The Transition from Shamba to Concentration Camp:
My family was relocated from Mzungu’s shamba to a concentration camp in Nakuru, then to a Gilgil camp, and finally to Ngenia, Limuru, in Kiambu district. A reserved region was set aside for the Gīkūyū tribe by the colonial government. The colonial government relocated all Gīkūyū people outside Central Province to a reserved area so that they could control the rebellion. All the male Gīkūyū workers who were part of the movement were detained, and their families moved to the concentration camps then to the Central Province. The main camps in Rift Valley were in Nakuru and Gilgil, and my family spent time in the two camps.
My father did not come back home for several days, and I had no idea why. I couldn’t ask my mother anything about it since children were not supposed to ask adults any questions. My mother’s mood remained the same, so I didn’t know what was happening. Later on, I came to understand that he had been detained. Nobody in my family talked about it, and I never got to know how they felt about his absence and detention. Following my father’s detention, we stayed at the Mzungu’s shamba until one day I saw the Mzungu driving his Land Rover towards our home. He parked outside our house and called my mother. I didn’t hear what they talked about, but my mother rushed back into the house and told us to follow her outside. She locked the house and put us into Mzungu’s car. We never went back to our house until today. We lost all our belongings. I specifically lost my threads I had prepared for making a small bag (kīondo). The threads made from mügio bushes that I had chewed by my teeth to soften. My small Kīondo was half way made. I was learning to make the bag by observing my mother do it.
I had never seen the Mzungu before, although every day during lunch time we were told to remain quiet because he took a nap from 1 p.m. to 2 p.m. I took the opportunity to watch him from the backseat of the car, and I noted his big head, long face, long nose, and big ears. He was tall, slim, and old. He never talked to us, so I never heard his voice. The workers in the shamba had nicknamed him “igorome,” meaning he had a rumbling voice, but I never heard it. The car ride was exciting, and I watched in awe as the trees moved so fast outside. Mzungu drove us to a place called Nakuru, which I had never visited before. He drove into a gate which had a guard, and after parking in a large yard, he motioned for us to get out of the car. Without talking to us or the guard, he drove off.
Inside the fenced area were several large buildings, and the guard told my mother to go to one of the buildings, and we were escorted by another guard. The building was packed with women and children, and we were told to get in line. My mother was given uncooked food, dishes, sufurias (thuburia), and firewood. After receiving the items, she was assigned a space in the building. She lit a fire and cooked the food, and put out the fire completely after we had eaten. In the evening, she went back in line to get food for dinner. By sunset, everyone had eaten and used the toilet, and we slept on the cold cement floor. My mother had been given two blankets, and we lay on one and covered ourselves with the other one.
Sleeping on the floor was uncomfortable, but as the days passed, we became accustomed to it. The toilets had a cement floor and a hole in the middle – the small children pooped all over the floor, and I never knew who cleaned it. I was always scared to use the toilet because I thought I would fall inside if I was not able to stand astride it. I could see the feces and eel the warm air coming from the hole, but with no other options, I had to use the toilet.
The playground was an even ground with well mowed grass. There were swings and other playing equipment that I had never seen before. The children played together in the yard after breakfast and after lunch. My siblings and I had a lot of fun, especially because my mother had never let us play with other children in the shamba.
After staying in the Nakuru concentration camp for some time, we were moved to the Gilgil (Girigiri) concentration camp where we stayed for a while. We were then transferred to an open concentration camp in Ngenia, Limuru, in Kiambu district in central province. This was my father’s home district, but my mother had never visited the place before. My father’s ID listed his address as Gīthīga, Kiambu, not far from the Church Society Mission School, where he attended school. The concentration camp in Ngenia did not have any buildings, toilets, or places to sit. It was a large open area where women and children from Rift Valley concentration camps dropped and from there had to locate their respective locations in the central province meant reserved place for Gīkūyūs from recorded t addresses of the husband ID. Our address was Gīthīga location area and no address number.
My father’s youngest sister, auntie Wanjiru, whom I had never met or heard about, showed up at Ngenia concentration camp on the day we arrived. She picked us up and took us to her house in Mūrengeti, where we met her family for the first time. We were loved. We played with our cousins, and had a lot of fun, but the warm reception was short-lived. It was dangerous for my auntie and her family to host us in their home because the colonial government prohibited anyone from associating with the freedom fighters or their families. We had to relocate from her home before the family got in trouble with the government. Her husband was a royal guard in the British government, and he could lose his job or get imprisoned for associating with us.
We moved to an empty house in Gīthīga where we slept on rūthirū leaves on the dirt floor. We had nothing, and my cousin would come at night to bring us freshly cooked maize. We would eat and throw the trash far from the house so that no one would know someone was feeding us. Sometimes my cousin would come and take me to the playground where the community would watch young men dance with tins (kīgamba) tied to their legs. Stones were put in the cans to make rhythmic noise when the dancers move their legs. My cousin was the firstborn son of my father’s oldest brother, who was also in detention.
We did not stay in that house for a long time. We went to live with my mother’s friend, Wamaitha, who had lived in the shamba with us in the early days. Mzungu deported her before us, and she lived near Kanyore. She was a gregarious lady who laughed all the time. She did not have children in the house, and the only items in her house were the three stones around the fireplace at the center of the house. We all slept on the floor on rūthirū leaves, and when she was detained, she left us in her house. We never saw or heard from her again. My mother was later detained, just like Wamaitha.
While my parents, Cage and Gathegu, were still employed at the farm, they joined the Mau Mau freedom fighters. The freedom fighters, made up of Gīkūyūs, fought for Kenya to be freed from colonial rule. My father and mother were detained because of their involvement, my father from 1954 to 1959, and my mother for a shorter period of time. After they were released, they had to go through rehabilitation, probation, and community work at a rehab center located at Kambaa , Gathangari.