Maria Knodt

The following is an account of a police operation I encountered in Nairobi. I apologize to my friends, who rightfully denounce my negative perspective in this narration. I do not want to encourage stereotypes and I have had plenty of positive experiences in Kenya. Unfortunately, this one strongly influenced me, so I have to write about it. Thanks to Gio and Ronnie, who called me out on a few mistakes and generalizations I made.

27th September 2019

It is Friday around lunchtime, and I have a meeting in a different part of town. Traffic will be crazy, I know, so I opt for a motorbike taxi (called boda boda here) as I do every day to get to my French classes in time after work. Boda bodas are the only means of transport that can wiggle through the notorious congestions that entangle Nairobi every morning and late afternoon. My driver is late, so I ask him to speed up. As we approach the Central Business District (CBD), which is banned for motorbikes, other boda boda drivers are gesticulating vehemently. My driver gets scared as he can smell tear gas. I do not take his concerns serious. My focus is to get to my meeting on time; taking a different route will mean that I will likely be late. So, I force him to take Nyerere Road, as I do every day, because I cannot believe that something could happen. This is outside the banned CBD area, so why would there be a problem going this way.

Suddenly, we get into a commotion, and three shady-looking men attack my driver with wooden sticks and leather belts and beat him off his bike. I am shocked and scared and do not understand what is going on. Men in police uniforms are standing by doing nothing. “Why would they allow this to happen?” I think naively not being used to the police looking on as an innocent person gets beaten. Then, it dawns on me that the men who attacked and beat my driver are either young policemen themselves, even though in civilian clothing, or affiliates of the police, paid by them to do their dirty work. They confiscate the motorbike and instruct me to get a taxi. My driver, let’s call him Peter, sits on the side of the road and cries. I am losing it and scream at the police to explain what is happening. A policewoman tells me in a bored voice that goons on motorbikes threw stones at a police officer a few days ago, so this is the retaliation. Another man with a leather belt is bellowing, “we want no boda bodas in this town anymore.” Peter begs me to come to the police station to help him get his bike back, and I consent to his request. On our way along Uhuru Highway, we see more groups of policemen and youngsters with bats and clubs attacking boda bodas driving by. If a driver tries to escape, they attack him even more brutally.

At the Nairobi Central Police Station, I am speaking with the Officer Commanding of the Central Police Station (OCS) and the police officer responsible for the operation. But no one cares about Peter and me. It doesn’t even help when I claim I am a journalist and will report this – they just laugh in my face and tell me to please do so. Nothing will happen to them anyway. They have complete impunity. In the meantime, the truck that brought Peter’s motorbike to the station is back again, slowly filling up the parking lot with hundreds of bikes. I am told by the responsible officer that they cannot release the bikes until the beginning of October and that the boda boda drivers will be brought in front of a court. When I ask what they have done wrong, I am polished off with the explanation that they were not allowed to drive in CBD. I note this happened outside of CBD, but the officer does not care. Truth is bent to fit the needs without Peter or the other drivers having any chance to prove them wrong. No one would stand up for them, even though they have done nothing wrong.

We are told to wait as no one will come and hear our case. More and more drivers are pouring into our waiting area, all telling me stories about having been attacked on different streets outside of CBD. Some have even been injured and had to be taken to a nearby hospital. On some roads, a downright hunt happened. No one really understands what is going on. But no one tries to understand because they know there is no logic, that it is entirely arbitrary. Peter is still inconsolable. His income depends fully on driving customers, and he has a family with children at home that he needs to take care of daily. He does not know when he will get his bike back, and if he does, they will surely ask him for a large amount of money that he does not have (at least KES 10,000, which is USD 100 and accounts for roughly 6-7 days of income for him).

There is nothing I can do, and I feel terrible about it. I try sharing the story on social media and even contacting some news outlets, but no one seems interested. Everyone knows that the Kenyan police are largely corrupt and underpaid; these operations are often used to raise their income with fines from citizens that have done nothing wrong. But most do not fully grasp the effect this has on people like Peter, who struggle to make ends meet. How can they escape poverty if their income depends on the arbitrary actions of a government that does not care about them?

I am heading back to my work in a taxi this time, while Peter, with his two helmets and other gear from his motorbike under his arm, walks to the next bus station to make his way back to his home into the outskirts of Nairobi – without his bike. He is not even angry at me. I admire him and the others for their sturdiness and faith that, ultimately, everything will be fine.

Four hours later this afternoon, I have to head to my French course like I do every day and take the same route where the incident had happened. I am considering taking a taxi instead of a boda boda. However, given the traffic situation, I decide to go by motorbike again. I tell the driver to be careful, but when we pass the exact location, everything has returned to normal, and nothing hints at the operation earlier. As usual, boda boda drivers are wiggling through the traffic, and no policemen can be seen.

30th September 2019

Peter informs me that he was summoned to the police station and waited the whole day, but nothing happened. Finally, he was told to return on Wednesday and bring at least KES 10,000.

2nd October 2019

Peter asks me to meet him at the police station at 2pm and to bring some money as he has none. I prepare by putting KES 3,000 and hiding another KES 2,000 in my backpack as negotiation options. When I arrive in front of the Central Police Station, a crowd of 50 to 70 men has gathered – all boda boda drivers whose bikes have been confiscated. They have been waiting for an hour, and no one seems interested in attending to them yet. Finally, a responsible police officer comes out and addresses the crowd in Swahili. They will be able to release the first 25 motorbikes today from a list to which all affected people should have added their names. Some are getting excited and are queuing up in front of the police station gates, as they are not allowed in. I am surprised by how calm and quiet the crowd is and ask them why they don’t protest and get angry. “You know what happens if we do that,” tells one of the drivers, “they will just beat us.” “This is Kenya” and “Welcome to Nairobi. Here it is about eating or being eaten,” I hear from others.

We wait. Eventually, I lose patience and walk inside to talk with the police officer again. Contrary to what he said to the drivers minutes ago, he notifies me that nothing will happen today and that they should come back tomorrow. I even go back to see the OCS. He asks me to give him my drivers number and declares, “You know I like you. I want to marry you, so I will help.” When I try to find out when something might happen, I get an indefinite answer. As soon as I start advocating for the other drivers, he loses interest and falls asleep on the big sofa in his office. Even my threatening to report him to the Independent Policing Oversight Authority (IPOA) doesn’t wake him up. He probably knows that since it was established in 2012, 13,000 complaints have been reported, but it has only led to six convictions of police officers so far.

I give up and go back down where the crowd eagerly awaits whether the Mzungu could do anything. I could not. What can I, as an individual, do if not even SafeBoda, a motorcycle taxi provider in Kenya, and a representative of Parliament are able to negotiate with the police? They remind me more of a group of gangsters that you have to appease since the law does not seem to apply to them. Nothing happens. “We are completely at the mercy of the police and the mercy of God here,” I am told by a driver. One man, who represents the boda boda community and is well-spoken, explains to me that the police will play this game to make them mellow. He extends to explain that until they organize bribe money, they will not get their bikes back. When I leave, the crowd is still waiting. Peter tells me he will stay until 8pm and return the following day. I give him a bit of cash to get some food for his family, obviously still not covering the loss in income he incurs through this arbitrary and unlawful treatment.

3rd October 2019

I get a call from Peter, who tells me that no bikes were released yesterday, but instead, boda boda drivers are now being taken to court and convicted of obstruction. He has to go back to the police station in the afternoon and wait for them to give him instructions on when he will be summoned to court in the next couple of days. In the meantime, I try more avenues to make this public and help Peter and the others. I drop by the Amnesty International Kenya office, and I finally find someone who seems genuinely interested and concerned about this, finally someone who cares. I discuss with him the options we have. He promises to put my driver in touch with the International Justice Mission (IJM), who provides legal representation to those falsely accused of crimes.

In the evening, I receive a call from Peter – finally, with some positive news. A high government official got involved and asked the police and boda boda drivers to come to Uhuru Park the following morning to negotiate a solution. Some hope for justice!

4th October 2019

I get feedback from various sources that the negotiations have led to nothing. Information is conflicting and confusing as to what exactly happened. I feel like I cannot trust that people give me the whole picture unless I have been there myself. It is Friday afternoon, and it is too late to go to the IPOA. I am shocked that no journalist has been reporting on this issue except for two articles from Nairobi News. The articles state that the police claim all operations have happened in CBD, which is an outright lie, and I could bear witness to it.

I decide to go by the police station again. Peter has left already, but others are still around. Nothing has happened again today. The OCS iterates that my boda boda driver should come back the next day and jokes that he will help me because he loves me – disgusting lies I have heard too many times. When I knock on the door of the Officer Commanding Police Division (OCPD), the person above the OCS, I am asked to come in politely while he is watching TV and making phone calls. He claims he is unaware of what exactly happened, as the OCS is responsible for the operation, but that every driver needs to go the formal way to court and hence should return on Monday. Frustrated, I am leaving. I am tired and need a break from this madness.

7th October 2019

Peter has still not yet received his bike back. I call the OCS, who is very angry at me that I talked to his boss on Friday, as my intentions apparently got him into problems. He tells me sharply that I cannot expect further support and that Peter will have to go to court – then he hangs up. I am worried that they will treat Peter even worse now. I tell him to please meet me at IPOA in the afternoon so we can hand in a complaint against the police. In the meantime, I am preparing all the necessary documents. Peter does not show up and excuses himself as he feels sick. I don’t know whether that is true and what is going on. What else can I do?

8th October 2019

No feedback from Peter. I am getting concerned, even though I should let it go, as he didn’t show up yesterday. Later in the day, he informs me that he has been taken to court and was fined KES 10,000 for road obstruction. If he cannot pay, he will be jailed for two months. I am not sure whether to believe him or not, as I have not been there in person. My work colleagues tell me that paying this amount as bail is standard, and it is not that high for being charged with obstruction (which is apparently common). No wonder corruption is proliferating if it is cheaper and quicker to bribe a policeman than to go the official way to a court.

When I chat with a person at the IJM, I am told that this case has a slim chance of being taken forward since my driver was not illegally detained and the assault was not bad enough for him to go to the hospital. They currently have other things to worry about – for example, a court case for the murder of one of their lawyers and a boda boda driver, that he represented in court after handing in a complaint to IPOA over police brutality against the driver. The two were murdered in 2016 by order of the policeman against which the complaint was filed. No wonder they are hesitant to take up this case. Even if they did, it would take weeks.

I call Peter later, who explains that when he was told about his charges, he had the chance to reject them, but he would have had to wait another 14 days to reappear in court – possibly an intimidation strategy. From my conversation with the representative of the boda boda drivers, this seems to not be accurate. The motorbike would have been released immediately, while the charge would have been reviewed. However, in a situation where no rule seems certain and you get diverging information, can you really rely on this? Can I resent my driver for pleading guilty, as he just wanted it to finally end?

He manages to raise KES 10,000 from friends, and I contribute a bit so that he can finally get his motorbike back.

I try to convince him to still file the complaint, but he doesn’t believe that they will be able to serve him justice and deems it as too dangerous. Now that I read about the murder case in 2016, I fear I have to agree with him. “There is no justice in Kenya. Only God is just for the weak,” he dramatically proclaims. I believe he should have continued to fight for justice, as faith in God alone does not help, but I also understand why he gave up. It is a fight of David against Goliath, only that Goliath seems to always win here.