I was ready for Tuesday 25/6/2024!We boarded a matatu, packed with men and women in black ,sportswear, clutching water bottles. Everyone heading to town had one purpose: protests.
Protests against the finance bill that is meant to hike taxes, taxes given to a government that is marred with corruption.
Huddled in my seat, wearing brown khaki pants and a crop top, my mind was a whirlwind of thoughts. Protests in Kenya are notoriously messy, with police brutality being the norm. In the last protest, Rex and another person lost their lives. May their souls rest in peace. The news warned that the police had vowed to retaliate this time. I prayed, repented my sins, and prayed again.
To distract myself from my thoughts, I pulled out my phone and texted my friends to see if they were also heading to the CBD. Tap, tap, tap… “Hi Brijoo, I’m going for the protests,” I told my best friend. She wasn’t going today and warned me that the police were using live bullets to disperse crowds near Parliament. I imagined being shot right in the navel where my skin showed through my crop top. Eulogy…died during maandamano
As the matatu picked up more passengers, we reached Kasarani police station and heard that the roads were barricaded to prevent protestors from reaching town. We took a U-turn, heading back to our home stage before taking another route. I was tempted to get off and go home; I was scared to the core. I knew the risks but wasn’t ready to die—not like this.
We continued on a murram road, the bus full of chants. I encouraged myself. How could I die with so many people around me? Our destination was town. I found courage anew.
Near Garden City Mall, the number of protesters walking to town was enormous. Oops! Our bus broke down. I was happy. I could buy time before reaching town. I understood why Walter White wanted to get stuck in traffic before his lobectomy to remove his lung tumor (Breaking Bad fans will relate). My brother alighted, and I followed. We would walk to town, by force or by fire.
We walked, chanted, yelled, cussed, and ranted! Lorries and buses carrying throngs of people passed by, placards held high: “Gen Z, we are broke, we can’t buy fear,” boldly written in red. I was energized. Passersby near Pangani offered us water, and we refilled our bottles. In this time of plight, we were united in ways we could never have imagined. Soon, we were near Fig Tree stalls, just a few more steps to town. My elder brother had called me thrice, warning me. I told my stubborn brother that I wouldn’t go into town. He agreed, and we sat, rested, then made the long journey home.
I googled it later—the distance from Garden City to town is around 10 km. I walked about 18 km in total. It’s incredible what our legs can do.
As I walked back home, my legs were exhausted, but my mind told them they could do it. On autopilot, I walked and walked.
Was my walk worth it anyway?
It’s hard to be on any social media platforms now. Scattered brains. Blood. Bullet holes on bodies. Abductions. Finance bill. Withdraw. Rancid lies. Treasonous criminals.
May this fight bring the change Kenyans deserve.