Kenya Where Borders Are For Trafficking Not Sovereignty; Nairobi The Abduction City
The Mt Kenya Times 
Video captures moment former Nandi Hills MP Alfred Keter is abducted outside Holy Trinity Catholic Church
In the heart of East Africa, justice is gagged, and the truth is traded for silence
By: Midmark Onsongo
Worth Noting:
- This story of betrayal is not new. On June 23, 2016, Willie Kimani, a human rights lawyer, along with his client Josephat Mwenda and driver Joseph Muiruri, were abducted and murdered by rogue police officers. Their bodies, discarded in Ol Donyo Sabuk River, shocked the nation. And yet, the outrage dissipated, paving the way for more disappearances—each case dimming the nation’s moral light.
- Even our neighbors, like Uganda, have found our soil fertile for suppression. Besigye’s abduction mirrors that of Stella Nyanzi, the Ugandan academic known for her sharp critique of Museveni’s regime. In July 2023, Nyanzi was briefly detained in Nairobi, allegedly at the behest of Ugandan authorities, before an international outcry forced her release. Our government’s response? Silence, as if ignoring tyranny absolves one of its stench.
Welcome to Kenya, where abductions are no longer isolated tragedies but a chilling norm. Imagine a nation that once symbolized refuge but now stands accused of complicity in transnational repression. From Nairobi’s bustling streets to the shadowy corners of power, Kenya has become a land where borders are porous to injustice and sovereignty is a mere illusion.
On November 16, 2024, Dr. Kizza Besigye, the fiery Ugandan opposition leader and four-time presidential candidate, was abducted in Nairobi while attending a book launch hosted by Martha Karua, Kenya’s indefatigable voice for democracy. Witnesses recall the sinister efficiency of the operation—menacing figures, unmarked vehicles, and the suffocating silence of authority. By the time the dust settled, Besigye was in Kampala, facing dubious charges in a Ugandan military court despite being a civilian. The law clearly states such trials are illegal. And our government? They washed their hands like Pontius Pilate, denying involvement while the evidence screamed otherwise
Besigye’s plight is just the latest in a pattern that has left Kenya’s image battered. On October 18, 2024, seven Turkish asylum seekers were abducted in Nairobi. Four of them were subsequently deported to Turkey, a move decried as a gross violation of international asylum laws. Their “crime”? Being affiliated with Fethullah Gülen, a cleric accused by the Turkish regime of orchestrating a coup attempt. These individuals had sought sanctuary here, believing Kenya to be a bastion of fairness. Instead, they were betrayed
This story of betrayal is not new. On June 23, 2016, Willie Kimani, a human rights lawyer, along with his client Josephat Mwenda and driver Joseph Muiruri, were abducted and murdered by rogue police officers. Their bodies, discarded in Ol Donyo Sabuk River, shocked the nation. And yet, the outrage dissipated, paving the way for more disappearances—each case dimming the nation’s moral light.
Even our neighbors, like Uganda, have found our soil fertile for suppression. Besigye’s abduction mirrors that of Stella Nyanzi, the Ugandan academic known for her sharp critique of Museveni’s regime. In July 2023, Nyanzi was briefly detained in Nairobi, allegedly at the behest of Ugandan authorities, before an international outcry forced her release. Our government’s response? Silence, as if ignoring tyranny absolves one of its stench.
But why Kenya? Why is our country the playground for such heinous acts? The answer lies in the chilling alliance between authoritarian regimes and a complicit elite who prioritize political expediency over human rights. The Bible warns us, “The wicked flee though no one pursues,” yet here we are, enabling wickedness to thrive.
And so, the abductions continue. In October 2024, Julius Mutua, an environmental activist from Kwale, vanished after speaking out against illegal mining operations backed by influential figures. His case has gone cold, like so many others, with authorities offering little more than perfunctory statements. How do we, as citizens, reconcile this apathy?
These disappearances are not just isolated events; they are threads in a larger tapestry of repression. They reflect a nation where the rule of law bends to the whims of power, where borders are crossed not for trade or diplomacy but for silencing dissent. Kenyan soil has become a stage for transnational repression, where regimes like Uganda’s use our proximity and infrastructure to extend their authoritarian reach The symbolism of these abductions cannot be overstated. Besigye’s kidnapping was not just a physical act—it was a metaphor for the erosion of Kenya’s sovereignty and moral standing. Similarly, the deportation of Turkish citizens was a slap in the face of our Constitution, which guarantees protection to all who seek refuge. Are we not bound by the Kiswahili saying, “Mgeni ni baraka” (A guest is a blessing)?
Our leaders, meanwhile, continue to dance around the truth. The government denies involvement, yet these operations require levels of coordination and access that suggest otherwise. Can we truly believe that such actions occur without tacit approval? Is our silence not complicity?
Let’s call this what it is: a moral crisis. Kenya is fast becoming a paradox—a country that champions democracy on global stages while enabling its subversion at home. The irony is painful, the hypocrisy glaring. As the late Wangari Maathai once said, “You cannot enslave a mind that knows itself, values itself, and understands itself.” Yet, our actions seem designed to do just that—enslave the minds of those who dare to dissent.
But there is hope. History teaches us that oppression, no matter how entrenched, is never permanent. It is toppled by those who refuse to bow, who speak truth to power even when their voices tremble. Let us be those people. Let us demand accountability, not just for the victims of abduction but for the soul of our nation.
In the words of a Kenyan proverb, “Usipoziba ufa, utajenga ukuta” (If you don’t mend the crack, you will build a wall). The cracks are widening, and the walls of tyranny are rising. If we don’t act now, future generations will inherit a nation that has traded its conscience for convenience.
So I ask you: How long will we let this continue? How many more Besigyes, Gülens, and Mutuas must we lose before we say enough? The time for silence is over. The time for action is now. Let us reclaim our dignity, our sovereignty, and our humanity before they are lost forever.
This article was scripted by;
MIDMARK ONSONGO, SGS
(Socio-Geographic Scholar)
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