War that wasn't his: How Kenyan narrowly escaped Russia-Ukraine war trap

The journey to freedom began with an impossible distance: 854 kilometres of fear, silence and hope, fleeing a live war zone under the constant threat of arrest, execution, or recapture.

For Meshack Ng’etuny (not his real name), every kilometre from the frontlines in Ukraine towards Moscow felt like borrowed time. Eight roadblocks stood between him and safety. Any one of them could have ended his life.

“This war was not yours. You should never have been here,” the Russian driver whispered as he gripped the steering wheel.

Ng’etuny nodded, exhausted and hollowed out by months of terror. He was finally leaving the Russia–Ukraine war zone alive — something many around him had not managed.

Back in Kenya, the former Kenya Defence Forces (KDF) soldier has broken his silence, requesting that his identity be protected due to being tracked at home. He revealed to The Standard how he and other Kenyan ex-servicemen were allegedly duped, trafficked and forced into frontline combat under the guise of a lucrative service in Russia.

What began as a promised Sh2.1 million contract ended in arrest, torture, theft, disappearance of colleagues, and near-death encounters with drones and artillery fire.

A job that sounded like salvation to Ng’etuny, a father of four from Trans Nzoia County who served in KDF as a junior private between 2008 and 2012, turned into a death trap.

After leaving the military, he rebuilt his life as a professional athlete, competing in 1,500m, 5,000m and marathon races across Europe, Asia and the Middle East.

Deceptive visas

In July 2025, a trusted contact from Nairobi called with an offer that sounded like redemption: a soldier’s assignment in Russia, targeting former soldiers. The pay was good. The work was legal. The environment was safe.

“We were told we would be guarding facilities, not fighting. They said Russia needed experienced peacekeepers,” Ng’etuny recalled.

Medical tests were conducted in Nairobi and flights were booked. Doubts crept in when visas issued to the recruits turned out to be tourist visas, allegedly for a “cultural exchange.”

“When we questioned it, we were told not to worry. They said everything would be sorted once we arrived,” he told The Standard at his village home.

At Jomo Kenyatta International Airport (JKIA), the group’s departure nearly collapsed after intense questioning by security officers. Only the intervention of a senior officer, whom Ng’etuny believes was complicit, allowed them to board.

The men travelled in small groups on different airlines. In Turkey, a transit officer delivered a chilling warning:

“He looked at us and said, ‘Prepare yourselves psychologically. There may be no cultural event. You might be sent to war.’”

They landed in St Petersburg, then Moscow, where handlers took charge immediately. Their movements were controlled. They were issued basic mobile phones and ATM cards and forced to sign documents written entirely in Russian.

“We didn’t know what we were signing. When we asked, they became hostile. They said too much money had already been spent on us,” Ng’etuny said.

Soon after, their phones were confiscated. Their ATM cards followed.

Though Sh2.1 million was deposited into each recruit’s account, the money vanished almost immediately.

“We checked our accounts and realised the money had already been withdrawn. They told us the agents had authority over our accounts. That’s when we knew we had been conned,” he said.

After days of movement by road and a gruelling two-day non-stop train journey, the truth became undeniable: they were no longer in Russia.

“We crossed into Ukraine. Straight into the war zone,” Ng’etuny said thoughtfully.

Weapons were issued. Body armour followed. Training was brief, chaotic and conducted almost entirely in Russian.

“They would shout commands we didn’t understand. If you hesitated, you were beaten or threatened,” he narrated.

Out of 12 Kenyans at the camp, two were taken away one morning.

“They never came back. We don’t know if they are alive or dead. They just disappeared,” he said.

Combat was relentless. Drones buzzed overhead day and night, dropping missiles with terrifying precision. Corpses littered the ground, sometimes left uncollected for weeks.

“There were days we hid among more than 2,000 dead bodies. Drones would still strike the bodies again, just to be sure no one was hiding,” Ng’etuny said.

Daring escape

On one perilous mission, Ng’etuny and two fellow Kenyan ex-Recce officers were forced at gunpoint to wade through a 30-metre-wide raging river, the water reaching their necks, as they made their way toward a forest teeming with enemy surveillance.“The commander told us to try our luck. He said if we refused, he would shoot us himself,” he said.

As drones appeared in the sky, the three men made a split-second decision. They abandoned their body armour and submerged themselves in the river just as missiles struck the riverbank. “If we had crossed, we would be dead. That water saved our lives,” Ng’etuny said.

After retreating, they returned to camp only to be accused of killing their commander.

“We were handcuffed, beaten and locked up without food for five days,” he said.

Investigations later revealed the truth: the commander and two Russian officers had shot themselves to avoid returning to the front. Released without apology, the Kenyans were sent back into combat.

“That’s when we decided we had to escape or die trying,” he recalled.

In secret, the men contacted the Kenyan Embassy via email. Officials responded and maintained contact through WhatsApp, offering guidance but little protection.

“They told us the truth. The only option was to escape on our own,” Ng’etuny said.

The embassy helped identify possible routes and later assisted with emergency travel documents. But money was a problem. “We had no phones, no ATM cards, no access to our own money. We were told we had to raise Sh100,000 ourselves to pay for a taxi and flights,” he said.

A first escape attempt on December 12, 2025 failed. The second, on December 18, succeeded with the help of a sympathetic Russian driver secured through embassy coordination.

They travelled 854 kilometres from the war zone to Moscow, passing eight checkpoints. At the end of their journey, they paid Sh80,000.

Trust betrayed

“At every roadblock, we thought it was over,” Ng’etuny said.

At the final checkpoint, the driver turned to them. “This war is ours, not yours. Go home,” the taxi driver told them.

In Moscow, the embassy issued temporary passports. Even then, trouble followed them to the airport.

Security delays nearly caused them to miss their flight. In a scene that still feels unreal, they boarded on the runway as the aircraft was preparing to depart.

“A senior officer looked at us and said, ‘If you escaped that far, you deserve to go home,’” Ng’etuny recalled.

Now back in Kenya, safe but deeply scarred, Ng’etuny says freedom feels incomplete.

“There are Kenyans still trapped there. Some are dead. Some are missing. Some are still fighting a war that is not theirs,” he said.

His story exposes disturbing questions about human trafficking, exploitation of ex-soldiers, and the vulnerability of desperate job seekers. “What happened to us should never happen to anyone else. We trusted the system. The system failed us,” he said.

Ng’etuny’s neighbour, John Namenya (not his real name), disclosed that they had encouraged him to seek greener pastures for the sake of his family, only to later learn of the challenges faced by Kenyan job seekers in Russia.

“We were so troubled to watch in the news that our fellow countrymen were going through turmoil when one of our neighbours was part of the team,” Namenya said.

He noted that while they were pained and dismayed over the neighbour’s family’s plight, their sorrow turned to joy when he returned safely.

As secretary to their common church, Namenya said the faithful had been prayerful during his neighbour’s sojourn in Russia and are now thankful to God for his safe return.

He appealed to the government to track and monitor Kenyans travelling abroad for work, ensuring they remain safe.