wishes. He had ignored my earlier letters asking for a reconciliation and now realized that I would not go back on my position-that I was dedicated to obeying my husband's last wishes, no matter what the cost. I had suffered the pain of preparing the unused grave at Upper Matasia in preparation for my husband's burial and was constantly reminded of that fact whenever I visited our farm. In May 1988 I left for the United States to attend my daughter Rosalyn's graduation from Moorhead State University. While I was in Minnesota, I visited my friend Arvonne Fraser. I shared many materials on discrimination against women, which she published in IWRAW. I was able to meet many women who offered me speaking engagements to relate details about the case. The media also interviewed us and reported on the burial dispute. I informed Minnesota audiences about my history as a delegate of the KANU and how, as early as 1979, I had realized that our country was heading toward dictatorial rule. I talked about how I had aired these issues and so was not surprised that the government had interfered with the case. This was not the first time the government had done this, I informed them. I had seen sedition cases in which torture was used to get people to confess. In order to receive reduced or suspended sentences, all the accused persons would plead guilty, stating "I am married. I am an orphan and the sole breadwinner. A prison sentence would make my family suffer." While I was overseas, I visited all my children to see how they were holding up after the ordeal of the saga. I was pleased to learn that although they had been forced to take course overloads in order to graduate on time,

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all of them had done well. Rosalyn had graduated with honors, received her bachelor of arts degree, and been accepted to attend law school at Hamline University in St. Paul, Minnesota. Gladwell graduated with first-class honors in Germany, having completed her first degree at Amherst College; and Patrick was adjusting to the hectic life of a university student. Jairus was struggling to catch up and graduate on time, while Peggy was trying to catch up so she could complete her M.B.A. I was very grateful to God for keeping my children together and strong enough to continue with their lives. When I returned to Kenya, I continued my challenge to government allegations that my husband had failed to pay income tax. I also handled all the matters relating to my husband's estate. Although I was now the sole breadwinner for my family, I was unable to get around freely because I was constantly followed by government security officers, which forced me to close my office for long periods of time. In 1988 I organized a second memorial service, which was again conducted by the provost of All Saints' Cathedral. At that service, we baptized my grandnephew, the child of SM's nephew Hesbon Owino Opiyo and his wife Elizabeth. The child was baptized with the name Silvana Melea Otieno. Because viewing the empty grave site at my farm distressed me each time I saw it, in 1989 I decided what I would do with it. I planned to build a memorial to honor my husband. Outside on the right would be a flower garden and a marble plaque explaining the reason for the memorial. The words on this plaque would also be on the wall of the main room, which would contain a coffin. The room would resemble a chapel, built with marble and granite. It would have a stone verandah at the entrance. On the left side would be my future grave site, and on the opposite there would be a marble plaque that would contain my open will. The grave would be sealed with stone, raised up, cemented over, and covered up with granite. The coffin would be covered with marble and granite and topped by a marble cross. The coffin was to be placed on top of the sealed grave. I would then prepare a marble book, which would raise the coffin up off the floor. The marble book would read: IN THE COURT OF APPEAL FOR KENYA CIVILAPPEALNO. 31 OF 1987 WAMBUI OTIENO ..... APPELLANT Versus JOASH OCHIENG' OUGO AND ANOTHER

The marble book's placement symbolized that the court case prevented SM's remains from being lowered into the grave. A glass wardrobe was intended to keep the clothes he was to wear for the burial. The wardrobe would also contain his court robes, wedding ring, briefcase, some of his legal books, and the file of the criminal case that brought him to the lime-

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light (Regina v. Zainabu Nyambura). Marble lamps would light the room; finally, a marble cross stating when he was born and when he died would be placed inside the room. The moveable items were to be put there whenever we had a memorial. I also had my own future grave dug. I accomplished all this secretly and held a third memorial service on December 20, 1989. All my children came back home for this memorial. On the right side, near the entrance of the verandah, a marble plaque is affixed to the wall that is inscribed with the words: THIS STRUCTURE IS ERECTED IN MEMORY OF OUR DEAR SM WHO DIED INTESTATE ON 20.12.86 AT 6:30P.M. SM, YOUR WIDOW WAMBUI AND YOUR DESCENDANTS FOR GENERATIONS TO COME WILL CONTINUE TO LOVE YOU.

The left outside plaque reads: I, WAMBUI OTIENO, HEREBY DECLARE THAT I SHALL BE LAID TO REST IN THIS ENCLOSED GROUND WHEN I EVENTUALLY DIE TO GUARD THIS MEMORIAL TO MY LATE HUSBAND SM OTIENO, EVEN IN DEATH. DATED THIS 20TH DAY OF DECEMBER, 1989. V.W.OTIENO

The two plaques that are fixed on the granite wall read: A MAN SHALL LEAVE HIS FATHER AND MOTHER AND SHALL BE JOINED TO HIS WIFE AND THE TWO SHALL BECOME ONE FLESH. MSAJA, SM, MR. I LOVED YOU. MY LOVE FOR YOU WILL NEVER DIE. I FOUGHT TO FULFILL YOUR EXPRESSED WISHES TO THE BITTER END. WAMBUI

To ward off any attempts to prevent the building's construction, the memorial was built in eight days. I am grateful to the Athi River Mining Company for the good work it did for me in preparing the memorial. I also thank all those who worked at the site, especially the artisan who made the steel door and Mr. Ndirangu, of Halcon Construction Company, who constructed the building. My gratitude also goes to Reverend Edward Samson Ndirangu Njoroge, who conducted the service; my mother and members of the Presbyterian Church of East Africa Woman's Guild; and the neighbors, relatives, and friends who, along with my children, supported me. On the day of the third memorial service (December 20, 1989), I launched the S.M. Otieno clan, according to SM's wishes. The clan begins with SM and me. SM had given me instructions to plant a mugumo or fig

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tree to mark the beginning of the clan. I It also marks the end of the relationship between my family and the Umira Kager clan, to whom I wrote a letter informing them of our decision. I also returned my husband's certificate of membership in the clan. Since then, I have felt as if a burden was lifted from my shoulders because I have managed to fulfill all my husband's wishes, regardless of the cost. We later signed an affidavit surrendering SM's share of his father's land to the children of the late Simon Odhiambo, SM's older brother. For us, this ended the whole issue. But Ochieng' said, "Wambui is still our wife. She should come to Nyalgunga. The elders have been eagerly waiting her to perform the rituals which were not performed because she boycotted the funeral, such as teroburu." The clan can wait forever to perform teroburu on me.

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SM's clan has prospered since that time. In 1990 I traveled to Berlin to attend my daughter's wedding in a registry office, and we arranged for a church wedding in Kenya, which took place on August 17, 1991. I have a grandson, Silvano Mandla Otieno, the son of my daughter Gladwell Wathoni Otieno and her husband Thaddeas, who changed his name to Otieno after they married. In May 1991 I traveled to St. Paul, Minnesota, to attend the graduation of our daughter Rosalyn from Hamline University School of Law. She passed the bar exam soon afterward and is now an attorney. Peggy graduated from the University of Toledo with an M.B.A. degree; Jairus received a B.A. in economics from William Paterson College. Patrick earned an degree in mechanical engineering at Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute. After Frederick earned his B.A. in economics in England, he insisted on staying home to take care of me. Later, he went to Moorhead State University, where he completed an M.B.A. degree. And now I have another grandchild, Francesca Kumale Waiyaki, born in early 1996.

RoBERT OuKo's BuRIAL SAGA

The Umira clan's contention that it was they and not the immediate family who had the right to bury its prominent members was used by another Luo clan in 1989. With the death of Robert Ouko, the minister for foreign affairs who was murdered in 1989, I and others looked back to the evidence adduced by the Umira Kager clan in SM's burial case. Ouko's remains were transferred to Lee Mortuary in Nairobi to await burial arrangements. William Ogendo Seda, Ouko's brother, and George Olilo clashed over the rightful burial place. George Olilo, who was then the mayor of Kisumu,

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claimed to be the vice-chairman of Ouko's clan. They opposed the immediate family on the matter of Ouko's burial. Mayor Olilo and Ouko shared a maternal grandmother. Therefore, according to Luo customs and traditions, Dr. Ouko was Olilo's son. Olilo referred to SM's burial saga when he laid out his clan's position: a Luo, and especially a prominent leader like Dr. Robert Ouko, could not be buried on commercial land. Olilo argued that in addition to being his home, Kisumu was Dr. Ouko's parliamentary constituency. Meanwhile Mr. Onyango Otiende, the chairman of Kisumu Union of East Africa, asked urbanized citizens to stop confusing Dr. Ouko's family over the burial issue. He said in the Kenya Times (February 20, 1989) that Ouko's home was not in Nyahera but in Koru. On February 19 and 20, the Daily Nation reported that Ouko's clan had met and resolved to have him buried at his birthplace in Nyahera, twenty kilometers from Kisumu. Olilo told the Nation that the minister could not be buried at his Koru home because Dr. Ouko was the clan's patron. However, the mayor declined to name the burial date, saying that it would depend on the wishes of the state. He added that the clan meeting was intended to make burial arrangements, according to Luo custom. Olilo went on to say that under Luo customs, the firstborn son could not be buried anywhere else but in his ancestral home. He insisted that Koru was an acquired home, not the ancestral home, and therefore Ouko could not be buried there. Olilo stated that the clan elders had met at the late minister's Nyahera home to make plans for how they would receive and feed visitors during the burial ceremony. Yet the Kenya Times reported on February 20 that the burial date had been set and that relatives and friends in Kisumu were awaiting word from Nairobi as to where the burial would occur.2 Olilo and William Seda said that the clan considered Koru to be a commercial farm, which the Oukos had bought several years earlier, as many people did soon after independence. He had not moved out of his homestead, they contended. Many people, including myself, bought land in Koru, which was reserved for white settlement during the colonial era. Therefore, Olilo argued, it could not be our home. Moreover, he added, Koru was not even in Kisumu; it was in Muhoroni. To add more weight to their contention, they also pointed out that all of Ouko's seven children had been born in Nyahera. Later on, Olilo seemed to change his mind and swallow his words. In the Kenya Times (February 20, 1989) Mayor Olilo was reported as saying that, contrary to reports appearing in a section of the press, the late minister's family and not the Kisumu Union of East Africa Welfare Association was expected to make the final decision on the burial. He said that Christabel, Robert Ouko's widow, and his mother, Mrs. Susan Seda, would be consulted before a final decision was made. Olilo maintained that the Welfare Association had no right to decide for the family

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where the body should be buried. "Ours is a Welfare Association," he said, "and our deliberations dealt mainly with how to take care of those attending the funeral." Upholding the widow's rights was obviously a complete reversal of the association's previous position, and only it can reveal who actually influenced its decision. Any delay in burying Ouko would have been disastrous, as his remains had to be disposed of quickly. Yet three years before, in the case involving me and Joash Ochieng', the Luo sages had argued that a burial in Nairobi was out of the question. Siringa had testified that according to Luo customs, SM did not have a home in Nairobi and could not be buried there, as traditional rituals had not been followed in selecting a home site.3 Later, he said that although he knew that Luos were farming and had businesses in Koru and Muhoroni, they didn't have proper homes there. Under cross-examination he said that he did not know any Luos who had been buried in Koru, Muhoroni, Kitale, or elsewhere.4 Siringa maintained that prominent Luos, including all Luos over twelve years old, are never buried in Nairobi.5 This, he said, was for the protection of the living members of the clans, for "if a deceased [person] is buried outside clan land, we believe it is as if his body has been thrown to wild animals. Bad blessings will also follow from the deceased-he will haunt us."6 Joash's testimony gave an additional argument as to why SM, and by implication all Luos, had to be buried by the Luo sages: "Since children become members of the clan, custom does not allow them to decide or point out where their father is to be buried. Deceased chooses where to be buried. Views of his wife are irrelevant. She is a member of the clan, but because she is a woman [my emphasis] she will not participate in identifying the burial place."7 Later, Joash Ochieng' said, "Mrs. Otieno asked me to agree that Otieno be buried in Nairobi, according to his will. I told her it was impossible ... tradition and customs did not permit it."8 The judgment of the Court of Appeals held that "Otieno was born and bred a Luo and as such, under Luo customary law, his wife on marriage becomes a part and parcel of her husband's household as well as a member of her husband's clan. Their children are also members of their deceased father's clan." And although Siranga had heard that the wife and children would not attend the funeral, he held that it was "not necessary that wife and children be present during burial. "9 Based on all this evidence, and all that the Ominde clan had said before Ouko's burial, it must be concluded that it was not in accordance with Luo customs and traditions to bury Ouko in Koru. But who intervened? Mayor Olilo's pronouncement that the widow and mother of the deceased decided on the burial place cannot be sustained for several reasons. First, they are both women. And as the head of the Umira Kager clan said in my case, "Wambui is not next of kin of the deceased. His children, brother, sisters,

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and mother are. Ochieng' Ougo is closest, then children, sisters, and mother."IO I was considered a chattel belonging to my husband and the same should have applied to Mrs. Ouko. I therefore conclude that there was the usual interference by the invisible man: the "higher authority." The way the matter was put to rest is unbelievable, knowing the Luo and their treatment of the dead. As I said before, Dr. Ouko had to be buried quickly to avoid speculation about state involvement in his murder. Dr. Robert Ouko, the member of Parliament for Kisumu Town, was reported missing after returning from a visit accompanying President Moi to the United States. Ouko was later found murdered near his farm at Got Alila. His remains had been thrown down from a plane as it passed near his home in Koru. The commission appointed to investigate the death was later disbanded by President Moi. Most Kenyans considered the commission, headed by Justice Gicheru, to have been impartial. However, to a president who meddles in everything that goes on in the country, the commission he appointed turned out to be dangerous. This proved beyond reasonable doubt that the government had something to hide. We Kenyans, however naively we may look to our government, at least know that no plane would leave the airfield without permission and a record of where it was heading. The radar is there to detect any unauthorized plane. It goes without saying that the government would have no difficulty telling Kenyans which plane had dropped Ouko's remains. Failure to identify the plane has made Kenyans assume that the government had a hand in it. It is presumed that Ouko's death was a political assassination by the same powers that made him side with the Umira Kager clan in SM's burial saga.

FIGHTING FOR DEMOCRACY IN MOl'S KENYA

The United Nations Convention on Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination Against Women (1981), which Kenya ratified in 1984, did not help in my case, nor did it help the women of Kenya fight discrimination. But women and men were fed up with this and other evils of the current regime. In 1991 when I returned from visiting my children, I found some people had woken up and started fighting for the restoration of democracy. Under Jaramogi Oginga Odinga's leadership, they tried to register a second political party. Since the constitution would not allow a party known as the National Democratic Party, we started a forum, which did not require registration-the Forum for the Restoration of Democracy (FORD)-to struggle against the regime. I was very excited because now I was able to share my views with other people. No longer would I be in the ignominious position of being a political pariah as I had been when I had opposed Moi from 1979 to 1985 in the KANU Delegates' Conference; peo-

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ple had avoided me solely because I opposed the president. However, the truth was that I was not against the president as such, but I was opposed to his undemocratic rule. We decided that the best way to bring about democracy was to stage large, public demonstrations. We planned to march to the Kamukunji parade grounds, where we used to demonstrate against our former colonial masters. In order to facilitate the meetings, we used made-up names for each other because all our telephones were tapped. If, for instance, we wanted to meet at Paul Muite's house, we would say that we were meeting at Obiero's. (Obiero is a Luo name and Muite is a Kikuyu name.) If the meeting was at Dr. Waiyaki's house, we would say that we were meeting at Dr. Koech's house. (Waiyaki is a Kikuyu name; Koech is a Kalenjin name.) A few days before the demonstration, Jaramogi Oginga Odinga was arrested in his home in Nairobi. He was not even allowed time to dress but was taken to Siaya in pajamas. Siaya, the district headquarters of Central Nyanza, is 300 miles southwest of Nairobi. Moi ordered the General Service Unit and the regular police to beat us up, throw tear gas on us, and harass us to force us to disperse. Our group's leaders were arrested and taken to their home districts. I was able to avoid being arrested during the crackdown at Kamukunji. After fleeing the parade grounds with the others, I hid until the security forces left. I had hidden my car behind a bamboo fence and a KANU official kept me informed of whatever the police were doing as they searched for me. I waited until evening and then drove home. Later, a friend telephoned to tell me that they had arrested Paul Muite, an advocate of the High Court of Kenya and a lawyer for human rights. Throughout the night I drove from police station to police station in Kiambu District, searching for Paul. The only station I did not visit was situated in Lari, the coldest part of Kiambu. That, as I discovered later, was where Muite was held. We arranged for people to wait outside every law court in the area to see whether Muite would be charged. Paul Muite was brought to court at Kiambu District Headquarters under heavy guard. Most of the other demonstrators were released on bond well before we could secure Paul's release. I was very impressed by the demeanor of Paul and James Orengo, another lawyer who was charged in Siaya district court. They walked from their jail cells as if they were coming from the Hilton hotel. In them I could see the old spirit we had when we fought for independence. As I watched their determination, I knew that I would not be alone anymore, others would join me in telling Moi the truth. Back in 1979, when I first told Moi that he was not governing Kenya properly and that his misgovernment might cause an army coup, many of my colleagues thought I was mad. Yet the army nearly took over in a coup attempt in 1982. The new leaders of FORD consisted of younger, energetic

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people who were well educated and very intelligent. They were supported by members of the old guard like Jaramogi Oginga Odinga, Dr. Munyua Waiyaki, and Waruru Kanja, a former freedom fighter. Less than two months after the demonstration, KANU removed Clause 2A from our constitution, the clause that had prohibited the registration of more than one party. On December 31, 1991, we formally registered the new party, Forum for the Restoration of Democracy. I was elected a member of the steering committee and chairman of the committee on the status of women. Later, I was elected as a member of the National Executive Council (NEC), a member of the General Council, a delegate to the Delegates' Congress, and secretary for gender relations. FORD's attempts to restore democracy were encouraged by the international attention we received. In January 1992 we learned that Moi had been criticized by the international community, especially the IMF and the World Bank. As a result, he decided to hand over power to the armed forces. All officers above the rank of major were called to a meeting at Kahawa Barracks, where Major General Mohammad, the chief of the General Staff, addressed the meeting. We had dispatched our agents to monitor events. Moreover, several people called to inform us what was going on, because the sound system they used was so loud that people outside could hear what was being said. All of them said that the officers were asking why they should take over an empty shell. Why, they asked, did Moi not give power to them when the nation had money? FORD was alarmed. We held a press conference in Nairobi at the International Press Centre, Chester House. We issued a statement, expressing our fear about the rumor of a coup and asking the head of state to clear the air. That same night, the police began to round up FORD's leaders. The Reserve Police came to arrest me after eleven o'clock at night. But they did not get me because I had gone to hide in a bunker. The Reserve Police officer who came to arrest me owns a shop at Adams Arcade, where he sells secondhand goods. He, like many others in that force, was an Indian. We Kenyans ask ourselves, "Why is it that Moi fills this police unit with so many Indians, who are British citizens? Is it to use them to oppress the forty-two indigenous African ethnic groups?" Not finding me at Lang'ata, they decided to go to my Upper Matasia home. But, of course, they did not find me there. During the weekend they arrested Dr. Joseph N. Karanja and Professor Wangari Maathai. In the meantime I alerted the international community about our predicament. I sent the news to Amnesty International, in both Europe and the United States, Human Rights Centers, the U.S. State Department, and other organizations that are concerned with democratization. I sincerely thank Dr. Vivian Lowery Derrick, who was then president of the AfricanAmerican Institute, for circulating my letter to organizations in the United

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States. I stayed in hiding, watching the television news, where constant announcements were made about who the government was hunting. Repeatedly they announced that Wambui Otieno was being sought but had not been found. Somehow I managed to speak to my lawyer, John Khaminwa. I reminded him about a law that allowed a person to surrender to the court and be bonded before being charged by the police. He confirmed that the law was in force and we agreed where we would meet after he had sorted everything out. By the time we met, a lot had been done by the international community. Professor Wangari Maathai and Dr. Karanja had been taken to court and bonded for Ksh. 100,000/- each. Wangari was taken to court in a pathetic condition. Friends of mine who were staying in my home had been informed that Wangari was kept in the station. She had been forced to sleep on a cement floor at the Lang' ata police station without even being supplied with a blanket. These courageous women went to the police station and stayed there nearly the whole night, pleading to be allowed to give Wangari blankets. The following day, they returned to the station after alerting Paul Muite to appear in court, as Wangari needed his legal services. They also talked to a medical doctor at Nairobi Hospital about Wangari's condition. In the afternoon the same women followed Wangari to the law courts. Her condition had worsened so much that colleagues who saw her at the court cried. Later, she was admitted to Nairobi Hospital, where she remained for several days. The day I surrendered to the court I disguised myself by dressing as a Muslim woman, wearing a cloth around my head and a dress patterned with a jogoo (cock), the KANU symbol. I used the skills I had developed as a Mau Mau scout to keep from being roughed up by the security forces. When I spoke with the relative who escorted me to court, I used a Coast Province dialect of Swahili so the court officers in the corridor could not suspect me of being Kikuyu. Rather than entering by the main door, as I had been instructed, I entered by a different door. At the entrance to the magistrates' chambers, I removed the headdress. I knew my colleagues, friends, and relatives would be waiting for me, but I avoided them. My bond was set at Ksh. 100,000/-. From court, I went to Nairobi area police headquarters and wrote in my statement that I was not guilty and reserved my defense. By 2:30 P.M. I was back in court, where I pleaded not guilty and was bonded. The judge ordered me to report to the Kilimani police station every Friday. My advocate requested that I be allowed to report to the Karen police station, because it was closer to my residence. This was agreed to, and I was instructed to report each Monday. For the next year, we had to report to the court every two weeks to hear the indictment; then a nolle prosequi was entered by the attorney general and the case was dropped.

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As brutally as some of us had been treated, we did not let state harassment derail our movement. As soon as we registered FORD as an opposition party, we began enrolling members in the movement. This was not a difficult task because everybody was tired of Moi's government. The poor had become desperately poor and there was enormous corruption, with bribery in all government offices. People were disgusted. In Ngong you have to give a bribe in order to get permission to subdivide, sell, or transfer land. If you pay the district officer, usually through his clerks, you get the transfer more easily. You do not have to attend the Land Board meeting, where permission to engage in land transactions is supposed to be granted. They merely backdate the documents to the date of the last meeting. However, if you attended the Land Board meeting, you still paid the bribes. And of course, no one ever knew what happened to the money, since there were no receipts. The exercise still goes on to this day. You are told the money is for development or harambee, which was Jomo Kenyatta's brainchild. As I understand harambee, you give what you can afford. But now, you are told how much to pay. With all this corruption, the arrest of people on flimsy pretenses, and many other ills, people joined the opposition readily. To be able to operate more easily we decided to open an office in Ngong. We rented an office, for which I donated the furniture, and contributed money to pay for somebody to staff the office. On the day we opened the office, we contacted the Ngong police, who assured us that all was well before we drove from Nairobi to Ngong. My car was in the middle of the convoy, but when we reached the boundary between Karen and Ngong, one of the FORD Ngong officials asked me to lead the convoy, as I knew where the office was located. Later I learned that he was working for the government. We proceeded to Ngong, but when we turned into the road that leads to the district officer's office, about 200 yards from the FORD office, we ran into a roadblock. My car was blocked by a Kombi (Volkswagen van), license KYZ 967, belonging to Mr. Ole Mondet. The assistant chief, Parsitav ole Sayo, shouted "Yule ndiye Wambui" ("That is Wambui"). Another voice said, "That is Raila Odinga." Speaking in Kikuyu, a man who was walking along a path coming from Jogoo Bar (which I learned later was where they had spent the night) shouted, "You people go home or we beat you up!" The warning was too late because the warriors came from all directions and started throwing stones, slashing us with swords, using rungus (clubs or batons) that had iron inside. All sorts of weapons were being used on my body, the car, and everyone else in our group. I remember looking up to see a sword stroke aimed at my neck and I closed my eyes. One of my colleagues knocked it away before it reached me. I was dragged out of the car by a young man who I was later told was Ole Saioki. By then, I had been so badly beaten that I was numb. One blow had hit me directly on the spine. I

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was also cut on one ear and on the left side of my head. My hand had already been broken by the first blows, so I could not even try to run away. A man rushed over to me and asked, "Is this the one? Should I finish her?" The police officer who had been standing with his colleague two steps from me said, "Tosha! Wacha sasa!" ("Enough! Stop now!"). They both lifted me up and took me toward the post office. As we passed my car, a new Toyota Corolla 90 that was terribly battered, I asked the policemen, "Is this my car?" They told me the most important thing was that I was alive. At the post office they made me sit down. I heard a gunshot. Then the police told me they had called a Land Rover to take me to the hospital. When I got in the Land Rover one of the attackers threw a stone; the police pointed their guns outside the vehicle and one of them said, "Nitapiga hawa risasi" ("I will shoot these people"). The mob then ran toward the Ngong market across the road. Sickly, I thought, "Oh, God, they are going to attack the women in the market." I could hear the police talking but I was not really registering anything they said. I tried to speak but I could not, as I lost consciousness. I had bled so much that my blood collected in a pothole, where I had been thrown; for two months after the attack, people could still see the stains where the blood had dripped onto the road. Because I knew the road so well I could tell when we reached Dagoretti Comer, so I started trying to speak. As we approached the city mortuary, I managed to say that they should take me to Nairobi Hospital. One of the policemen directed the driver to go to Nairobi Hospital, where I was taken to the casualty ward. My sister, who works there, was called by hospital staff who were crying. I am told that when they tried to administer a tetanus injection I said that I was allergic to penicillin. Later, my sister commented that life is precious and the will to live so strong that even barely conscious, I had told them that I was allergic to penicillin. When I woke up I found Reverend Njoya, the outspoken minister of the Presbyterian Church of East Africa, saying prayers for me. That same night I had an operation. Very early the following day, a civil servant who was a friend of mine came in to see me. To avoid being seen by anyone who would report his visit to the security forces, he came early and left after only a very short time. He told me that the first information he had received was that I had been killed. Later on in the day, I was told by the nurses that on the previous evening Nicholas Biwott, who was Moi 's right hand and the former minister for energy,ll had come to the hospital almost the same time we got there. I decided that when I got out of the hospital, I would conduct my own investigation of the incident. My investigation revealed which vehicles were used to ferry the attackers, where they had been housed, how much money they had been paid, and

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who the attackers were-we even discovered some of their names. We were not surprised to learn of the involvement of the General Service Unit, a paramilitary wing of the armed forces used to quell riots. Lorries belonging to Nyakio Transporter, an Ngong-based company, were used to transport the attackers. The owner, who used to get government contracts, also provided two Landcruisers and one Land Rover. Matatus (pirate taxis) were also employed for the ambush. A man known as Chege wa Njeri allowed the use of his matatu (license KZB 468). Another man known as Ero-Ero provided his vehicle (license KYZ 918). They also used Mr. Mondet's matatu (KYZ 967) and a vehicle belonging to Njoroge Kirumba, the KANU chairman of Kiserian (KZA 340). Chief Parsitav ole Sayo provided a Land Rover. The exercise was coordinated by Councilor Kiplonga. Some of the attackers were kept in a house owned by William ole Ntimama, the minister for local government. Others were put up at Jogoo Bar and Lodging Hotel. I also obtained information that the vice president visited Mr. Reuben Rotich, the district officer, the night before the attack and gave him Ksh. 200,000/-. The meeting at the district headquarters was attended by James Moiyae, a Kiserian businessman and a close confidante of the vice president; George Kinuthia Saitoti; Njoroge Kirumba, the KANU chairman from Kiseria; Nyakio, who owned the Olyaki 0 Transport Company in Ngong; Ole Koitee, a Kiserian businessman; William Murere Mshishi, Saitoti's business associate; Ole Kiplonga, councilor for Ewaso Kedong; Chief Parsitav ole Sayo; Ole Sankaire, who lived in Oloseos; David Matura from Olchoro/Onyore; Mwema, a youth wing member of KANU; Ole Lenana, a youth wing member of KANU; Ole Murku Nalumoru; Simon Benjamin Roimen and his brother Richard, two KANU youth wingers; Peter Njenga from Olkeri; Moses Ole Moiyak; and Chege Wanjeri, of the Ngong Meat Supply Company; Wa Mutung'u; Ole Kiok; Ole Matinaa; Ole Ngomea; Tom Ole Turme; and Chief Ole Teeka. The younger men in this group, especially the youth wingers, carried out the attack. By report, the vice president came back after the attack with another Ksh. 200,000/- to complete the payoff. Of course, the vice president denied involvement; but Terr ole Gugu and Mr. J. M. Kimamanti later admitted to the press that they had been offered Ksh. 100,000/- each to do the job, but both had declined.12 The brutal attack that sent many of us to the hospital was not the end of the government's harassment of FORD members. One Saturday I had gone to attend the wedding of the daughter of the secretary general of the Democratic Party. After the church service I went to a FORD meeting at Kibera. When I came home I found that a friend from Ngong had come to visit me. She told me that she was worried that I might have gone to the Bomas of Kenya because she had learned that Saitoti had brought his "campaigners" there. I told her that I was, indeed, going to Bomas and that if he

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dared to talk to me he could tell me why he had ordered the attack! When we arrived, we saw him and his people eating and enjoying drinks. I went and sat at the counter. A woman whose father is KANU councillor Kimani Kinuthia came and asked me to come say hello to the vice president. I asked her whether she was serious, asking that a lady should walk to greet men instead of the other way round. After a short discussion, she went back to the vice president's party. Later, Saitoti and his entourage came over and greeted me. I asked him why he had me beaten up. He denied it and implicated Reuben Rotich, the district officer of Kajiado North. He told me that Rotich had arranged the punishment because I had been to the DO's office and abused him. While it was true that my colleagues and I had gone to the DO's office to apply for a license to hold a meeting, it was he who had been extremely rude to us. None of us abused him. We only told him that it was because of his behavior, and that of other government officials, that it was necessary for us to organize to oust Moi. Rotich struck our executive officer with his official staff(a stick made of varnished wood, a symbol of office issued to police officers, wildlife guards, and administration officers). Weeks later, when we were campaigning in Kajiado North, Reuben Rotich called us to his office to discuss security for the candidates, which the government provided. During the discussion I asked him why he had organized people to thrash us. He flatly denied being involved. I replied, "But Mr. DO, when I was being beaten you were in Ngong town watching the whole exercise." He denied that he was present during the attack. Then I said, "But when I spoke with the vice president he told me that you were the one who organized the beating, and not him." Rotich denied it, but weakly. John Keen, the secretary general of the Democratic Party, also accused Rotich of paying to have him attacked; he, too, had been severely beaten. Throughout that campaign, the lives of FORD members were threatened time and again. On a number of occasions, I narrowly escaped being attacked. During one of my visits to Ong'ata Rongai, my car was hit with stones. They did not get me as I drove away very fast, but my car was damaged again. When I reported the incident to the local police, nothing was done. Another time when I was in Ong'ata Rongai to visit a sick colleague, the police, dressed in riot gear, appeared within minutes of my arrival. They had come to arrest me on the grounds that I was having a political meeting. When they found that there was just the three of us, they ordered us to leave. All of this harassment, including the interference in my right to bury SM by a "higher authority," goes back to my opposition to Moi in the 1979 delegates' conference. From them on, he and his party made my life very difficult. I was under constant police surveillance. After following me for

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so long, some of them became very friendly when they came to see that I was not doing anything wrong. A few actually became my informers. I did not let police surveillance and harassment silence me. I stood against the vice president during the general election, not necessarily to win, but to show women that even a vice president can be opposed. Once, while campaigning in Magadi Soda, I was attacked by Saitoti's men. They followed me in a Land Rover, passed me, and stopped a few yards ahead of me. I swung the car about and drove very fast to a relative's house. Luckily, it was open and David Njenga Rungee and I got safely inside. Rungee was terrified because he had seen one of Saitoti's men take out a gun. I had given the car to John ole Senteu, a Maasai colleague, to park while we ran intothe house. Saitoti's men drove around the house several times, shouting through a loudspeaker, "Kama siyo huruma ya KANU Youth '92, Wambui, tungekumaliza leo" ("If it were not for the mercy of the KANU Youth '92, Wambui, we would have finished you today"). After Saitoti's men left, we returned to the car only to find that its tires had been deflated. I asked some security men who worked in Magadi Soda to help us repair the car. When the car was done they and the area's chief escorted us out of Magadi Soda. KANU Youth '92 had been organized by Moi to terrorize the nonKANU candidates. He supplied them with lots of money and a fleet of 200 vehicles. Soon after the election, they were disbanded. Their vehicles were confiscated by the security forces, producing some conflicts since they did not want to give them up. Whenever they were found driving these vehicles, armed security forces would stop them and tell them to get out of the vehicle, as it belonged to Moi. As a reward, the national chairman of the KANU Youth, Mr. Jirongo, was given funds from the National Social Security Fund (NSSF)B to start his own business. After the election, he was dumped and Moi's men demanded the return of the funds, which he could not pay. It was really too dangerous to drive to areas like Magadi Soda to campaign as an opposition candidate, since there was only one road through the bush to get to the place. But I eluded Saitoti's men time and again. Using my old scout knowledge, I visited the whole constituency, including Shombole, Olkilamatian, and Ngurumani, wearing different clothes to disguise myself. Because of my campaigning, an opposition councilor was elected in Olkilamatian, unopposed; but later Saitoti's men beat him up so badly that he resigned. Now, when I think about the violence the state used, I get scared. Second to the attack at Ngong, the events on nomination day were the most alarming. The nomination of the candidates who intend to stand for election is done on a day selected by the Electoral Commission. Between eight o'clock and noon, candidates are expected to fill out official forms and pro-

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duce a letter from their party's chairman, attesting that the candidate has been duly nominated to run for a given office. Also, the prospective candidate is required to produce the national identity card, voting card, and other personal documents. If any of the required documents are missing, the candidate is disqualified from standing for election. A secret informer leaked news to me that government thugs were going to wait for me at Mbagathi River (Athi River) to stop me from presenting my nomination papers. For days, I worried about how I would evade the ambush. I must admit that at one time I got really scared. After the beating in Ngong and the experience in Magadi Soda, I was not going to take the threats lightly. I thought of using a mortuary vehicle and sent people to ask how much it would cost. However, I ruled it out when I thought, "How will I get out of Ngong?" Using a mortuary van, we could enter Ngong undetected. But once we presented the nomination papers, the mortuary vehicle might have to serve its real purpose on the return trip. I thought of many ways and finally came up with a stratagem. I bought a wildlife suit that looks like an authentic wildlife officer's uniform. To the illiterates, it would appear very similar to the armed forces' uniform. I hired a small pickup and procured Saitoti's posters and KANU T-shirts. Accompanied by one colleague and my driver, I left my house at 4:00 A.M. Since the nomination center opened at eight o'clock, we drove around the Ngong hills until 7:45 A.M. At the center we parked the pickup next to the government Land Rovers. Just before eight I left the pickup. John Keen was being interviewed by the international press, but I avoided them and got inside the hall. John came in and sat next to me. My disguise was so good that people I knew very well would come, say hello to John, and bypass me to greet people near us. When the nomination exercise started, John went ahead of me. I then rose and went to register. I greeted him in Maasai. At first he did not answer me, but after he realized who I was, he shouted, "Ni wewe? [Is it you?] You Mau Mau!" We both laughed loudly and that is when some people in the hall realized who I was. As soon as I was registered, I left. People outside the hall still did not recognize me when I emerged; and rumor went around that I was too afraid to appear at the nomination center. But at one o'clock my name was announced as one of those nominated. When a fight broke out and one of the candidates was injured, I was already at home with my supporters, enjoying a meal. The success of my ruse at the registration center did not stop the threats or danger. Twice again, I was nearly killed at Ngong and Kiserian. As registered candidates, we were supposed to be assigned government security guards. But the state played dirty tricks even with this. They made sure that we did not get adequate protection. When I was supposed to be in Ngong, they sent security to Kiserian. In Ngong I escaped being killed by a Saitoti campaigner's Land Rover by inches. When we campaigned in

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Kiserian, they sent security men to Ngong. There I was surrounded by drunken Saitoti campaigners, who were about to manhandle me. One of my private security men, who is a trained army officer, threw me inside the vehicle and drove my car away at high speed. I escaped death many times, but I relished every bit of the exercise, since my aim was to show that standing against a corrupt government can be done. I hope this encourages women to fight for parliamentary seats in the 1997 election.

*

*

*

Throughout those days when I was being harassed by Moi's government, the international community showed a lot of concern for my safety. On several occasions, American embassy personnel offered me political asylum. One diplomat said they would pay for me to leave the country. He asked me what I had at stake in Kenya and why I would not accept their offer. Although I refused to leave, I appreciated their concern very much. My reason for not leaving was that if I did, Moi would have felt that he had frightened me into leaving. I was not prepared to give in to his devilish egoism. I kept on quoting, Cowards die many times before their deaths; The valiant never taste of death but once. Of all the wonders that I have yet heard, It seems to me most strange that men should fear, Seeing that death, a necessary end, Will come when it will come. 14

Another thing that I am happy about is the way I stood up for ending tribalism. Throughout these tribulations, I knew very well that I was going to lose. Apart from the fact that I had some Luo support and a Luo last name through marriage, I knew that the old trick of interfering with the ballot boxes would be played again. Election boxes were arranged in alphabetical order, which made it easy to remove all the Luo votes, which typically begin with "A" or "0." And this is, in fact, exactly what happened. At 9:30 A.M. we counted six ballot boxes missing at the Ong'ata Rongai Primary School polling station. There were three missing boxes at the Arap Moi Primary School. Because of the stand I took, I was sure that I would lose the election. I refused to support the Kikuyu presidential candidates who were being led down the path of ethnic politics by Moi. They were using the divide-andrule slogans, which urged people not to vote for Luos because they were uncircumcised. The Matiba faction and many Kikuyu voters fell for this. I did not campaign to be elected in Parliament; instead I talked to the people, telling them that dividing ourselves on the basis of tribal membership

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would only help Moi win. The Democratic Party presidential candidate was a Kikuyu, and the FORD Asili candidate, Kenneth Matiba, was a Kikuyu. I pleaded that we vote for Jaramogi Oginga Odinga and believe his promise to appoint a Kikuyu as vice president. In Kikuyu circles, I was thought of as a traitor. I went further and told the Kikuyu that this was the only way we would succeed, but no one wanted to reason it out. I pointed out the changes in the constitution and the new election rules that required a candidate to win 25 percent of the votes cast in five provinces. "If you only appeal to fellow Kikuyu or Luos, where will you get this?" I asked. The answers to my questions were silly. They would say, "Nitukuhotana [We shall win], Wambui." I decided to stick to the truth. After all, Odinga had fought for democracy and human rights while all these people were in Moi's government. Professor Wangari Maathai went all over the country preaching the same thing-an end to tribal politics. But as is said in my language, "Gia aka gitikagio kiarara" ("A woman's word is only believed the next day"). You listen to her words, but sleep on it. To this day, I call my friend Wangari by the nickname "Wangari Kiarara," or Wangari Tomorrow. After the general elections I thought of resigning from politics, for I did not think our people were committed to democracy. I thought of them as people who only wanted power; the rest was mere pretense. I felt cheated that the people I had trusted could turn a deaf ear to the tribulations of our people. Surely even if politics is said to be a dirty game, can it be so dirty? Up to this day I have not recovered enough to trust that we are walking on the same path. In 1993 we started all over again, going back to the people, but this time without a new message. There was some change, but not the change we had promised the people. All the ideals had been sacrificed to greed. I have yet to understand these leaders' commitment. As far as I could see, they had none. I could remember all the times I had visited officials of the different parties, warning them that tribalism was going to ruin the whole country. It seemed as if nothing could be done to deter them. In 1994 Mzee Jaramogi Oginga Odinga died. I felt his loss very deeply. Odinga, who had for so long fought for freedom and against tribalism in politics, had been an ally all these years. I got very involved in his burial arrangements, though it was something I did not want to do. I have only seriously been involved with the burial of my friend Beatrice since SM's burial. The only thing I cared about was ensuring that Mzee Odinga was buried with dignity. I also remembered that he had wanted to campaign in the Lugari by-election in western Kenya. I decided that, as a last memorial to him, I would do this. After the election I decided that enough was enough. I needed a break from politics. I decided to leave the country in order to publish this book in liberty. I took a leave of absence for one year. I am continuing in the strug-

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gle with the hope that people will abandon tribalism. If you do not trust my tribe, how will I trust yours? We must give one another the benefit of the doubt-after all, politics is a gamble. I have written my tribute to my late father, friend, and mentor Mzee J aramogi for future generations to read; but I just want to remind the people of Kenya, with future elections in mind, of the words of Mzee Odinga: "I want to help you cross this river of democracy. When I reach the other side I will go and rest a very happy man, knowing very well where I have left you." We refused to follow Mzee Odinga, and, of course, we know that we would have made a wise decision had we followed him. As Mau Mau we sacrificed voluntarily. Since then our history should have taught us the art of give and take. We have made a mistake for which our children may not forgive us. Greed, lust for power, and a lack of national patriotism have ruined our endeavor. My life 1n Kenya has been very trying, but it has also been educational. It has changed my attitude completely. I used to quarrel with my husband when he told me to learn the art of being suspicious. I have learned his truth the hard way. I shall live a better life during the remaining days that God may give me. I will also try to listen more and to talk less, which is a problem with all politicians.

NOTES

1. In Kikuyu tradition, the mugumo is a ceremonial tree. Under the mugumo tree, the Kikuyu offer sacrifices to Ngai as we face Mt. Kenya. 2. Kenya Times, February 20, 1989, p. 12. 3. High Court of Kenya at Nairobi, Civil Case No. 4873 of 1986, Virginia Wambui Otieno v. Joash Ochieng' et al., p. 76, line 21, evidence by Omolo Siranga. 4. Ibid., p. 80, line 12. 5. Ibid., p. 80, line 29. 6. Ibid., p. 81, lines 30-31. 7. Ibid., p. 77, lines 20-21. 8. Ibid., p. 84, lines 16-18, evidence by Joash Ochieng' Ougo. 9. Ibid., p. 80, lines 1-3, evidence of Omolo Siranga. 10. Ibid., p. 79, line 12, evidence of Omolo Siranga. 11. Biwott was forced to resign from his office because of donor nations' complaints about his corruption. According to reports, it is Biwott who is the instigator of the tribal clashes in Kenya. Biwott remains Moi's closest friend and adviser. 12. As reported in the Nation, February 22, 1994. 13. NSSF funds are contributed by employees and employers to benefit workers when they retire. However, employees have complained that when they retire, they do not receive the money. Many have traveled to Nairobi at their own expense, to file complaints to no avail. 14. From Shakespeare's Julius Caesar, Act II, Scene 2.

Returning to FORD (Kenya) headquarters with bandages on my head and arm to attend an executive council meeting after the attack at Ngong. I am being given a welcome kiss by Jael Mbogo, FORD secretary for the environment. Photo© Nation Newspapers Ltd.

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Discrimination against women has been practiced from time immemorial and in every society. It is deep-rooted and rationalized because of culture, tradition, religion, or indoctrination. In the Christian tradition, the story of how Eve enticed Adam to eat from the tree of knowledge (Genesis 3:16) has been used to justify men's control over women. Yet nowhere does God give a man superiority to harass, persecute, and discriminate against women, as has been done for millennia. Modem women have created a global movement to fight male discrimination. After years of struggle in different national, regional, and international forums, the Commission on the Status of Women was established in 1947 under the auspices of the United Nations, only two years after its founding, to pursue "equal rights between men and women." In 1972 the UN General Assembly declared 1975 as "International Women's Year." In the same year women converged in Mexico City for a conference whose theme was "Equality, Development, and Peace." The conference adopted a World Plan of Action. In 1979 the Convention on Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination Against Women was adopted by the UN General Assembly; it was offered to member states for ratification and became effective on September 3, 1981. In 1980, the Mid-Decade Conference in Copenhagen adopted a program of action with additional subthemes of employment, health, and education. In the same year, the General Assembly adopted the International Development Strategy for the Third United Nations Development Decade and reaffirmed the recommendations of the Mid-Decade Conference. In 1985 the conference was held in Nairobi to review and appraise the achievements of the UN Decade for Women. The second part of the agenda was to develop forward-looking strategies to the year 2000 and beyond. Delegates representing over 150 nations adopted the forward-looking strategies by consensus. In between these conferences there was a lot going on to accelerate the 225

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work of the decade, especially in the field of education and creating awareness among the less informed members of our society. A lot of emphasis was put on disseminating the forward-looking strategies; they were translated into several languages in order to reach women's grassroots organizations, authorities, and members of public. The forward-looking strategies' themes and plans of action were meant to give meaning to the Convention on Elimination of All Forms of Discrimination Against Women. United Nations member countries are expected to adhere to its constitution, rules, and objectives. Likewise, member countries who ratified the convention were expected to comply with its sixteen articles by integrating them with their countries' laws. However, it was easier to vote for or against the convention than it was to put it into action. The men who form the majority in decision-making bodies became resentful, feeling that their male chauvinism was threatened. They retreated from any action that would promote the convention's articles. In some countries the usual excuses of social, cultural, religious, and other biases were used to delay making the changes. Some leaders just closed their minds against it, even after ratification-it was something obscure, not really worth knowing about. Such was the situation in Kenya, which ratified the convention on March 4, 1984, and did nothing to implement it. Many of us believed that Kenya's ratification of the convention was done solely to avoid embarrassing the government. During the 1980 Copenhagen conference, the government offered to host the 1985 UN Decade Conference in Nairobi. The fact that the government took four years to ratify the convention shows clearly the noncommitment to the sixteen articles of the convention. I was not surprised during the Burial Saga, therefore, when the courts totally ignored the convention's stipulation of equal rights for women in all matters pertaining to procedure in courts and tribunals. Article Two (f) is very clear on this, as are Articles Fifteen and Sixteen. Discrimination against women in cases involving family law has been rampant for many years. Women are thrown out of their matrimonial homes by their spouses. When they go to the courts for redress, they are asked to show how much money they contributed to the purchase of these homes. Had judges been impartial, they could never have ignored these basic rights for women. The words of the grave digger who testified in my case captures the terrible injustice Kenyan women experience in the courts. "If Otieno is to be buried in Nairobi," he said, "then it will appear women nowadays decide where their husbands should be buried .... I told you that it is only men who decide on burial sites. Women are told what to do." In rendering his judgment, Judge Bosire commented that witnesses such as this impressed him a lot. Bosire thought that the grave digger was very candid and truthful, giving him no reason to doubt his testimony. It seems discrimination against women in Africa is very deep-rooted. It does not distinguish

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between an educated man and an illiterate one. Unless women elect other women to Parliament, the change may have to be gradual, for these attitudes have been transmitted from generation to generation for centuries.

OBSTACLES TO WOMEN'S PROGRESS IN KENYA

Like women in other regions whose governments made token gestures after they ratified the convention, Kenyan women were denied equality. Equality would have meant giving men and women equal responsibility and equal opportunities to participate in all aspects of life. Women cannot be confined to triple burdens in reproduction, taking care of homes and children, and production, while the government stops them from full participation in political, economic, cultural, legal, educational, social, and religious institutions. Women's domestic roles can no longer be used as a reason to deny their equality. Because of men's failure to share responsibility, women are overburdened. In fact, it is the men who need urging to become more responsible for their children and households. Kenyan women share the responsibilities for supporting the family; they are wage laborers or business entrepreneurs who use their earnings to promote the welfare of their families. They pay taxes to promote the country's economy; some employ other people. In the rural areas, full-time housewives take care of agricultural activities: they grow food crops and cash crops, raise poultry, cattle, and pigs. And still, somehow, they manage to produce handicrafts while taking care of their children and husbands. And although their activities have not been evaluated, they contribute a lot to their families and to the country's development. Since women do not own the land, we should fight to change the way cash crop producers are paid. Although women do all this work, the payment for cash crops goes to the man; and at times women get nothing for their labor. When women are exploited by their spouses, any income from these activities should be divided between them. We should also fight to remove obstacles in borrowing that deter women's businesses from proper growth. We need to create a new chapter in our history so that a woman is totally involved with the advancement of the family, as well as with nationbuilding activities. Together we must fight against any kind of gender oppression based on culture, religion, or any doctrine. Women are also their own enemies. We have no excuse for our failures in politics. The key is politics! In Kenya, for example, women form the majority of voters in every constituency, yet we have not used our numbers well. Why have we not used our vote properly to elect women? We are constrained by limited campaign funds, but if women would not involve themselves in corruption, demanding payments for their votes, if they could also stop thinking about themselves as the inferior sex and as second-class

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citizens, we would take every seat-including that of the presidency. We would be in a position to distribute decisionmaking jobs to other women. Instead of being distributors of high-ranking jobs, we have opted to be beggars. In fact, by this time we should have taken over the power and then distributed it wisely and taught men that women do not discriminate on the basis of gender and that we can rule better. This is the case all over the world. Political participation aside, culture is the greatest constraint on African women's advancement. Moreover, it is the most difficult and confusing aspect to overcome. A girl is brought up in a culture that favors male children. And the well-being of children-now and in the future-is used to justify continuing some cultural practices that harm women. "If you do not do this or that, it will affect your children," we are told. Women have been made to do things that are totally unnecessary, such as submitting to genital mutilation, because they are frightened that if they do not submit to the operations, then their future children will suffer. Women are frightened into agreeing to circumcise their girls by songs that say an uncircumcised girl will be naughty-she will even climb trees! Uncircumcised girls will be too sexual; they will laugh when a child chokes on a banana. In the old days, the best part of the meat was reserved for men. Men are not subjected to these customs and yet they are also parents. Their failure to comply does not produce disaster for the children. Are the taboos meant to demoralize and terrorize women? Are the taboos there to suppress the ignorant women so they remain subservient to male domination? The answer must be yes. The guardians of "tradition" cleverly subjugate women by using the fate of their children. They know that a woman cannot withstand being told that this or that will happen to your children if you do not follow the customs of your ancestors. They know that women will suffer anything to save their children. If the rights of women are to be guaranteed, we must start with the basics of culture itself. First, women themselves have to be persuaded that some aspects of culture subjugate them. Many women are resistant to change and follow tradition blindly, believing that because their grandparents and parents followed certain rules, they, too, must comply. These customs may have been okay in the past, since people did not know better. Resisting change, the contemporary woman teaches outmoded culture to her daughter. Such women would rather be harassed by culture, religion, and other doctrines than be heard to object. As a wife and mother, she is the main carrier of these injustices. It is the duty of those of us who have broken the barriers to work to create awareness in our less fortunate sisters, who have inadequate information, as to how and when they are discriminated against. Those men who have liberated themselves from these harmful, outmoded practices also have a duty to educate their sisters, wives, mothers, and other unenlightened men. For men also suffer discrimination of a dif-

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ferent nature based on religion, culture, and doctrines. They should join the women who work for change to eliminate these obstacles. Religious beliefs also constrain women's advancement. Like culture, it has also been transmitted down through the generations. Normally one joins the parents' religion. For most families outside Coast Province and Somali areas, participation in these faiths began in the nineteenth century when Arabs and Europeans brought Islam and Christianity to our country. Where white Christians first arrived in the nineteenth century, Christianity dominates. And where Arabs visited, the Islamic religion dominates. When a woman marries, she is supposed to adopt her husband's religion. She may have been a Protestant from birth, then met a young Muslim man in school. When they marry, she must convert to Islam. What commitment does she suddenly find in the Islamic religion that she had not found all those years? Similarly, if she were a Muslim girl who desired to marry a Christian, why should she be required to change her religion because of marriage? Women first follow the parents' religion, then change blindly because of their marital status, which constrains their freedom to choose and implies that women cannot decide their own destinies. If religion is going to hinder development and full participation in all aspects of life, then women must open a dialogue with their religious leaders and demand change. Kenyan law and the church allow the mix of Christian and "traditional" practices in marriage. When a Protestant man from an indigenous tribe wants to marry, he is forced by his tradition to follow certain ceremonies and to pay bridewealth. In the Kikuyu traditional marriage, after bridewealth is paid, the ceremony of gutinia kiande ("cutting the joint," also known as ngurario or gukundio ucuru) is observed. During the ceremony, the men slaughter and cook a goat. Parts of the goat are put into a calabash. The bridegroom cuts small pieces from the joints of the goat and gives them to the bride. After close members of the family are given this special meat, the bride gives some porridge to the bridegroom. Cutting the goat's shoulder joint symbolizes that the new bride has left her own clan and becomes a member of her spouse's family. When the gutinia kiande ceremony is concluded, the two are legally and fully married according to Kikuyu customs. After this ceremony, the couple goes to church for an African Christian marriage under the Christian Marriage Act Cap 150. Kenya's mixture of two types of marriages preserves polygamy. The ngurario marriage, which is performed first, takes precedence over the Christian ceremony. If a man married under that custom takes another wife, he cannot be accused of bigamy. The woman becomes a member of the husband's clan and therefore subject to their traditions and customs. The church's position is made even more delicate because when the man takes on a second wife, it excommunicates him. But if he decides to divorce the first wife, the same church will lift the excommunication and conduct his marriage ceremony with the second, until then adulterous, wife.

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The church, in this case, is aiding and abetting this man to ill-treat his first wife by providing these options that are obviously questionable. And why is the church silent about the fate of the divorced first wife? That first wife, who contributed a lot to the marriage, is left with nothing. There have been cases where she was thrown out of her matrimonial home without anything-not even her clothes! And our corrupt courts do not award her maintenance. One of the most serious things that needs to be changed is the behavior of Christian families toward a widow. As I prepared to write this book, I interviewed many widows in Kenya. Most of them argued that the whole society discriminates against them, for they are treated with contempt and abandoned by the Christian families they interacted with before the death of their spouses. Many of these widows stated that both customary practices and Christianity discriminated against them. There are also a lot of discrepancies and conflicts between Christianity and traditional practices. Most communities in Africa believe that the wife of a deceased brother should be inherited by his younger brother or a close relative. Yet, if she does this, Christians will accuse her of being adulterous and excommunicate her. And if the problems of restricted choices were not enough, should she be fortunate enough to find a second husband, Kenyan law steps in to discriminate against her. Under the provisions of Succession Law Cap 160, she forfeits ownership of her late husband's estate if she remarries. This is not the case with the man, who retains possession of his deceased wife's estate when he remarries. Kenyan widows simply do not have the same options as widowers. Most are isolated and lonely. I found that the majority of those I researched either rebelled against the culture, rejecting the authority of the male-dominated clans, or began to drink heavily to bury the loneliness. Alcohol and drugs offer a kind of escape from the reality of a harsh society, a slow suicide. This weakness of body and mind not only destroys the widow, it destroys her orphaned children. It is therefore a disastrous choice. Others join churches and become near-frenzied during services, giving testimonies, speaking in tongues, dancing, and leaping in praise of God. In their excess, they tend to judge others to be sinners because they do not behave like them. Those widows who seek relief in religion are in no better situation than the widows who become alcoholics or who find themselves abandoned by a second husband. They bury their heads in the sand of heavenly salvation, neglect their pain, or try to forget it through religious activities. They may also look for consolation from others of their kind in the religious festivals and fellowships. If this goes very far, it is as serious as drug addiction. They will neglect their families, except those who join them in the fellowship. Of the three kinds of consolation, if the third one is taken with the

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right spiritual conditions, it offers a temporary relief. But one must try to avoid religious fanaticism. Having observed the sad fates of other widows, I have come to see that we have to become pioneers for change, creating awareness about the miserable state of affairs for widows, single mothers, divorcees, and older single women. All too easily, our society accepts that their concerns are ignored. If one questions the authenticity of African traditions vis-a-vis widowhood, one stands against the combined forces of family and tradition. For these reasons, I am calling for a concerted effort, especially by Christians, to examine seriously the contradictions in our African Christian society and save the society from ruin. I also call my colleagues in widowhood to come out of their cocoons. This sorry state is not a situation of our own making. We must cling together and seek lasting solutions to our problems. We must develop a widows' empowerment program geared toward protecting our legal rights and rights to exist as individuals. We must fight hard to persuade the church and the society at large to eliminate outmoded customs that discriminate against us. Wife inheritance is one such outmoded cultural practice that harms men too. Because of culture, they are forced to inherit their brother's wife (or wives), taking on economic and moral responsibility for her and her children. Conjugal relations with the widow are also required. Yet what do the inheritors stand to gain? Both children and property remain in the name of the deceased. If the widow gives birth, the child is the descendant of the deceased husband, whose properties remain his and are inherited by his children. We have an extended family system that cares for the needs of its members. Couldn't the system support the widow without compelling her to have sexual relations with her brother-in-law? Moreover, marrying one's widowed sister-in-law causes disagreement with one's own wife because, whether the practice is traditional or not, she is bound to feel jealous and cheated. Why don't we accept that this custom is outdated? It brings neither benefit nor credit to anyone who is a party to it. Is it done for monetary reasons? To ensure the well-being of the widow? Surely today, there are better methods-such as investments, pensions, savings, or insurance-to provide for a widow and her children. Doesn't this kind of expectation deter some men from working hard, in the knowledge that even if they die, there is always a brother to take care of their families? The practice of inheriting widows also encourages men to live a wasteful life in the belief that someone else has a moral responsibility to take care of their family. In such cases, assuming the responsibilities of a deceased brother's family may add too heavy a burden to already heavy ones. To take care of his brother's immediate family, a man forsakes the woman he persuaded to share his life for his brother's widow. The other way of creating equality between men and women is for men

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to accept that their spouses have a right to be educated, be employed, have access to credit, purchase insurance, invest, sell their produce, and maintain savings. Women should be encouraged to become self-reliant: to own property, join income-generating groups, and purchase shares in real estate companies, banks, industries, or even joint partnerships. A modern man married to a career woman should encourage his wife to do ·an of this so that their offspring might have a secure future. Moreover, where possible, married couples should purchase properties in both their names.

DISCRIMINATION AND HUMAN RIGHTS VIOLATIONS AGAINST WOMEN IN KENYA

First and foremost, a discussion of gender discrimination and violations of human rights cannot be divorced one from the other. The 1979 women's convention was intended to help women attain personal liberty and fundamental freedoms by the year 2000. Underlying its articles was the belief that there should be a recognition that women have the right and ability to conduct themselves as adults. The "Forward-Looking Strategies" and agreements that emerged from the 1985 Nairobi conference focused on seven strategies for women's empowerment: 1. Elimination of all forms of discrimination against women in the political, legal, economic, and social spheres; 2. Improved access and quality of education for women and girls; 3. Increased control and access to agriculture; 4. Elimination of all forms of violence against women and children; 5. Increased participation of women in the formal sector, employment, politics and decisionmaking policies in our society; 6. Increased involvement of women in environmental and sustainable development; 7. Increased access to, and provision of, quality health care. Although there were important achievements between 1986 and 1996, Kenyan women faced overwhelming constraints that limited our ability to achieve the convention's goals. Kenya has been involved in a democratization process. A basic premise of both democracy and a respect for human rights theory is toleration of differences rooted in gender, race, ethnicity, religion, or ideology. Asserting one's own rights and respecting those of others is integral to participatory democracy. Yet the party in power does not truly acknowledge that women's human rights are essential and fundamental freedoms. As a nation, we must look at the convention's objectives with an open mind as we face the challenges of democratization.

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First, we must agree that this is not solely a Kenya African National Union affair. It is the concern of all women, regardless of our political affiliations. Women's problems are the same; no one political party has guaranteed women equality and complete protection under the law. We must be nonpartisan when women's issues are not fully guaranteed and where women are not given equal participation. Kenya attained independence in 1963 and became a republic. More than thirty years later, have we not educated our daughters to become district commissioners, provincial commissioners, nominated members of Parliament-at least to represent women's interests-heads of parastatals, and even cabinet ministers? No woman has yet been appointed judge in the Court of Appeal or even to be attorney general of our country. Second, the measure of success must be deeds-a complete commitment to removing obstacles that hinder women from participating. The measure of success can no longer be mere words or manifestos or empty phrases in a constitution. It must be demonstrated to us that there is concern for the "forward-looking strategies." We must spell out human rights theory as it applies to women. If the progess of women's empowerment is measured by the fortunes of elite women and not that of the majority, who are often poor or homeless, then we are doing very little. The small number of women in the wage labor force are employed as secretaries, nurses, teachers, manual laborers, and so on. Only a small percentage of women in the industrial sector hold positions above the level of cleaners. The same applies to finance, insurance, real estate, and community, social, or personal services. In the informal sector, women are stall/kiosk owners, market women, brewers of alcohol, prostitutes, or domestic workers. We must try to elevate the entire female population, regardless of their status. We have to be serious about uplifting the standard of our less fortunate sisters: women who are engaged in stereotypical jobs on farms and as handicraft producers-women who, day in and day out, have to meet the requirements of the Chief's Act. These rural women are at the mercy of the district administrators. Failure to act on their issues will mean the death of our goal. There is very high unemployment in Kenya today, yet our people are very dynamic; they are undertaking economic activities to meet their needs. The government, which should encourage these activities, is busy demolishing those efforts due to petty jealousies. Habitat International helps build houses for low-income people, for example, with over 1,300 branches worldwide. Yet the Habitat headquarters should be removed from Nairobi because its efforts are being derailed by the actions of the government. Although women's groups are deeply rooted in Kenyan society, most of them tend to be small, rural, family-based, self-help organizations. They usually focus on basic survival activities: helping their members buy iron roofing, homes, or land or build water tanks for their homes. Urban-based,

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elite women's organizations that advocate the empowerment of women and articulate a women's agenda are relatively new. They are still developing and need more grassroots support. Because of oppression, these women's groups are still incapable of influencing broad policy or affecting institutional changes at the center. When we talk about women's rights in Kenya, as well as elsewhere in Africa, we must ask ourselves if we are talking about only one certain class of women. When we talk about gains in women's empowerment, education, access to the legal system, and health care, we are dealing with only a small fraction of women, while millions of our sisters lack the basics. In Kenya and many other parts of Africa, countless women have been rendered homeless; they are refugees. We must ask ourselves what is important to tackle first. I believe our priority should be the basics: shelter, food, clothing, and access to health facilities and education. We have to accept that we are at square one. Parents' initiative has produced higher enrollments in preschool and primary school for both boys and girls. But how far can these children go with the exorbitant school fees? How many parents are unable to pay for their children's school fees in high schools, and how many cannot afford the uniform? The drop-out rate of even very gifted children is increasing. Once Kenya's system of primary education was among the most praised in Africa. What has happened to us? What education are we giving to the street children, both boys and girls? And what education can we give to displaced persons? The reality is that women in areas where "tribal cleansing" is the government policy have no access to even the minimal education they used to enjoy. They have no teachers to teach their children; because of "tribal cleansing," nonindigenous teachers had to run away from the violence Moi's policy initiated. The mothers have no hand in this whole affair and can do nothing about it. The system of education has reached a state of near-total collapse. The University of Nairobi was once acknowledged as one of the best in Africa. But do our universities now operate in the true sense of a university? Let's call a spade a spade. University lecturers have gone on strike because Moi would not register their union. Had lecturers guaranteed that Moi would be the universities' chancellor for life, their union would have already been registered. Had they guaranteed that he could wear those funny hats and gowns, which makes him believe that he has a Ph.D., then they would have been fine. Moi knows that his appointment as chancellor would depend on the recommendations of the union if it were registered. That being the case, why did they think he would register them? Political corruption has been allowed to threaten our food supply. Food production has been adversely affected by climatic conditions and political instability. Where there is no stability, there is no development. Agriculture,

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the mainstay of our economy, is carried out mostly by women. Those who are most affected by the poor management, production and storage of our staple crops are women and children, the majority of whom live in the rural areas. Political corruption also affects the health of our women and children. Are we initiating health programs or are we killing the healthy? If health care workers are restricted from entering the so-called security zones, how do we ascertain that there is adequate medicine reaching those people? Do we have sufficient quantities of medicine to give to our people, anyway? And what sicknesses are we treating? Those inflicted with bows, arrows, and guns or diseases? How is Kenya expected to give its people medical care when doctors are on strike because-for fear that they may raise their voices to protect their rights-Moi does not want to register their association? The United Nations convention on children's rights has also gone down the drain. It is totally violated. Child labor, especially by girls, is on the increase. This is caused by poverty due to escalating food prices, school fees, house rents, etc. Children are working to subsidize their parents' meager income. Those employing them do so because they cannot afford to pay the salaries of adult workers. So they employ young girls as nannies, placing at risk their own children's safety, for they can do little else. When elite women think they are becoming empowered, they are deceiving themselves, unless, of course, empowerment is meant for only a few women. We might even be forced by circumstances to abandon some of these struggles for high-status jobs and fight for the basic dignity of our people, their rights to exist as people, their rights to shelter, food, and health facilities. All that was done after independence in settling people in the former White Highlands, the rich farm country reserved for Europeans only, has been demolished by Moi's regime. Like the former colonial masters, Moi 's regime wants to eject Africans from the former White Highlands (now part of Rift Valley Province). But this time, he wants only the Kalenjin and the Maasai to stay. These are the people, he claims, to whom the land belongs. But after independence, when the Highlands were opened up to African settlement, the nation borrowed money to buy the land from the British. The people who now own the farms paid for them and, like everyone else, paid their taxes, which repaid the loan. Yet now, throwing them out without compensation, as Moi does, is robbery. It leaves them homeless. Those farmers who are treated so summarily improved the land and built houses there. We must reject Moi's tribal politics. We must fight to coexist and tolerate one another; if we fail, the future is bleak. The United Nations conventions will achieve very little in many parts of Africa if the current trend of governing continues. Africa's leaders must be persuaded to stop ruling with iron fists, to stop displacing people, to stop

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burning people's homes and granaries. Murders, rape, the destruction of property, and political corruption (the cancer of Africa) cannot guarantee human rights. We must agree that we stopped development at a certain stage and started going quickly downhill, and are now at the bottom. At local and international forums, we in the opposition declare that Moi's government has reduced our development to stagnancy. There is no education, no farming, no medical facilities, no economic development, no emancipation of women-all in all, nothing. The problem for us is that women like to talk about political empowerment, but they dare not join the fight when it is hot. They come later, expecting to be elected to Parliament. We are lucky to have a few women members of Parliament; they are like a drop in the ocean, however. Kenyan women in nongovernmental organizations are more visible than women in government. Politically minded women fight more to be in the NGOs because they get more money and are more popular. And now that our men have been stripped of their political power, politically minded women must resolve to join hands with them and fight to restore it. This coalition will give us a better argument for equal rights with men. No man can tell seasoned women leaders like Professor Wangari Maathai, Hon. Phoebe Asiyo, Professor Micere Mugo, Tabitha Sei, Rose Waruhiu, Hon. Martha Karua, Grace Githu, Jael Mbogo, and a newcomer, Hon. Charity K. Ngilu, that they are not involved in fighting to liberate our country. I, an oldtimer, have worked with these ladies and have come to admire their courage and dedication. If other, older women politicians are not prepared to work alongside them to restore our country's dignity, let them retire and make way for the younger women and the young, very dynamic girls who are determined to fight for their future. Women activists, such as those who have been leading the Green Belt Movement, Maendeleo ya Wanawake, or the defunct Rural Development Cooperative Society, have not been able to develop and create a national agenda for women because of a hostile political climate, state co-optation, political manipulation, lack of resources, and internal leadership struggles. Those of us who argued for a national agenda for women and the inclusion of gender issues in constitutions and manifestos have suffered greatly. We have been taken to courts to defend our rights as women, arrested, manhandled, and beaten by young men from KANU (otherwise known among us in the opposition as the National Union of Thuggery and Lawlessness). Moi has persecuted us by deliberately hampering the women's income-generation and environmental projects we started. At the same time, women who have been serving as members of Parliament have also suffered at the hands of KANU. KANU's oppression has sometimes rendered it impossible for them to deliver any services to their constituencies. After KANU makes sure that the women parliamentar-

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ians have failed, the party plants men in their constituencies to finish them politically. Such was the case with Phoebe Asiyo when KANU planted Akiki Amayo, Ndolo Ayah, and Dalmas Otieno to keep her quiet. These men were recruited by Moi's cronies to make it impossible for her to represent her constituency. She was not allowed to hold public meetings without interference, development projects in her district were stopped, and she could not organize any fund-raising events. During the election, Moi and the KANU party poured thousands of shillings into her opponent's campaign and she lost the election. However, later she ran as a FORD candidate. Now she is back in Parliament, representing the same area. In Ukambani District, Hon. Agnes Ndetei has gone through hell because of KANU's manipulations. It began with the shooting of her woman agent, who was standing beside Agnes at the time. Her colleague was hospitalized in Nairobi, and Agnes paid a lot of money for her treatment. In another act of sabotage, Agnes was arrested in Nakuru when she and other members decided to go to Molo, which was hard hit by the violence of the ethnic cleansing campaign. They wanted to assess what was happening and to visit the wounded. Moi's government arranged for their arrest while they were lunching at the Nakuru Hotel, well before they were to arrive in Molo. They were charged in court; however, the attorney general later entered a nolle prosequi and the charges were dismissed. And at one point in this campaign of terror and obstruction, a voter was paid to sue Hon. Agnes Ndetei, challenging her election as member of Parliament for Kibwezi. And although Agnes has rejoined KANU, this bad history cannot be erased or forgotten. Filthy lies were spread about Hon. Martha Karua, member of Parliament for the Gichugu constituency in Kirinyaga District. Her opponent tried to shame her by calling her all kinds of abusive names; part of the campaign rhetoric used against her was that she was not fit to stand for election because she was uncircumcised and therefore a child. She was held up to ridicule because she had divorced her husband. Christian women in the district were so angered by these insults that they voted in large numbers. Because of their support, Martha Karua prevailed and won the election. To this shameful history must be added the harassment, beating, and arrest of Professor Wangari Maathai, me, and my supporters in Ngong. In that campaign, Moi's government rigged the elections to stop women from winning more seats in Parliament. I still blame women for this shortcoming, as I am a strong believer that if only women politicians would devote themselves to women's issues, they would win many seats in Parliament and also on local and urban councils. When I began writing this book, there was a task force appointed by the attorney general to look into laws that discriminate against women. But

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because these commissions are a joke, I have personally lost interest in appearing before them, although I am one woman who has been discriminated against by the use of customary law in our courts. I did not see any reason for attending the commission's hearings. Was it a mere coincidence that the commission was appointed just as the world conference on women in Beijing was nearing? To me it was another trick to make Kenya look more progressive in order to avoid international condemnation. However, very little, if anything, came out of that commission. Moi really knows how to play with Kenyan minds; he has totally undermined the morale of people and deterred them from appearing before the commission. I still find the recommendations I gave before prior panels to be more appropriate than the rigged findings of Moi's commissions. Repeatedly, I have said that it is only women who will fight the menace of gender discrimination. Researchers should be assigned to investigate the roots of gender discrimination, which are clearly deep-rooted; the research should begin with the cultures of the different ethnic groups, religions, and any other doctrines that subordinate women. Based on the results of such research, we shall find a better method of disseminating information and creating awareness as to how women are discriminated against and what taboos and customs subjugate them. This will constitute a considerable step forward in rooting out discrimination. Unless women are in a position to distinguish between the bad and good intentions of the men they are in contact with, we shall make very little progress if any, even after the year 2000. In the name of culture, women have lost their rights to inherit their spouses' property after death; they have been used by the dead man's brother to the detriment of the children, whose welfare should be paramount. But because this has been the practice for as far back as they can remember, these women do not protest; yet they suffer for it. It is these women that we need to reach. An open dialogue with them will produce better data than we have. Through such a dialogue, we can minimize or eradicate discriminatory practices altogether. The methods we have used since 1975 have disseminated information slowly, because the chiefs and district officers made sure that the women who attended these seminars were their collaborators: they sang the chiefs' tune. Such representatives would not disseminate information to the others after the seminar ended. For quite a while we have been living in fear, in a kind of police state. The provincial administration and police force work together to instill fear in our people, monitor their movements, limit information, and restrict movements of anyone with knowledge of our laws and international treaties. Kenya has continued to arrest and harass prisoners of conscience, has been accused of beating arrested persons to induce evidence, and has subjected the Somali people of North Eastern Province to a de facto state of emergency, demanding that they register as persons twice when other

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Kenyans are not subject to similar registration. The police force and the administration have orchestrated violence against women: a favorite form of torture is to insert bottles and other objects in women's private parts. Those who do not live in Kenya may find it difficult to believe that these things happen in a free Kenya. In Mexico, the conference theme was "Equality, Development, and Peace." Our Kenyan delegates focused on access to clean water. The topic was sidelined-it was considered marginal and irrelevant for developed countries. When we talked of health facilities, that too was considered of little relevance. We tried very hard to persuade the women activists from the developed world of the relevance of access to shelter, education, and food production. Then twenty years later at the Beijing conference, because of Moi's evil regime, we were compelled to talk about issues of violence against women, indecent assault and rape. Because of the magnitude of Moi's misdeeds, we have to wash our dirty linen in public. We cry out for democracy, good governance, transparency, repatriation of our funds from foreign banks, and a better economy. We cry out for an end to political murders, arson, displacement, and homelessness-all committed in the name of Moi's regime. Where there is truth, there is victory; but it can never come easily or freely. We cannot justify keeping quiet when the Moi regime incites Kenyans against one another, when bows and arrows are piercing and killing our people. As I write this book, my heart is full of sorrow, for women are lagging behind in political empowerment because they are afraid or are not united. Others are unable to overcome their inferiority complex. I am one of the oldest players in the game; now I am asking, "Na wathi wakura, wongagiriruo ungi?" ("When wisdom diminishes, you turn to the youth. Where are you, my daughter?"). As a mother, I beseech you, my girl child, to come from your cocoon and fight. It is only then that you will be able to say to the men, "Here we are! Let us share power and make Kenya a better place to live in." I have come a long way, through thick and thin, fighting without bitterness. It is time for others to pick up the torch and carry on the struggle. Sons of Africa, rise and fight, Daughters of Africa, rise and shine. In the struggle for Africa, We shall fight and conquer now! Forwards ever! Backwards never! In the struggle of Africa There is victory.

Acknowledgments

SM, I remember you and miss you for your love, gentle smile, guidance, patience, generosity, kindness, care, humility, devotion, and, above all, "security" you afforded me and our children. Your remains were taken from us, we were left bare, but there is one thing no being can do: rob you from our hearts! We fought to the bitter end to bury you with dignity, according to your wishes. Your clan is growing steadily, as you had hoped. I remember always your admiration of Shakespeare and how you often quoted from Macbeth: Life's but a walking shadow-a poor player That struts and frets his hour upon the stage, And then is heard no more. It is a tale Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, Signifying nothing. May the love of God and the blood of Jesus Christ that was shed on Calvary to save mankind guide you to eternal Peace. Amen.

*

*

*

I most sincerely thank my children, foster children, grandchildren, and foster grandchildren for standing by me during the very hard times of the struggle in the courts to bury my late husband, their father and foster father, Silvano Melea Otieno. I thank them for their unshaken unity, for being out of school for two semesters. And yet, through hard work, they graduated on time. I love them for their unyielding power. I also thank those of my children who were at times absent from their jobs to attend to matters pertaining to their father's burial. You were all great! My children, I loved you 241

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then and I love you now, for life everlasting. May God guide you to work hard and achieve the best in your lives. May the clan of S. M. Otieno continue to prosper according to his wishes. I adore you for suffering with me and for your courage to endure-for together we stand, divided we fall. As Lamartine says, "Grief knits two hearts in closer bonds than happiness ever can; and common sufferings are far stronger links than common joys." I also wish to acknowledge my lawyers in the S. M. Otieno burial case and the application for letters of administration and confirmation of his estate. Dr. John Mukalasinga Khaminwa and Mrs. Joyce Khaminwa really did their best for me. And though I cannot repay them for all that they did, I am very grateful. I am reminded of the words of Tacitus, who said, "When the State is most corrupt, the laws are most multiplied." I also thank my witnesses: Jairus Michael Ougo Otieno, Patrick Oyugi Otieno, Rahab Wambui Muhuni, Musa Muna, Juta Johanna Adema, Alfred Adema, Timan Njugi, Charles Machina Ngari, James Ligia Ole Tameno, Mariamu Murikira Mfahaya, Godwin Wachira, Harry Mugo, Edward Muni, Jane Njeri Muchina, and Albert Mulindi Mayavi. I thank you all very much. I shall remember you for your courage and honesty Uust as I'll remember, for their cowardice, those who dared not come forward). You are my true friends and will remain so till the day I die. And as for Raphael Kamau Ng'ethe, my advocate, who shared my tribulations day in day out and gave me good advice, gently with a smile, I'll cherish your kindness always. My deepest appreciation for all that you have done for me. "Blessed are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy" (Matthew 5:7). And to my nephew Hesbon Owino Opiyo, thank you for being with me when others forsook me. May God shower blessings on you. Always remember the wise words of Burke: "Nothing, indeed, but the possession of some power can any certainty discover what at the bottom is the true character of any man." And to you, my neighbors and friends who supported me through the saga, I say thank you. Among them are Julius Gikonyo Kiano and Jane Mumbi Kiano, Njoroge Mungai and Njeri Mungai, Joseph Njuguna Karanja wa Minnie (deceased) and Beatrice Karanja, Priscilla Nguhi Kimani, Musa Muna, Harry Mugo and Alice Mugo, Wairimu Magugu, A. H. Kamau and Waithera Kamau, Kiania Njau and Njeri Kiania Njau, Hilda Ocholla and family, Andrew Mungai Muthemba and Njeri Muthemba, Mr. and Mrs. Kamau, Mr. and Mrs. Mbugua, Ng'ethe Njoroge, Solomon Kiragu Thandi, James Mwangi Njiri (formerly of the National Bank of Kenya), the manager and staff of home loans at the National Bank of Kenya, the manager and staff of Old Mutual, the manager and staff of National Bank of Kenya (Kenyatta Avenue Branch), Ida Raila Odinga, Ann Wamaitha (SM's secretary), Edward Muni (SM's court clerk), Muthoni Ndirangu, Naomi

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Nduruka Njau, Josephine Muhoni, Margaret Njanja (who drove me to court for those five months), Professor Wangari Maathai, Arvonne Fraser, Rev. and Mrs. C. Johnson of Fargo, North Dakota, Roland Dille (president of Moorhead State University), Mr. and Mrs. Forrest Tucker of Toledo, Ohio, Father Bill (of the Thomas Neumann Center, Moorhead, Minnesota), Eileen Hume (formerly of Moorhead State University), and the entire staff of the administration office at Moorhead State University. I also thank those many neighbors and friends who assisted me in one way or another. I remember all those Christians, of different denominations, who came to say prayers for us every evening and weekend and members of the Muslim faith who also came and said prayers for us. I love you all. I thank God for allowing me to know these great men and women. I give my special gratitude to my best bridesmaid, Jane Ngoiri Stewart, for coming home from London to give her condolences personally and to my best friend, Ruth Mary Wanjiku Trinder, the proprietor of Southern London Nursing Homes, who also came from overseas to share my grief. I have not forgotten any of you. You are always in my heart. And to you, the very Rev. Peter Njenga, thank you very much for your spiritual guidance. Without you I would have fallen. "Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness' sake, for theirs is the Kingdom of heaven" (Matthew 5:10). And thanks to Rev. Edward S. N. Njoroge, for a job well done at the mortuary. "For I know whom I believeth, and I am persuaded that he is able to keep that which I have committed unto him against that day" (2 Timothy 1:12). And to my dear brothers and sisters, sisters- and brothers-in-law, my in-laws, my relatives, especially Nyangui Ichoya, thank you all very much for your support and prayers. Blood is thicker than water. I learned it the hard way. And for you, my late father, Tiras Munyua Waiyaki, and my mother, Elizabeth Warimu Waiyaki, I feel guilty for quickening Dad's death, but I am still telling you as I did then, "Let your heart not be troubled. You believe in God. Believe also in me. In my father's house there are many rooms" (John 14:1-2). And for you, my dear mother, take courage. "For God so loved the world, That he gave his only begotten son, That whosoever believeth in him Should not perish but have everlasting life" (John 3:16). Thank you both very much for giving birth to me and taking very good care of me. Trust that I shall not let you down. I am carrying on with widowhood with courage and devotion. I shall keep my promise to my departed dad and to you. For my dad told me, "Even if you survive us and we are both gone, you will never go to Nyamila, Nyalgunga." I shall never break the promise that caused you heartaches and hastened my father's death. I shall not forget my church, the Presbyterian Church of East Africa, and the Church of

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the Province of Kenya (my husband's church) for your prayers, especially the Woman's Guild, Thogoto. Thanks to the St. Andrew's choir for singing for me my favorite hymn, "When the Storms of Life Are Raging," and to Archbishop Manasses Kuria for conducting SM's first memorial service at All Saint's Cathedral, Nairobi, in December 1987. And thanks be to God, the Son, and the Holy Ghost for creating me a very brave woman. Without you I would have died.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

I have read about five books on the S. M. Otieno burial saga. I have also read several pamphlets written by scholars in the United States and Canada. There has been a series of seminars and workshops on this issue. My observations are that some writers enjoy repeating the evil things that were said by my late husband's brother Joash Ochieng', his lawyer Richard Otieno Kwach, and the Umira Kager clan, ignoring the fact that it hurts me and my children. Some of the things that were written do not contribute either to social history or to law. I take it that although these authors are protected by the fact that the case is now a matter of public record, their consciences should remind them that somebody, somewhere may not be amused by it at all. I therefore urge future writers to write objectively, without hurting us emotionally. Nevertheless, I very sincerely thank those writers for making me even more determined to write this book so that I might tell readers what my stand is in this matter, so that I can express my innermost feelings as the wearer who knows where the shoe pinches. I say this because, when all is said and done, it is my husband and my children's father who died. It is our dear one who was buried by a mob, without us-a tragedy with parallels to Hamlet, Act IV, Scene V: "His obscure funeral, no trophy sworn, nor hatchment over his bones, no noble rite nor formal ostentation." I believe, as the Holy Scripture says, that "revenge is not mine. It is with the Lord" (Romans 12:19). I would be failing in my duties if I did not offer my sincere gratitude to my children and foster children for the moral and material support they gave me while I wrote this book. My thanks go also to my attorney, Corinna Vecsey of Fredrikson & Bryon of Minneapolis, for negotiating the agreement and royalties with my publishers. And to Rosalyn Wanjiru Otieno, attorney, for overseeing this project. I would also like to thank Professor E. S. Atieno Odhiambo, for writing such a great foreword and for all the advice he gave me. And my publisher, Lynne Rienner, especially Bridget Julian, who acquired this manuscript, and Jean Hay, for her assistance with editing. Last but not least, I would like to thank my editor and the writer of the

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Introduction, Professor Cora Ann Presley, without whom this book could never have been a reality. I still remember other people who have supported me so much and shared my experiences. Without you things would have been even more unbearable, but please remember that everything has a reason. Thank you all, Wambui

Chronology of Key Events

Date 1885-1895 1890 Aug. 14, 1892 Aug. 16-17, 1892 Sept. 6, 1892 1895 1915-1919 1921 1922 1925 1928-1934 Feb.20, 1931 June 21, 1936 1940 1944-1945 1948-1950 Oct. 20, 1952 Apri123, 1954 1954 1954 1955

Event Imperial British East Africa Company operates in the East African interior Waiyaki and Lugard pledge alliance at Gataguriti Waiyaki's warriors attack IBEAC porters Waiyaki arrested, tried, and exiled to the coast Death of Waiyaki British government assumes control of Kenya Massive conscriptions of Kenyan Africans for World War I East African Association (EAA) protests government labor, tax, and education policies EAA banned; Harry Thuku arrested and deported Kikuyu Central Association (KCA) formed Circumcision controversy; independent churches and schools formed Birth of Silvano Melea Otieno Birth of Virginia Edith Wambui Waiyaki KCAbanned Kenya African Union formed British report Mau Mau oathing activities State of Emergency declared; Kenyatta and 187 other activists arrested Massive arrests in Operation Anvil Villagization program as part of British campaign to defeat Mau Mau Wambui joins Nairobi freedom fighters Wambui arrested, screened, released 247

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1955-1957 1956 1958 1958 1959 1959 Jan. 1960 Feb.-July 1960 July 8, 1960

Nov. 1960 July 8, 1961 Jan.23, 1961 June 1961 Aug. 1961 Aug. 17, 1963 Dec. 1963 1967

1969 1970-1985 Oct. 5, 1978 Nov. 1978 Late 1979 Dec. 20, 1986 Dec. 26, 1986 Feb. 13, 1987 May 15, 1987 May 23, 1987

Chronology

Trade union movement involved with Mau Mau struggle End of active Mau Mau operations; Dedan Kimathi captured Nairobi People's Convention Party (NPCP) registered as a political party Africans elected to the legislature for the first time Murder of Hola Camp detainees; detention system ended as a result Wambui under restriction orders Kenya African National Union (KANU) formed; Wambui elected head of Nairobi Women's Wing Wambui studies in Tanzania Public Security (Restriction) Regulations 1960 L. M. 313, allowing proscription of Land and Freedom Army and other political organizations Wambui arrested and detained Wambui arrested; then detained and restricted on Lamu Island Wambui released from detention Kenya achieves internal self-government Kenyatta released Marriage ofWambui Waiyaki and S.M. Otieno Kenya attains independence, with Jomo Kenyatta as president Wambui elected vice-chairman of Lang'ata KANU sub-branch, also holds office of secretary, Karen Ward KANU branch Wambui runs for office in general elections and is defeated Wambui active in women's movement in Kenya Death of Jairo Ougo Oyugi (SM's father) Death of Jomo Kenyatta; Daniel arap Moi becomes president of Kenya Wambui elected chairman of the Maendeleo Handicraft Cooperative Society, resigns in 1986 Death of S.M. Otieno S.M. Otieno Burial Saga begins Judgment of the High Court of Kenya, Nairobi Civil Case No. 4873 of 1986 (Otieno v. Ougu) Final judgment of the Court of Appeal in Otieno v. Ougu S.M. Otieno buried by Joash Ochieng'

Chronology

Dec. 31, 1991 1992

1997

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Forum for the Restoration of Democracy (FORD) party registered Election campaign; KANU victory amid allegations of electoral fraud, violence, and human rights violations Election campaign; KANU victory amid allegations of electoral fraud, violence, and human rights violations

Glossary

Achera clan balozi baraza buibui Gikuyu githana harambee Karing 'a Church kimera kia mwene kimera kia njahi kiriri maendeleo majimbo manyasi matatu migwate mitego moran mugendi mugunda mukuyu Mumbi muthamaki mwomboko mzee

one of the nine Kikuyu clans named after the daughters of Mumbi and Gikuyu ambassador meeting, especially when convened by government official caftan and headdress worn by Muslim women legendary male progenitor of the Kikuyu people first milk produced by a cow after giving birth pull together a Kikuyu independent church one of two growing seasons (lit., season of millet) one of two growing seasons (lit., season of black peas) girls' dormitory, or sleeping place progress provinces, used more broadly to suggest federalism ceremony performed to dispel evil omens informal taxi captives Kikuyu martial arts warrior visitor (pl. wagendi) homestead farm (pl. migunda) fig tree, sacred in Kikuyu religion (pl. mikuyu) legendary female progenitor of the Kikuyu people ruler (pl. wathamaki) freedom songs elder-title of respect given to a patriarch or leader 251

252

mzungu Ndorobo

Ngai njahi njugu nyapara nyina pole pombe Swahili

ter teroburu ugali uhuru umoja urathi wanawake warurungana

Glossary

foreigner, usually refers to a European original hunter/gatherer inhabitants of the forested area south of the Chania River (also called Wandorobo) God black peas cow peas overseers mother sorry beer people of mixed African and Arab ancestry who have resided along the East African coast for centuries; also the language spoken by the Swahili people to inherit a widow (Luo) ritual to chase away evil omens before a widow may remarry (Luo) maize meal porridge, staple food for many Kenyans freedom unity prophecy women soldiers

Selected Bibliography

Benson, Mary. AFar Cry: The Making of a South African. London: Penguin, 1990. Berman, Bruce. Control and Crisis in Colonial Kenya. London: James Currey, 1994. Berman, Bruce, and John Lonsdale, Unhappy Valley: Conflict in Kenya and Africa, 2 vols. Athens: Ohio University Press, 1992. Cohen, David, and E. S. Atieno Odhiambo. Burying SM: The Politics of Knowledge and the Sociology of Power in Africa. Portsmouth, NH: Heinemann, 1992. Edgerton, Robert. Mau Mau: An African Crucible. New York: Free Press, 1989. Furedi, Frank. The Mau Mau War in Perspective. London: James Currey, 1989. Gregory, J. W. The Great Rift Valley. London: John Murray, 1933. Harden, Blaine. Africa: Dispatches from a Fragile Continent. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1991. Kanogo, Tabitha. Squatters and the Roots of Mau Mau. Athens: Ohio University Press, 1987. Kenyatta, Jomo. Facing Mount Kenya. London: Seeker and Warburg, 1938. - - - . Suffering Without Bitterness. Nairobi: East African Publishing House, 1968. Kershaw, Greet. Mau Maufrom Below. Athens: Ohio University Press, 1997. Kuzwayo, Ellen. Call Me Woman. San Francisco: Spinsters/Aunt Lute, 1985. Joseph, Helen. Side by Side: The Autobiography of Helen Joseph. New York: Morrow, 1986. Lonsdale, John. "The Prayers of Waiyaki: Political Uses of the Kikuyu Past." In Revealing Prophets: Prophecy in Eastern African History. Ed. David Anderson and Douglas Johnson. London: James Currey, 1995. Pp. 240-291. Maloba, Wanyubari. Mau Mau Analysis of a Peasant Revolt. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1993. Mandela, Winnie. Part of My Soul Went with Him. Ed. Anne Benjamin; adapted by Mary Benson. New York: W. W. Norton, 1984. Mashinini, Emma. Strikes Have Followed Me All My Life: A South African Autobiography. New York: Routledge, 1991. Mboya, Tom. Freedom and After. London: Andre Deutsch, 1963. Muriuki, Godfrey. A History of the Kikuyu 1500-1900. London: Oxford University Press, 1974.

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Selected Bibliography

Ngugi wa Thiong'o. Detained: A Writer's Prison Diary. Oxford: Heinemann, 1984. Ochieng', William, ed. Politics and Nationalism in Colonial Kenya. Nairobi: East African Publishing House, 1972. Odhiambo, E. S. Atieno. Rhetoric and Representation: The Narrative Discourses Surrounding the Contest for the Burial of S. M. Otieno, Kenya, 1986-1987. Johannesburg: n.p., 1990. Ojwang, J. B., and J. N. K. Mugambi, eds. The S. M. Otieno Case: Death and Burial in Modern Kenya. Nairobi: University of Nairobi Press, 1989. "The Passing ofWaiyaki." The Cornhill Magazine N.S. 54 (1923), pp. 613-622. Presley, Cora Ann. Kikuyu Women, the Mau Mau Rebellion, and Social Change in Kenya. Boulder: Westview, 1992. Ramphele, Mamphela. Across Boundaries: The Journey of a South African Woman Leader. New York: Feminist Press, 1995. Resha, Maggie. My Life in the Struggle. Johannesburg: Congress of South African Writers, 1991. Rosberg, Carl, and John Nottingham, The Myth of "Mau Mau": Nationalism in Kenya. New York: Meridian Books, 1966. S.M. Otieno: Kenya's Unique Burial Saga. Nairobi: Nation Newspapers, 1987. Stamp, Patricia. "Burying Otieno: The Politics of Gender and Ethnicity in Kenya." Signs Vol. 16 (Summer 1991), pp. 808-845. Suzman, Helen. In No Uncertain Terms: A South African Memoir. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1993. Thuku, Harry, with Kenneth King. Harry Thuku: An Autobiography. London: Oxford University Press, 1970. Toulson, Thomas. "Europeans and the Kikuyu to 1910: A Study of Resistance, Collaboration and Conquest." M.A. thesis, University of British Columbia, 1976. Van Doren, John. "Death African Style: The Case of S. M. Otieno," American Journal of Comparative Law, Vol. 36 (Spring 1988), pp. 329-350.

About the Book

Wambui Waiyaki Otieno, Kenyan activist and wife of tbe late S. M. Otieno, recounts her involvement in nearly a half-century of East African politics: her years in the Mau Mau movement, her role in women's organizations under tbe Kenyatta and Moi regimes, and the controversy surrounding her husband's burial. Her personal narratives and anecdotes paint not only a detailed self-portrait, but also an intimate picture of both colonial and postcolonial Kenya. Cora Ann Presley's introduction and extensive notes enhance the account, making it accessible to nonspecialists. Wambui Waiyaki Otieno is a noted speaker on both Kenyan politics and women in development. Cora Ann Presley is associate professor of African American studies at Georgia State University; her previous publications include Kikuyu Women, the Mau Mau Rebellion, and Social Change in Kenya.

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