From The Blood Beneath the Flag: One Year Since the Gen Z Uprising

by Inuka Kenya | Jun 25, 2025 | Articles, Stories

Where did our humanity go?

That’s the question still hanging heavy in the air, one year since Kenya lost her young mashujaa-the Gen Z heroes who dared to dream out loud. They marched not with weapons, but with placards, water and phones. They carried flags, not stones. They sang for justice, not war. And yet, the State met them with rage.

June 2024 is etched in our history-not just as a protest, but as a heartbreak. As we mark one year since that turning point, we remember not just the fallen, but the fire they lit in all of us.

But this wasn’t the first time our nation tasted blood.

From the dark reign of President Moi, where whispers could get you jailed, to the early promises of reform under Kibaki, and into the digital resistance under Uhuru, one truth has remained: police brutality is deeply rooted in Kenya’s political soil. It did not start yesterday. It’s a shadow that has followed us for generations.

Back then, it was campus raids and Nyayo House torture cells. Today, it’s bullets to the chest and unmarked cars disappearing youth. What changed? Very little, except now, the victims are livestreaming their arrests. The nation is watching in real time.

And yet, we passed a Constitution in 2010. A people’s document. A promise of freedom. Of dignity. Of justice. We were proud. We thought we had arrived.

But in the alleyways of Dandora, the corners of Kayole, the fields of Isiolo, the coast of Mombasa, the estates of Kisumu, the hills of Meru, the towns of Kakamega, and the streets of Nairobi-young people are still dying at the hands of those meant to protect them. From Turkana to Kilifi, Embu to Eldoret, the same cries rise.

Where is our humanity?

We see police not as allies, but as threats. We fear the uniform. And it’s not just about the youth in the so-called “hotspots.” It’s nationwide. From highrise flats to remote villages, no one is safe from the State’s iron hand when it feels threatened by its own citizens.

And when Gen Z stood up,creatively, courageously, unapologetically, they reminded us what democracy should look like. They rejected tribal puppetry. They organized without politicians. They educated each other on the Constitution more effectively than civic education ever did. And they did it with humour, music, memes, and skits

But the cost was high.

We lost young lives. Bright minds. Unarmed warriors. Some were shot. Others were abducted. Many were tortured. And yet, they never picked up violence-they held onto dignity. That is utu. That is strength.

Police officers, too, are victims of a broken system,trained to obey, not to think. Many are poor, frustrated, and scared. But being a victim of the system does not justify becoming an agent of oppression. When the police protect power instead of people, the law becomes lawless.

So, as we remember the one-year mark since the Gen Z revolution took center stage, we ask: how many more must die before we fix the system?

This is not just a moment. It’s a movement.
It’s not just about Gen Z. It’s about Kenya.

If we continue to normalize brutality, we normalize silence. If we continue to bury the truth, we bury our future.

The Constitution wasn’t meant to gather dust. It was meant to be lived. To protect. To heal. To serve. We owe it to those we’ve lost to make it real.

Let this anniversary not just be about remembrance, but about recommitment. To justice. To truth. To utu.

Because when one Gen Z fell, a hundred more rose. And they are not backing down.

To Heal, You Must Be Brave Enough to Speak

by Inuka Kenya | Jun 10, 2025 | Articles, Stories

This June, as we mark Men’s Mental Health Month, we’re confronted not just with statistics or awareness campaigns, but with the raw, painful truth of a real human story, the kind that forces us to pause and feel. It is the story of Boniface Mwangi, a man known for his courage on the streets, his fire in activism, and now, for a rare, unfiltered vulnerability that deserves our collective attention. 

After traveling to Tanzania to stand in solidarity with Tundu Lissu, Boniface was arrested, blindfolded, taken to a secret location, stripped, and sexually assaulted. It’s a sentence that is difficult to write. Even harder to imagine. But Boniface chose to speak it, to name what happened, and in doing so, he broke the silence that imprisons so many men. 

In a world where masculinity is still tied to stoicism and silence, where tears are swallowed and trauma buried, Boniface’s voice became an act of defiance — a powerful reminder that strength is not in hiding our wounds, but in daring to reveal them. 

Too often, men suffer in the shadows. Fear, shame, and stigma silence them. And when they do speak up, especially about something as taboo as sexual violence, they’re met with disbelief or cruel jokes. But Boniface refused to shrink. He chose honesty over image. Pain over pretence. 

His story is not just about what was done to him- it’s about what he chose to do with it. He reminded us that even the most outspoken among us can carry unspeakable pain. That behind every brave face might be a battle no one sees. 

This isn’t just about Boniface. It’s about the countless men who’ve never told their stories. Who lie awake at night with panic attacks they don’t know how to name. Who flinches at touch. Who carry trauma as a secret weight, masked by anger or silence. For them, Boniface’s truth matters. It matters deeply. 

At the East Africa Wellness Hub and in the Community, we want to do more than applaud him. We want to hold him, and every man like him, in a space of warmth, compassion, and fierce love. We want our community to be a place where men don’t have to be anything but human, where they can tremble and still be strong. Where they can cry and still be seen. Where they can say, “I need help,” and be met with, “We’re here.”

Boniface Mwangi 

We see you. 

We hear you. 

We honor your courage. 

Thank you for bravely sharing your pain with us and for challenging repressive and retrogressive cultural norms that silence so many. Your vulnerability is not just a personal act of healing- it is a powerful invitation to others. 

You gave us permission to speak. 

To feel. 

To break. 

To heal. 

You cracked open a door-not just for yourself, but for countless men who have been afraid to name their pain, to confront it, and to begin the journey toward wholeness. 

Your voice is a light. Your pain, shared, becomes a bridge. And your truth makes space for transformation. 

We stand with you. 

To every man reading this: You don’t have to carry it alone. You deserve to be loved, to be listened to, to be held, not just in moments of joy, but especially in your moments of unraveling. Vulnerability is not your weakness; it is your humanity. And it is beautiful. 

This Men’s Mental Health Month, let’s do more than wear blue ribbons or post hashtags. Let’s sit with each other. Let’s ask, “How are you, really?” Let’s create spaces that welcome tears as much as laughter. Let’s teach our sons that strength isn’t in silence, it’s in truth. 

And to Boniface: thank you for leading with your heart. May your healing be deep, may your courage ripple wide, and may you always know, you are not alone.