As a past victim, here's why I worry for those released on Monday

“The abducted youth have been released. Thank God they’re safe, and, though exhausted, they look otherwise healthy.” 

This remark typically marks the end of days or even weeks of national anxiety, followed by relief.  

“People can sleep soundly now. We did our work.” We all pat ourselves on the back, post a few more angry tweets and fade away, as the real punitive process targeted at freed abductees quietly kicks off.

A hallmark of truly abusive minds is their ability to do such dreadful harm to you, then fixing it, just so they can bask in the altruism of having saved the day. You’ll be so grateful they fixed it that you may forget, or even worse, overlook the fact that they’re the ones that broke you in the first place. 

Then after publicly isolating you, they pick apart whatever is left in private — now that national concern has shifted away from you. I’m heading somewhere with this, trust me.

Typical abduction story

The typical abduction story takes the form of almost friendly, but unconsented restriction of movement and communication at first. You’ll likely be very isolated and uncomfortable, but rarely truly physically harmed. 

You'll even be asked if you’d like a drama-free resolution to all this. 

(I must insist that there are situations where abductions and forced disappearances have resulted in extreme harm and loss of life — this piece is in no way meant to discredit those, but to shine a light on the more subtle mode of breaking people that, apart from being truly diabolical, borders on sadistic genius).

The government and its operatives understand that we are vigilant. We will account for every missing person and will follow up on their disappearance until they’re found. The idea is to make sure they’re hidden well, and long enough to test just how far we’re willing to wait until we decide to take action. 

The victims will be released strategically on the day of, or right before, a planned huge uprising by people, or, in times of extreme pressure, almost immediately. 

Some of these abductions, I reckon, are less about punishing dissident voices and more about gauging how long it takes between a trigger event and mass action in Kenya. 

They knew you wouldn’t abandon your merrymaking to attend protests...and they were right.

They might engineer an election in 2027 during December. August has little to no sentimental value to Kenyans. They will be quick to respond to a rigged election. December though...you’ll be docile enough. Or if not, far away at the countryside. 

'Grateful' to be released, but...

Back to what awaits you when you're released. As soon as we're freed “safe and healthy”, we lift our feet off the oppressor’s neck. 

Very grateful that they fixed us, we forget they’re the ones that broke us in the first place. Then, if you refused to cut a deal while in captivity, the criminal justice system is unleashed on you with the entire might of the State.

They impound your devices, make pleas in court to hold you for days on end to conclude investigations that will likely never be concluded. 

If you’re not careful, they will refer your case to a court a few towns away and make sure they plan hearings on the most inconvenient of days. 

If you skip a court date, you’re labelled a flight risk and detained. Within the books. 

When your case is just about done, they will change the investigating officer and plead with the court to give the new one more time to get acquainted with your case. Then the cycle resets.

At this point, the advocates working pro-bono on your case will grow tired of these games and stop showing up to court. God be with you if you don’t have funds or friends who would go to hell and back with you. 

Taking its toll

If you have work, the emotional, physical, mental and time strain will slowly take its toll. You’ll miss deadlines, disappoint clients and fail to log into important tools because they have your devices. Employers and partners will lose patience, understandably so, because life must go on.

By the time you get your devices back, it will have been 3 months without any income, lost professional relationships and, as was my case, six kilos. 

A run-in with the State will likely set you back an entire year, and you'll probably need another year to get back on your feet. It’s around this time that most people either sell out or slowly disappear from public view to focus on their lives. Because when you're stripped down to nothing, survival instincts kick in and activism just isn’t as urgent.

If you’re lucky, you'll have friends checking on you from time to time, and if you’re not, they’ll unleash government bloggers on X (Twitter) to claim that you went quiet because you received money from a politician. 

The same social media that was calling for your freedom will turn on you, unless you’re very good at explaining things, which, by this time, you truly neither have time nor energy for. You simply cannot win.

Dark days not over for them

It’s a hellish journey. That’s why I’m worried for all these boys released on Monday. The darker days are certainly not behind them. 

We must not let this fizzle out. We must stay vigilant until all (if any) punitive cases in courts end, and quickly. And once the dust settles, we must hold the culpable State agents personally responsible.

Finally, we must have grace. We really, and I cannot stress this enough, MUST HAVE GRACE. And we must keep showing up for each other, but mostly, for these freed abductees.

I will quote Dave Chappelle: “Wouldn’t it be great if we could just say, ‘Remember that time they were about to crucify Jesus and then he had all that money?’”. 

Make it very, very hard for them to make examples out of the brave among us. Any person that steps forward to do good, we must make sure gets a happy ending. Every. Single. Time.

Lewis Ngunyi led peaceful demonstrations in Nanyuki, was detained and charged maliciously as a result. His insights on abductions are experiential.