Fear and courage: reporting Kenya's turbulent 80s and 90s

Caleb Atemi, takes us through the rough tempestuous paths that Journalists had to navigate in the 80s and 90s in the era of limited press freedom.

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Darkness was fast approaching. I hastened to the scene of crime for my daily story follow-up. Rains had been pouring the whole night and the soil was soggy. When I took the curve towards Got Alila hill, the sun briefly sneaked out of the clouds as if to tease the day. I quickened my steps onto the path that led to the foot of the hill.

I was headed to the place where the smoldering remains of Kenya’s foreign affairs minister Robert John Ouko were found. The ebullient minister had been consumed to the bone by intense fire.

Since Scotland Yard took over the investigation, they made daily visits to the scene near the banks of Nyando River, in Kisumu district. Daily, they dug through the soil in search of the bullet believed to have been fired into the minister’s head at close range as he knelt down pleading for his life. Daily they combed the place for clues and leads. Daily, I documented the ballistic search.

I spent time along the banks observing and taking notes. I was about to start my walk back to Muhoroni when I heard the sound of an approaching vehicle. To my delight, it turned out to be my friend Noel Okoth the Bureau Chief of the Standard newspaper. He gladly gave me a lift back to Kisumu and I happily shared my notes with him.  

Although we worked for rival newspapers, Noel and I allowed the reality in the field to guide us. There were tales we told together and historical moments we recorded jointly.   

During the single-party rule, playing one-man army could attract imminent death. Soon after the Ouko murder, strange fellows started following Standard and Nation Reporters. The government considered us dangerous voices. We all moved out into the YMCA hostels. We shared rooms. We shared meals. We shared transport. United, we could cheat the system.

Initially, the Nation didn’t have an official car. I relied on lifts to reach certain news sources. Taxis were rare and car hire extremely expensive. Kenya Times (KT), the official newspaper of the ruling party, Kanu had an official vehicle.

There was a day the KT team gave me a lift to Got Alila.  Gerry Oduor, the man in charge asked me to sit at the back of the empty van although there was ample space at the front. By the time we reached our destination, my back could tell a story on wrestling on a rocky surface. After an hour at the scene, they left me behind. Gerry said they were taking a different route and couldn’t carry me along.  To regain my strength, I sat on a rock and read a novel. Patience had become my companion. An hour later, a helicopter carrying Scotland Yard detectives landed. The sleuths granted me an interview then dropped me at the Nyanza Club. For my pain and suffering, I gained an exclusive story.

With Noel, we recorded the first anecdotes of history as it unfolded. Covering opposition leader Jaramogi Oginga Odinga for instance was risky business. He didn’t trust many journalists. Amos Onyatta of The Standard and I became his favourite reporters. We frequented his Bondo home for clandestine interviews. Because of government hostility, many Jaramogi stories died. The old man understood.

We documented the plight of citizens in Western Kenya. We told of the systematic killing of the people whenever the security forces unleashed terror like they did during the Ouko murder protests. We also told stories of hope from far flung villages.  

Professional Colleagues

Along the professional route I met enthusiastic and passionate writers such as George Nyabuga, now Professor, who joined the then East Africa Standard in the 1990s. Prof Nyabuga says; “We had a great team of reporters, sub-editors, editors, proof-readers, designers and the printing press staff all working towards producing a great paper and quality journalism. It was the passion for the job, the commitment, the camaraderie that made the team and the work environment beautiful.”

Nyabuga says that The Standard: “has witnessed and documented the development of the country, from its establishment as the ‘Colony and Protectorate of Kenya’, to the bloody, violent struggle for independence, the Mau Mau uprising, the British atrocities, independence, the first government led by Jomo Kenyatta and emergence of one-party rule. The paper made its mark during the reintroduction of multipartyism, promulgation of the Constitution of Kenya 2010, to the current government, and the many events in between that make Kenya’s history.”

Douglas Okwach was a young, enthusiastic and passionate reporter in Kisumu when the wave of democratization swept across Kenya and the globe. “As a political reporter, I found myself caught up between forces of change and of status quo. The confrontations were violent and bloody. I captured and reported this history even as I was actively a part of it all, as witness and chronicler”  

 The Pain of Covering Elections in Kenya

 I will never forget the risks, the pain, the excitement and the joy of covering elections and political campaigns. In 1988, I was arrested in the thick of the night and taken to the Rift Valley Criminal Investigation Department (CID), headquarters in Nakuru.

While covering the 1988 general election, I committed an abominable act against the ruling party.  I covered a leader, hostile to Kanu and even gave him a lift. A day before my dramatic arrest, I gave a lift to a legislator from Molo in our Kenya News Agency (KNA), Land Rover, to a political rally, in Molo township. At the rally, the legislator used figurative language to deride the Mlolongo queue voting system. I was released after one week.

In 1992, Kanu launched the Youth for Kanu92, (YK92). Money was poured in millions of shillings to buy support. A senior YK leader once visited my office in Kisumu with briefcases filled with money. He offered me Sh16 million to sign an already printed resignation letter describing my employer the Nation as a tribal entity. I declined and threatened to beat him up. He left in haste while shouting expletives.   

Violence and death

I will never forget the look on the face of the young man who died in my arms during the politically instigated violence of 1991 and 1992 in Kericho. He went on his knees, screaming and pleading for mercy. His eyes were covered in blood from deep cuts on his forehead. He raised his hands beseeching them; “Please don’t kill me. Please have mercy on me. I have a pregnant wife and small children”. They stared at him coldly.

Several young men armed with; pangas, spears, bows and arrows surrounded him. Our vehicle came to an abrupt stop because they had blocked part of the Kericho/Kisumu highway. My photographer and I cautiously alighted from the car. When the man saw us, he staggered towards our car. My driver Jimmy Ashira remained in the vehicle with the engine running. Photographer Baraka Karama Senior was already clicking away. The man, who had an arrow stuck in his left hand side, came to the bonnet where I sat, leaned on me, pleading that I save his life. He had been attacked for belonging to the ‘wrong’ community.

His armed attackers were menacingly silent. They only left after confirming their victim had died. Soaked in the blood of the dead stranger, we reported the incident to the Kericho police then I filed my story. I was later accused of publishing false and malicious stories aimed at planting seeds of discord among peace loving Kenyans. I was charged in a Kericho court but the case never proceeded.  

During this period of political violence, mortuaries were overwhelmed by the dead. The pungent stench of decomposing corpses filled up towns such as Kisumu and Bungoma. One mzungu reporter broke down as we counted corpses at the Bungoma district hospital mortuary where a woman had her stomach slashed open and her unborn child speared. The level of brutality was chilling.  

Security Scares

At one time, I covered a highly charged rally in Kericho. Jamarogi used to travel in a red Peugeot 405. I drove behind with my photographer. Suddenly, some armed rowdy youth appeared and surrounded the convoy. We were cornered. I have no idea what happened but from the escorting vehicles, stones and missiles started flying into the charging youth. It was a vicious and swift counterattack. In less than two minutes ,the attackers had scampered and scattered.

Two years later, while covering Raila Odinga’s campaign tour of Lugari constituency, some policemen erected a roadblock outside the Pan Paper Mills in Webuye, in an attempt to frustrate his movement. My car was a few paces behind Raila’s. I thought I was watching a movie scene in slow motion. Raila’s security men disembarked from their vehicles. With lightning speed, they disarmed the policemen, cleared the road and drove off at high speed. They left the policemen dazed with empty guns. I filed the roadblock story through a telephone booth outside the Bungoma Tourist hotel. Domitila wa Katila, a copy taker, took the story. My senior Mutegi Njau went ballistic when the story died. We were told; “This incident couldn’t be used. We couldn’t embarrass the State”. A senior editor was in bed with the authorities. 

Some of Raila’s former security men involved in the Webuye incident are still my friends who are now elders enjoying retirement.

Most of the political rallies held by President Moi would be filled with school-going children in uniform. I would say so in my stories.

One morning, I drove in the Moi entourage. He suddenly stopped at Moi’s Bridge and stepped out of his limousine to address the crowd that had gathered. I moved closer with my notebook to make sure I captured every word he uttered. He suddenly turned in my direction and said; “Wapi mtu wa Nation?” I raised my right hand up. “Wewe ndio unaandika porojo na uongo?”

Later on, while addressing a campaign rally in Lumakanda, he called me to the dais. The president held my hand and introduced me to the crowd. Moi had a firm and powerful grip. He told the rally, “Juzi tu huyu kijana alikua akiniimbia nyimbo za sifa. Sasa anafanya kazi na gazeti kuniharibia jina.” He paused, then asked me, “Hii watu unaona ni wangapi?”

“Ni wengi mtukufu Rais.” I responded, “Sio wengi, ni maelfu”. Enda andika hiyo”

I went back to my corner behind the President. Two presidential guards approached me, asking me to be cautious.

When the rally ended, I jumped into my car. I told a BBC reporter I had given a ride to tighten her seat belt. I drove off at high speed with sirens blaring behind me. At the Webuye, Kakamega border, they flashed their lights behind me and turned back. I didn’t trust the local cops so I drove to a drinking joint in Bungoma that was patronised by senior policemen. After greetings, I ordered for them drinks and nyama choma. When the local cops burst in and said I was under arrest, they were given marching orders.

I drove back to my base in Kisumu after midnight. The following day however, my office was surrounded by armed policemen who had come to arrest me. I called lawyer Olago Aluoch, who picked me up and drove me to the Nyanza Provincial Police headquarters. As I alighted from the lawyer’s vehicle, an officer pulled him aside as if to whisper something to him. With this distraction, I was bundled into a different vehicle, blindfolded and driven to Kakamega police station. For days, I refused to eat or drink water. Eventually, the Western Provincial Commissioner, Yusuf Haji came to my rescue: “I am ordering your release but please go slow on the government.” He ordered that I be taken back to Kisumu. I had known Haji for years and had covered his father when I reported for KNA in Garissa.        

In 1997, I covered campaign rallies in; Nairobi, Narok and Kajiado areas. That year witnessed bloody violence in some parts of the country. I found myself in various morgues. The Nation had given us strict instructions to physically count the dead and confirm their gender. We never had trauma counseling so every evening, we drank our sorrows and fears away.

Profiling Great Kenyans

From 2001, long after I had exited the Nation, The Standard engaged me as a Consultant Editorial Contributor. The Sunday Standard Editor Mundia Muchiri invited me every Tuesday morning to join his editorial meetings. I embarked on storytelling; documenting stories of great men and women such as; Dr Julius Gikonyo Kianyo, Prof Calestous Juma, Prof Kihumbu Thairu, Hassanali Rattansi, Prof Davy Koech to Prof Miriam Were.

In 2003, when President Mwai Kibaki was hospitalized after suffering a minor stroke, Maina Muiruri and I took Kenyans through the presidential treatment procedure. We interviewed doctors and nurses who took care of him while walking readers through the room he used.

Before former Vice President Kijana Wamalwa took his last flight out of the country, I spent two hours with him in his office interviewing him for a Sunday Standard story. “My friend, as you see me here, I’m a sickly and dying man. Remember me in your prayers,” he tearfully told me at the end of our interview. He pulled up his sleeves to show me his swollen elbows.   

To us, Journalism was an adventure. After the rallies, we would look for a telephone booth to file the copy to Nairobi. Photographers would send their film rolls via public transport. If the event took place in Mombasa or Kisumu, we would drive to the airport and patiently scan the travelers before approaching friendly ones to request they deliver films to Nairobi. Good people existed then. A total stranger would ensure the parcel was safely delivered to the News Desk.