Like a river, the journey towards our independence was made up of many strands. Some threads are well-known and others represent smaller streams, ones that started so long ago they are sometimes forgotten in the annals of time. Today we share the story of Mary Muthoni Nyanjiru, a firebrand fighter, a justice warrior, a fearless defender. Her story is almost 100 years old, so it may seem disconnected from the more familiar fight of the latter half of the last century. Nevertheless, it is a powerful stream in the river of our Jamhuri story.

The year was 1922 and Nairobi was just coming into its own. Its municipality charter was still fresh at barely three years old. No one at that stage was really from Nairobi, most people had started their lives elsewhere and now found themselves seeking opportunity in this bustling frontier town. One thing that was alive and well though was segregation – Africans, Indians, and Europeans only came together in the area of commerce, trade, and taxes.

Since 1901 Africans were expected to pay a hut tax which meant that they had to seek paid work. Many moved to Nairobi in search of better fortunes and while the majority were men, many women also came to the town. In this period the government raised the tax rate for Africans and Harry Thuku who was a well-known activist, argued tirelessly against the implicitly forced labour that thousands of Africans had to endure to make this payment, particularly women who were forced into picking coffee on European farms. On account of his advocacy as a member of the East Africa Association (EAA), he was jailed at the Nairobi Police Station, one of Nairobi’s first buildings, on 14th March 1922.

The news of his arrest spread and the EAA encouraged the Africans whom he stood for to down their tools and go on strike. They answered the call.

By mid-day of the 15th they began to gather in their hundreds outside the police station peacefully demanding for the release of Thuku. While their demands were not met an unusual thing happened that night. Many of the women who had gathered underwent a traditional oathing – binding themselves to the cause for freedom for Thuku, and indeed for themselves.

The next day the crowds were back again, many perhaps emboldened by the oath they had taken and thousands certainly angered by the injustices they felt in their daily lives – toiling for a pittance, having no municipal services, being treated as second class citizens in their home. They began singing and demanding for Thuku’s release. For all, we know perhaps this was the genesis of our modern-day “Haki Yetu”. In time there were more than six thousand people, women and men on that day on Ainsworth Causeway all rallying around an idea of dignity.

Six men were selected by the Colonial Secretary to meet with the government. When they came back with the habari to the strikers, they tried to encourage the masses to disperse, sharing that they had been assured that Thuku would be given a fair trial by the government. While some began to leave, a shift happened with many women pushing their way to the frontline disagreeing with the messengers. The energy in the crowd could not be contained. In anger, Mary Muthoni Nyanjiru used her traditional “weapon” to challenge the men. Lifting her calico dress above her head she shouted “Take my dress and give me your trousers you cowardly men. Why are we waiting? Our leader is in jail, let us go and get him.” Traditionally, being faced with a woman’s nakedness was the most damning of challenges and several of the protestors were emboldened or shamed into action by her defiant act. With that she turned back to the police station, walking all the way up to the askari’s who knelt facing the crowds with the bayonets at the ready. Ululations filled the air as the protestors surged forward towards the station. Alas, firing began from both the station as well as from the Europeans who had been watching the unfolding events from the Norfolk hotel’s Delamere Terrace.

Having rallied thousands Nyanjiru was one of the first to die that day, her brave stance against the injustice that had been meted against her and her people was her last act. 55 other lives were lost on the 16th of March 1922. While the tax hikes that formed the basis of the protests were abandoned by the colonial government after the protest, the day and the actions of Nyanjiru started a powerful thread in the journey that would finally be complete on December 12th 1963. Her spririt could not be quelled though and her clarion call to be brave was was captured in the song Kanyegenuri, a song that was sung by and galvanized many Mau Mau almost 30 years later. Indeed heroes never die.