“Are you ok Mum? Are you ok?!”

Muriuki Jr. – Consolata Primary School

6-year-old TJ Muriuki was truly excited. He was now in big school as a Std 1 pupil at Consolata Primary school along Waiyaki Way in Nairobi, uniform and all. After nearly a week he was slowly getting used to the routine. Once classes would end each day, he and his classmates would line up and head out to the waiting bay. Carefully constructed, the area was at the back of the school and was where the junior school pupils would wait each day, playing under the watchful eye of their teachers.

The routine was the same on Tuesday, 15 January, until they heard a loud bang coming from behind the wall. It wasn’t anything to get worried about, after all there were loud bangs every day. But this one was followed shortly by repeating sounds going rat-tat-tat. It was ear-splitting and soon followed by smoke billowing into the sky. What really scared him though was the reactions of the teachers. Suddenly they were shouting at all the children telling them to get down and lie flat on their bellies. The teachers had realized that something was very wrong. Bullets had begun streaming across the wall and into their buildings.

Huddling the kids together, they all slowly made their way to the upper part of the property, all the while crawling like crabs. The kids were frightened but did as they were told. Eventually, they made it to the church where they met other students and teachers having taken sanctuary.

Frightened to the core, Muriuki pleaded with his friend Joe’s mum, who had come to pick up her son, to call his mum. As soon as she picked up, he kept asking, “Are you ok Mum? Are you ok?!”

His mother Mary was confused, assuring her son that he was fine and wondering why he was crying. Mama Joe took back the phone quietly, explaining to her the situation at the school. Shocked, Mary didn’t return to the meeting she had stepped out of. She desperately dashed to her car to head to the school, calling her husband Philip on the way out. He was stuck in traffic but closer to the school, so he slowly made his way up from Uhuru Highway: surprised but thankful that his young son knew his mum’s number. By 4.30pm, he finally made it to Consolata and ran to his son, who promptly burst into tears; the sight of his father stripping down his need to be a brave boy.

The two started to head home, Phillip immensely relieved to have his son safe and sound, but his joy was short-lived. News had filtered around the family that the site of the attack was 14 Riverside Drive — where his elder brother’s son, also a Muriuki, worked.

Muriuki Sr. – The Belgravia building, 14 Riverside Drive

20 years older than his cousin across the wall, Edwin Muriuki joined Daimler Commercial Vehicles as a Graduate Engineer Trainee. Along with fellow Mechanical Engineering classmates Mark Siro and Collins Muigai, he had been one of the first graduates ever selected straight from an African university by the prestigious firm, whose offices were on the 6th floor of the Belgravia building of the complex. As his cousin was playing in the waiting bay, senior Muriuki was chatting to a friend on the phone while in the office kitchen.

When he heard the first blast, he thought a riot had broken out at the university next door. A former UoN student, he was somewhat familiar with the campus riots that would draw tear gas and running battles and his mind rationalized that as the reason for the noise. Barely a minute later, he heard what he thought were firecrackers, but soon recognized as gunfire, quickly followed by screams.

He began running back to his office, where three of his colleagues, including Mike, were. Before he got there, he noticed a man knocking desperately on the glass door to their office, pleading to be let in. In shock, he hesitated, wondering who he was, then realized the fear on his face meant he couldn’t be one of the attackers. He scanned him in, only to learn that he had seen the building being attacked by armed individuals.

The two hurried into the washrooms, where they took a moment to pray together. Sean had been in a similar attack years before in Somalia and was desperate to let his family know that he was ok, but should anything happen, he loved them dearly. Unfortunately, he had lost his phone in his escape. Muriuki handed over his so he could email his wife.

Within no time, Muriuki’s colleagues ran into the area and they all took cover in the bathroom. It was now four men and one lady. One of them was battling high blood pressure. They had to keep monitoring him closely as he would sometimes struggle breathing. With Muriuki having one of only two phones between all of them, the team started calling all their loved ones. Checking in and telling them they were fine but trapped was their only way to assuage worries from the outside. Calls went out to the American and Indian embassies too, their nationals letting them know that they were in a dire situation. They had no choice but to settle down into a wait, constantly punctuated by gunfire. Thankfully, constant communication with various security forces, foreign and local, assured them that they would be rescued.

After three hours, the team of five were joined by a Japanese gentleman who was from another office on the floor. He came bearing water, a phone and mobile chargers – their link to the outside world assured. At about 6pm, they heard the police outside their main door, but it was to evacuate the other wing. They hoped their rescue would come soon. Muriuki received a phone call from the police telling them they would be there soon, but not to come out until they heard a code word.

Throughout the ordeal, he talked with his family: father, uncles, grandmother, his mother assuring him she was just across the road with his aunt Mary. They were keeping vigil as they prayed constantly for strength, grace and protection for him and his team. It would take nerve-racking hours, but rescue finally came. The team was herded out of the office shortly before 8pm.

Down the stairs they went, but after two flights, were abruptly told to stop. They would need another route. The third floor was compromised. Backtracking cautiously, they were led to safety through the emergency exit of Dusit Hotel, which linked to the back of their building. It was an unfamiliar and confusing route, but safety was paramount. They followed, trying hard not to take stock of the bullet holes that marked the walls or the acrid smell that permeated the building.

Once on the ground floor, the six were divided into two groups. They had to board an armored vehicle to take them through a dangerous zone and Muriuki remained behind to go in the second round. Once loaded, the vehicle moved them slowly past the buildings that had taken the worst gunfire. Even in the semi-darkness they could see the destruction that had been wrought.

Rescued and reunited

Once out, Muriuki and his colleagues bandied together through the registration center and then walked slowly to the main road. One by one, he called their relatives and their other team members who had not been onsite during the attack. Assuring them that the little group was all safely out was imperative to ease nervous waiting. Adrenaline spent, exhaustion suddenly kicked in and he could barely walk to Waiyaki Way – the designated pickup area. But he and the others mustered the last of their energy and slowly made it. His grateful mother and aunt were there to meet him: two mothers of one household whose sons had both experienced terror that day.

One family – two Muriuki’s, separated by twenty years and one wall, both under the divine protection of the Almighty. Both exhibited the utmost grace under pressure even as they went through the most terrifying of experiences. Individuals, families, colleagues, Kenyans … we are all #KenyaUnbowed.