How far we’ve come as a nation on the route to Press freedom

By Njoka Mwenda

NAIROBI, KENYA: Watching the proceedings of the World Press Freedom Day at Kenyatta International Conference Centre on Friday May 3 brought back memories and harrowing experiences from another era.

Allow me, precious reader to regale you with a little tale that happened on the eve of Good Friday in April 1991, that is a good 22 years ago. At the time I was working as a young journalist with Society Magazine, then a firebrand weekly that called-it-as-it-was during those politically tricky days when few publications dared to raise their heads above safe waters.

On that chilly Thursday morning, I and my colleagues Mukalo wa Kwayera, Laban Gitau as well as the publisher of Society Magazine, Pius Nyamora and his wife Louise reported to work at Tumaini House normally.

But on arrival at Tumaini House, an interesting welcoming party met us. A contingent of dozen-plus policemen had taken strategic positions around the building while others lay in wait on 4th floor when our offices were located.

When got to the office a burly man came over to me and asked “Are you Mwenda Njoka?” Unwittingly, I proudly said “Yes I am, what about it?” His response was to summon two colleagues who were standing along the corridor “We have another one, come take him down to the car!”

The burly man told me that he and his colleagues were police officers from CID Headquarters and they were investigating a crime of which my colleagues and I were suspects. With these words, I was dragged from the office and bundled into the boot of an unmarked police car.

Next stop was at the CID headquarters where we were packed inside what was for all purposes and intents dog kennels where to fit in you had to crouch and stay in that position for hours because there was no room for movement.

Now in a state of absolute shock, I kept praying that Noah arap Too, then Director of CID whom I had met a few weeks earlier would, by some miracle come to our rescue. Naively, I kept peeping out through the wire-mesh hoping to catch a glimpse of the CID Director and scream for his help. Of course this didn’t happen. When darkness enveloped the city, a fresh team of police officers came and opened the cages relaxing a numb limbs and bodies. Soon we were quickly hustled into different cars and driven in different directions.

On the way, the police officers who had sandwiched me in the car kept touting me “Njoka, where do you think we are taking you? Are you scared? Do you think we are going to kill you?” Of course I was completely scared and feared the worst but I tried to act brave saying “I don’t know where you are taking me and since I can’t do anything about it, the only thing I can do is to pray and hope for the best.”

We all spent a tormenting night in our different police stations and the following day another team of police officers picked us up and drove us to Mombasa where again we were locked up in different police stations.

Come Tuesday after the Easter weekend and we were taken to Mombasa Chief Magistrate’s Court to face assorted charges of sedition for various stories we had published. At the time, if convicted of just a single sedition charge you could go in for seven years. I faced seven charges, which theoretically meant I was looking at a possibility of 49 years behind bars!

We were denied bail and driven to Shimo la Tewa Prison where we were to spend several weeks before finally being granted bail under stiff conditions. After more than a year of harassment and the inconvenience of reporting to Central Police Station every Friday, the cases were quietly dropped with the State acting as if nothing had happened.

So looking at the levels of press freedom we enjoy today, one can only say, the country has come a long way and we should never allow anyone to take us back to the bad old days.