When Kurdish nationalist leader Abdullah Ocalan arrived in Kenya on February 2, 1999, he felt the relief of safety — much like the four frightened Turkish nationals recently abducted in Nairobi and handed over to Ankara by the Ruto regime.
Foreign Affairs Principal Secretary Dr Korir Sing’oei, with all his experience, knows all too well that the sole “crime” of political refugees is holding dissenting views and challenging the status quo.
But haven’t we, too, become a nation that quietly abducts our own citizens for daring to differ?
Under international law, abduction has no place in the extradition of any individual. But here we are, in a darkly familiar space. In choosing abduction over the judicial process, Dr Sing’oei and the Musalia Mudavadi-led Ministry of Foreign and Diaspora Affairs have shown us the depths we have plunged. This decision betrays a fundamental tenet of asylum law: the ancient principle of non-refoulement , which forbids the forced return of individuals to regions where persecution awaits them.
It is the same disregard that saw the Ministry of Foreign Affairs under Bonaya Godana hand over Ocalan in 1999, condemning him to a life of isolation on an island prison.
Ocalan’s Kenyan visit was meant to be a quick stopover—a place to regroup and move on to South Africa. But beneath this simple plan lay a web of high-stakes espionage, and one wrong move at Nairobi’s Hotel Boulevard sent his plans spiraling.
Soon enough, Ocalan found himself in the custody of those he was running from, thanks to the Kenyan government.
At that time, Ocalan had become the world’s most hunted man, his pursuit of a Kurdish homeland making him a thorn in Türkiye’s side. He had crisscrossed borders seeking asylum, only to be refused entry time and again. When he finally touched down in Nairobi aboard a sleek, Greek-registered Falcon jet, he arrived as “Lazaros Mavros,” and as a Cypriot journalist.
This move was orchestrated by Greek diplomats in a covert operation, and they discreetly received him at Jomo Kenyatta International Airport. In Türkiye’s eyes, however, Ocalan was a terrorist; he led the Kurdistan Workers’ Party (PKK), which had been fighting for Kurdish autonomy for over 15 years.
One would have thought that the age of bad manners had left the corridors of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. The replay of an Ocalan-type abduction in Nairobi just last week, as four Turkish citizens — protected by refugee status — were kidnapped and handed over to Erdogan’s ruthless regime, is telling.
They were whisked off to Ankara, where thousands of dissenting Turkish citizens face imprisonment or exile. Dr Sing’oei claims these detainees committed “treason” against President Erdogan.
But, one wonders, when were they ever given a trial?
Mustafa Genç, former principal of Light Academy.
Photo credit: Nation Media Group
Perhaps I am biased — I knew Mustafa Genc , one of the seized. He was the principal of Light Schools Academy and ran the Harmony Institute, a platform for interfaith dialogue. He loved Kenya; he once stood proudly beside President Uhuru Kenyatta at State House, posing with his students. Had he been a criminal, he would never have been allowed to nurture a generation of young minds, let alone have access to State House.
Human rights groups agree that Türkiye has developed a troubling habit of pursuing its nationals overseas, particularly those with ties to Fethullah Gulen—the exiled cleric who, until his recent death in Pennsylvania, remained a thorn in Erdogan’s side. Only last year, Amnesty International condemned Erdogan’s government for its relentless “investigations, prosecutions, and convictions” targeting human rights defenders, journalists, and opposition politicians. It’s a campaign of intimidation that reaches far beyond Türkiye’s borders, casting a shadow over its dissidents worldwide.
Ocalan’s capture — and these recent cases — are clear signals that Kenya is no longer a safe place for political exile. Let us look at the Ocalan case. By the time he arrived in Nairobi, he had already sought political asylum from Syria, Italy, Russia, and Greece. Finally, he found himself at the Greek Embassy in Nairobi, a city then crawling with US intelligence agents investigating the 1998 American embassy bombings. For Ocalan, it was a fateful miscalculation.
His entourage of six was handpicked for the covert journey. There was Ms Nucan Derya, a fiery 23-year-old PKK activist with honey-gold hair; Savvas Kalenteridis, a former Greek intelligence officer with a thick, Stalin-like moustache, giving him the look of a hardened ideologue. A pilot, two steadfast lawyers, and a Cypriot businessman rounded out the group.
But what went wrong? Ocalan arrived six months after the devastating US embassy bombing, and the city was awash with CIA and Mossad agents, hunting down Al-Qaeda operatives. The streets were far from safe, but Ocalan trusted his Greek allies, whose nation’s enmity with Turkey was well known.
Greece’s ambassador, George Kostoulas, had even sent his deputy to Jomo Kenyatta International Airport to offer diplomatic cover as the Falcon 900 touched down. As planned, Ocalan was whisked away to the Greek ambassador’s residence in Muthaiga, shielded from the authorities and standard passport controls.
What Ocalan and his team failed to grasp was that Turkey had asked Israel’s Prime Minister, Benjamin Netanyahu, to apprehend him. As it emerged later, Mossad’s chief, Efraim Halevy, was assigned a covert mission, ensuring no trace of Israeli involvement in what was to come.
For many years, Ocalan had eluded capture, first in Syria’s Bekaa Valley, and then then in Damascus under Hafez al-Assad’s tacit protection. But Turkish threats, backed by NATO pressure, eventually forced Syria to expel him in October 1998. From there, he zigzagged across Europe: Greece, Russia, and finally Italy, where Prime Minister Massimo D’Alema granted him temporary asylum. But relentless Turkish and NATO pressure quickly drove him out.
The drama intensified upon Ocalan’s arrival in Nairobi. Mossad operatives were already on the ground, surveilling the Greek Embassy in Muthaiga. Eavesdropping devices intercepted frantic discussions of Ocalan’s fate. Then, a single misstep happened at the Hotel Boulevard: one of Ocalan’s associates accidentally met a Mossad agent posing as a sympathetic Kurdish ally. The agent, fluent in Kurdish dialects, coaxed out the information he needed, confirming Ocalan’s presence in the city.
As word spread, Greek diplomats scrambled. Foreign Affairs Minister Bonaya Godana was pressing for answers and was under pressure from the US. When Costoulas contacted Greece, he was told cryptically to “act like a shepherd, whistle indifferently.” The Kenyan government, alerted to Ocalan’s presence, insisted on his departure. In a desperate act, two of Ocalan’s female companions threatened self-immolation if forced to leave the Embassy.
It was now February 12, and the embassy was under siege. The Greek Chief of Intelligence, Haralambos Stavrakakis, made a frantic call to Col Kalenteridis, urging, “Get Ocalan out of there! We made no promises!” Facing a political firestorm, Greek officials dispatched a “football team” of senior diplomats to Nairobi with firm instructions to move “grandmother,” their code for Ocalan, out of the embassy and into a hotel.
Kenyan officials, led by Godana, devised an exit plan with the Greek Foreign Ministry’s consent. But as 7 pm on February 15 approached, a grave mistake was made. Instead of travelling with his aides in a Greek embassy vehicle, Ocalan boarded an unmarked police car, placing himself directly in Kenyan custody. Kenya had duped him.
Ocalan was driven straight to the airport and ushered onto a waiting plane. Turkish agents were on board: “Apo [as he was known by Kurds] you’ve reached the end of the road. We’re taking you to Turkey.”
