The streets of Kerugoya were thick with smoke and defiance on Wednesday, as protests against police brutality exploded into clashes between security forces and outraged youth.
It started with chants and cardboard signs. It ended in volleys of teargas and stones.
In the heart of Kirinyaga County, hundreds of young people poured into the streets, joining a wave of demonstrations sweeping across Kenya. But their march was met with force. Police responded swiftly firing teargas to break up the gathering. The air turned acrid, and panic mixed with fury as protesters fought back, hurling stones in a chaotic pushback against authority.
Among them was Joseph Njoroge, his voice hoarse from shouting. “We are tired,” he said, wiping tears maybe from the gas, maybe not. “Every time they promise investigations into these killings, into the disappearances, but what comes of it? Nothing. We’re supposed to stay quiet? Never.”
His plea was directed at the Independent Policing Oversight Authority (IPOA), which many protesters feel has gone silent when it should be roaring.
The unrest wasn’t isolated. Just earlier in nearby Kagio town, crowds had already spilled into the streets some marching under the banner of solidarity, others simply desperate to be heard. Woman Representative Jane Maina was among those leading the charge, walking alongside citizens fed up with economic struggle, injustice, and the targeting of vocal youth.
Lilian Wanjiru, a Kagio resident, clutched her bag as she walked. Her voice was calm, but her words were sharp. “People are angry. Not just the youth. All of us. The economy has broken us. And now even speaking out feels dangerous.”
For Jane Njoki, the protest was personal. Her teenage son had joined the online call for change bold, outspoken, and unafraid.
“I worry for him,” she admitted. “He recently asked me, ‘If they abduct all of us, who will marry our daughters?’” Her voice cracked. “That’s how deep the fear runs. That’s how real the threat feels.”
Still, Njoki was in the crowd not just as a mother, but as a fighter. “I’m here because I believe in them. I believe we need to stand. Together.”
Across the country, similar scenes unfolded: communities rising up, police pushing back, and a generation refusing to be silenced.
In Kerugoya, the smoke eventually cleared. But the message lingered in the air loud, heavy, and unshaken: we are done being quiet.
