A Family Shattered
In Nakuru, Maria Shikwe is grappling with the loss of her 18-year-old autistic son, Austin Onyisa, whose death during the protests remains shrouded in mystery. "That morning, I asked Austin and his younger brother, who is also autistic, to get ready so we could update their medical records on the eCitizen platform," Maria recalls. After completing their errands, they returned home around 1 p.m., but her younger son was missing.
Concerned, Maria sent Austin to look for him. Moments later, she went out to search as well. When she returned, neither son was home. As protests escalated, tear gas filled the air, and gunshots echoed in the distance. By 7 p.m., her sons were still missing.
"I walked from one police station to another, desperate for answers. When that failed, I visited every hospital on foot until 10 p.m.," she says. Doctors advised her to return the next morning, as many injured protesters were still in surgery. At dawn, Maria resumed her search. One hospital instructed her to check all wards, then delivered devastating news: call your relatives, bring your pastor. In the morgue, she found Austin.
"There he was, my son. But they mislabelled his age, saying he was 30. I was in shock. He wasn't even protesting-he was just looking for his brother," Maria says, tears streaming down her face. "He was with me that morning, safe. Then he was gone."
Maria reported the case to the Independent Policing Oversight Authority (IPOA), but no progress has been made. "I keep waiting for a call that never comes," she says. Life without Austin is unbearable. Her younger son, non-verbal and unable to understand road safety, relies on her completely. "Austin was responsible despite his autism. He helped with chores, cared for the house, and watched over his brother," she says.
Austin loved music, often dancing by the door. "He was quiet, joyful. He didn't deserve this," Maria says. "Now, his brother stares at his photo, unable to comprehend the loss."
Faith Nafula Atsangu, a counseling psychologist, explains that losing a child to violence is a uniquely devastating trauma. "Grief is not linear-it comes in waves. For mothers who lost children during the protests, healing is especially difficult because these were abrupt, unjust deaths," she says. "It's not just mourning-it's confusion, rage, and helplessness."
Grief unfolds in stages: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. Many mothers linger in denial, hoping their child might return, or spiral into depression, unable to function. "Some eventually reach acceptance, learning to live with the pain, but the journey is deeply personal," Nafula says. Unresolved grief can lead to chronic stress, weakening the immune system and increasing health risks.
Nafula urges mothers to seek support. "Talk to a therapist, join a support group, or reconnect with activities that bring joy. You're not alone." As a mother, she adds, "We were individuals before we became mothers. We had dreams, hobbies, laughter. Grief cannot consume our entire identity. Self-care is survival."
A Nation's Failure
Edith and Maria are among 63 families mourning children lost during the June 2024 protests, sparked by opposition to the Finance Bill 2024's punitive tax hikes.
Peaceful demonstrations turned deadly when police used tear gas and live ammunition. Amnesty International reported at least 75 people killed or injured, many unarmed.
The Kenya Human Rights Commission condemned the excessive force, demanding independent investigations.
The government's response has been inadequate. While officials promised inquiries, no officers have faced prosecution. Frustrated, grieving parents have filed a petition demanding accountability, compensation, a public inquiry, and mental health support.
Gillian Munyao, known as Mama Rex, has become a symbol of resistance after losing her 19-year-old son, Rex Masai. "You left me with no last words," she says. Leading vigils and petitions, she faces obstacles, including witnesses too scared to testify.
A BBC Africa Eye documentary showing police firing at protesters confirmed families' suspicions of impunity.
"I've gone to IPOA, Amnesty, LSK-everywhere," says Carolyn Mutisya, whose 21-year-old son, Erickson, was shot holding only a water bottle. "We saw the officers' faces in that video. Why hasn't anything been done?"
The silence from President William Ruto's office deepens the pain. "He said he would call me. He never did," says the mother of 12-year-old Kennedy Onyango, killed far from the protests.
For these mothers, Mother's Day is not a celebration but a cruel reminder of loss. "I don't know what I'm celebrating," says Maria. "I feel empty." Their fight for justice continues, a testament to a mother's unbreakable love.