Those in power must ensure police killings never happen again

Every generation witnesses the departure of its young men, and now women, to wars with uncertain returns.

Before colonialism, there existed traditional cattle raids conducted by young men against other tribes. Our great grandfathers, with trepidation, watched their young warriors march off to raid the Maasai, uncertain if they would return.

My great grandfather’s brother, Gathongo, perished in one of those cattle raids. His body was left in the wilderness, and subsequent children named after him were called Waweru, meaning “he who was left in the wilderness.”

When the First World War broke out in 1914, another generation faced the grim reality of war. Young African men were often forcefully conscripted into a conflict they called mbara ya njeremani (the war of the Germans), a war they did not understand or have any stake in. Many did not return.

The next generation saw its youth go off to fight in the Second World War, known as mbara ya italiani (the war of the Italians). Once again, some came back, and some did not.

My father’s generation was caught up in the Mau Mau uprising. I can only imagine the trepidation my grandfather and grandmother felt as their three sons went off to war. My father and my uncle were detained in Manyani and other detention camps, enduring three years in deplorable conditions. Miraculously, they survived. The eldest son, Njora, after whom I am named, went into the forest, never to return. My grandparents faced the agony of each passing day without knowing the fate of their sons, and my grandfather died in 1955, never learning the fate of his children.

Our generation witnessed the multi-party wars, where university students and other young men were killed. I was in campus with the late Karimi Nduthu, who paid the ultimate price for the fight for the Second Liberation.

Now, we face another tumultuous period. I watched with a heavy heart as my two young daughters marched out to join others in the streets, despite my entreaties and pleas. Fortunately, they returned, but not everyone was so lucky. Some children never came back, paying the ultimate price. Those who were lucky enough to return saw people being beaten and shot, leaving scars that will last a lifetime.

As I sat, anxiously awaiting and praying for their return, I followed the news on TV, Twitter, and social media. I saw young people being shot, and I saw graphic pictures on social media of bodies. I understood the dread that every parent in every generation has felt. The uncertainty, the helplessness, and the fear of never seeing their children again is a burden no parent should bear.

I would not wish this torment on anyone. It is my fervent prayer that those in power ensure such tragedies never happen again. With a bit of dialogue and reasoning, these horrors could be avoided. Lives do not have to be sacrificed for any cause. I hope that future generations are spared the agony of watching their young men and women march off to an uncertain fate. They say that in times of peace, sons bury their fathers, but in times of war, fathers bury their sons – and now even their daughters. May it never happen again that parents have to bury their children for a matter that could easily be resolved through dialogue.

-The writer is an expert in property law. njorawaweru@gmail.com