Handling guns, staging rockets, explosives and pain of 'lost' gun

Raila Odinga and Oduor Ong'wen during the launch of the book 'Stronger than faith' written by Oduor Ong'wen. [Denis Kibuchi, Standard]

On top of the daily physical drills, parade, marching and salute that we daily practised to perfection, the second week saw the introduction of something new.

We were introduced to various battle formations. Starting with single file formation, double file formation, arrowhead formation, spearhead formation, and half-moon formation among others. This took two weeks to perfect and add to our repository of military knowledge.

As we practised various formations, the skills we had learnt in parades and marching started becoming handy. I came to an conclusion that no knowledge is useless.

Before this, I wondered what use parades and marches served apart from just mounting them for dignitaries to inspect, marching past to impress crowds on important occasions and saluting the dais. I realised that within just three weeks, our instincts had been conditioned to quickly and accurately respond to orders.

Each command received its immediate and appropriate response. Most importantly, a people's army was taking shape.

All this time, we had not been introduced to the instruments for making war-the firearms. They came in the fourth week. The lesson on firearm began with standard sub-machine guns.

As guerrilla fighters, our standard weapon would be an assault rifle. Also known as self-loading rifles or SLR's, these are rifles that use intermediate cartridges and can switch between sub automatic busts and fully automatic firing.

They have more power than a pistol but less than a battle rifle. Among the machines included were the G3 rifle, self-loading rifle (SLR), and other rifles. A guerrilla militant's machine of choice is the AK.

We were introduced to the AK-47 rifle or AKM. AKM is an improved version of the famed AK-47. AKM is more rugged, more efficient and less susceptible to jamming.

Designed by Mikhail Kalashnikov in 1947, the weapon was named AK (Avtomat Kalashnikova or Automatic Kalashnikov) in honour of the innovator. With an effective range of 350 metres and rate of release of 600 rounds per minute, the AK is regarded as one of the handiest rifles. Apart from the AK 47 and AKM, we were also introduced to the AK-74, which is also Soviet-made.

The Hungarian military's AK-63 completed the Warsaw pact assault rifle remit. In the NATO weaponry, we concentrated on Heckler and Koch's G3 rifles. It almost marched AKM head to head with an effective range of between 200 and 600 metres, and a rate of release of between 500 and 600 rounds per minute. Others we leaned about included the US Army's M16, the Italian Berretta AR 70/90, and the Swedish AK 5.

We then were introduced to the shortgun or she-gun before we took pistol lessons. For each rifle, we were introduced to component parts, how to dismantle and assemble, and how to clean it. The same was done with regard to pistols.

Competitions were organised on who would dismantle and assemble a rifle fastest. Six rifles would be placed on a mat, six recruits would line up and on the sound of a whistle, they would kneel, pick a rifle to dismantle and reassemble then stand and salute.

The first to salute would be the winner, and merit would be graded in that manner. This was repeated with each weapon until every recruit was at home with all the firearms available. But more emphasis was placed on the AK-47 and G3. There was consideration that since the main rifle used by the Kenyan security forces at that time was the G3, we were most likely to recover G3s and that we would, therefore, build an arsenal of mainly G3 rifles.

The AK 47 was considered important for us to be familiar with because of its versatility and hardiness. They called it the guerrilla's weapon. Then we were introduced to pistols. The most common one was Star, made in Yugoslavia. We disassembled and assembled them many times until we could dismantle and assemble a rifle or a pistol in less than three minutes.

On the day firearms were introduced, we deferred political education session. The session was instead used to master the length and weight of a G3 rifle. Each recruit had to have his own stick. We were forbidden to call them sticks. They were rifles. We were to carry them all the time and care for them the same way we would for real firearms.

The day we were introduced to firearms was a very exciting one and at 4 o'clock, as we marched back to the camp, we sang songs of the conquests we would make in Kenya; from Bungoma to Malindi.

A day after the commencement of the firearms lessons, we were made to start guard duties. The first week, all of us were to guard the camp the whole night and proceed with the daily routine in the day. Sleep became the scarcest and most precious thing. One afternoon after lunch, as we waited for 2 oclock to return to the training ground, the entire platoon fell asleep.

The instructors began collecting rifles. I saw them do so but they signalled me not to raise an alarm and I made the mistake of being part of the conspiracy. After they had collected the arms and hidden them, the instructors blew the whole for people to folen and march back to training

None, save for me, had his rifle. They were ordered to find their rifles. Everyone ran helter-skelter. They checked inside the huts, went around the huts, and combed the entire camp. The rifles could not be found. Then the instructors summoned everyone and said we were going to search for the missing rifles in an orderly manner.

They made us march to the training ground. Then we were ordered to crawl in the brush in search of the missing arms. That it was illogical to make people look at the training ground for rifles that were lost in the camp did not matter

As we crawled, we would be whipped, kicked in the bums and absorb dehumanising insults. It was pure torture. I was not spared even though I had my rifle and had witnessed the disarming of the entire platoon. Indeed, that was my crime. I was chided. "How do you see your troops being disarmed and not raise an alarm?"

We were subjected to extreme torture in the name of trying to recover stolen "firearms". It mattered little that these were just sticks and about four actual rifles. The cruel 'search for lost firearms continued into the night. When it was finally called off, amid loud grumbles and a clear threat of mutiny from the recruits, we all had bruises, thorn pricks and aching bodies.

Here we were dealing with unrepentant sadists. It took my intervention with the assistance of Odenda and Buke, amid serious pain and internal hatred for the people who had so mistreated us, to counsel my colleagues not to boycott the following morning's mchakamchaka. The following day after the mchakamchaka and breakfast, we did not have the usual drills.

The commandant came to give us a pep talk on the importance of protecting firearms. It was one of the longest lectures we ever had from the Commandant as he painted the grimmest picture of what could result from one soldier losing a firearm.

From then on, every recruit defended their rifles - real or stick - with their lives. They would keep it between their thighs when eating. They would make it part of their improvised pillow when resting (a soldier was not supposed to sleep). All the time they were walking, they would sling the rifle on their shoulder or hold it with both hands across their chest. One day, one recruit failed this test. I was that recruit.

We usually had a day off training on Sundays after the morning ritual of mchakamchaka. This is the time we used for doing all our personal chores, praying for the religious among us (who were not many), and lazily chatting about.

After breakfast and a bit of reading, I went to the lakeshore, about 400 metres away, where I washed my spare pair of fatigues and undergarments then bathed. Thereafter, I walked back to the camp where I set out to spread my washing in the sun.

As I was spreading the garments, someone came to tell me that the Commandant had been looking for me and said I should see him immediately. In the military, it had already been instilled in us when a superior called or sent for you, you had to abandon whatever you were doing and respond.

I ran to the Commandant's hut. I can't recall how long I took with the Boss. What I vividly and painfully recall is that when I went back to where I had pressed my clothes, my rifle, which I forgot to retrieve from the ground as I ran to respond to the Commandant's summons, was missing.

Trouble!

I looked everywhere but there was no sign of the HK rifle that I had been assigned. I walked back to the lakeshore - just in case. I walked back to the Camp and tried enquiring in hushed tones whether any of my comrades bad seen my rifle.

I made no headway. Soon, there was word all around the camp that I had lost my rifle. As I was desperately walking about the camp searching, one of the instructors met me and asked why I was walking unarmed. I had no option but to tell him the truth. It was as if I had shot him. He screamed so loudly and sharply that everyone in the camp ran to where the two of us were.

Before I knew it, kipindi cha ghafla was in progress. In the name of looking for the lost firearm, I was subjected to kicks, lashes and all manner of abuses.

"Crawl! Do frog jumps! Duck walks, now!" What I was being subjected to was not a search for some lost weapon but brute torture. After about two hours of working on me, the instructors went to the rest of the recruits. "You are lazing about here and the enemy has disarmed your commander?"

They were duly incorporated in the search. Another two or more hours of kipindi. Everybody's Sunday was ruined.

The kipindi was only brought to an abrupt halt on the orders of the Commandant. It was now around 4 o'clock in the evening. The Commandant expressed anger at the brutalisation of recruits in such a manner on a Sunday afternoon.

Many were taken in by this humane intervention from the highest authority in the camp. But I was not. I had a feeling the Commandant was staging an act. As far as I had come to know how they operated, the Commandant was part of this kipindi thing or was at least aware. It was called unity of command.

After the kipindi had been halted and every recruit had settled to nurse the wounds from the Sunday violence against them, two instructors came to me and ordered me to take off my belt and cap as I was under arrest. They marched me to the Commandant's hut.

Commandant James, Instructor Kanyamozi and other instructors were sitting in wait. The Commandant asked me who my second-in-command was. Of course, they knew that by virtue of being the commander of Section One, Buke was my de facto second-in-command.

"Bungu," I replied. Buke was duly summoned and told that I was under arrest and had to be tried immediately. Meanwhile, he took over as the Platoon Commander. He was told that the trial would commence immediately.

The bench' would be chaired by the Commandant and comprise the three of them already seated and two recruits, one of whom would be him as the Platoon Commander. Buke asked that Odenda, as the Political Commissar be the second recruit.

I had a feeling that had my trial been left in the hands of the recruits, I would have suffered more as my carelessless with firearm had led to their collective punishment on a Sunday afternoon. Yet Sunday was the only day of rest, reflection and fantasy.

I was charged with the offence of "losing a firearm, namely HK... Assault Rifle, through careless handling", and an alternative charge of "neglecting to keep a firearm, namely HK... Assault Rifle, in safe and secure place contrary to the UWAKE/JEWAKE Code of Operations."

I pleaded guilty and I was whisked away as 'the Bench' deliberated on the sentence. There was no space and time to address my prosecutors cum judges in mitigation. After about five minutes, I was marched back and the Commandant pronounced the sentence.

I had been found guilty on my own plea and "after exhaustive deliberations and careful consideration of the gravity of the offence and taking into account the accused's position as the overall commander of the recruits," was sentenced to four days in protective custody in a cave, hard labour, to wit, digging and building a pit latrine 20 feet deep, five nights of guard duties unarmed and seven days of going to operations unarmed.

"Shot! Kulia! Shot! Kulia!" I was marched in a beeline from the Commandant's hut to the cave, ordered in and two armed instructors instantly took guard post. It was like clock work. I was not the first to be jailed in this cave. But mine was the first long sentence.

The following morning, after the militants had had their breakfast and gone for training, I was called out of the cave, shown the spot where the latrine was to be dug and went to work. By the end of the third day, I had sunk 16 feet.

The Commandant, when he passed by, was very impressed. He ordered that I terminate digging the pit at that point and build a shelter around it. Building a shelter around the pit took me some three hours on the fourth day. I thus finished the latrine project in three days and a half, and was left with one and a half days to spare.

I served the rest of my sentence as prescribed and was happy to resume training after a week. Fortunately, there was no new learning introduced that week while I was serving time. I was relieved to learn this as catching up could be a challenge.

I resumed my training, and for seven days without a rifle. Thereafter, my firearm was restored, as well as my responsibility as Platoon Commander. That day, two new lessons were introduced - goose marching and heavy guns. I enjoyed both.

We were exposed to the functioning of rocket propelled grenade launchers, commonly known by their initials, RPGs. We studied and tested anti-tank and anti-aircraft artillery: 30 millimetre rocket launchers and 60 millimetre rocket launchers.

I was amazed at the intellectual input that went into the science of human killing. The weapons have an amazing precision and destructive power. We were being transformed into killing machines and the progress was fantastic. We were taught to kill the enemy and protect civilians. Any militant who harassed a civilian was subject to punishment, including being killed. We talked about killing as if it was a handshake.

Field craft lessons exposed us to real battle situations. We practised different offensive formations; we practised flanking, reconnaissance or recce; we learnt and rehearsed different types of ambushes, both for personnel and vehicles; we practised sniping; retreating tactically and in an orderly manner, and building of defences.

The lessons were enjoyable. We felt like the best fighters ever. Everyone was looking forward to engaging the enemy. Here was a team raring to go and we sang about it: Wasaliti hawa wametuua sana lazima tupambane (These traitors have killed us wantonly, we must engage them).

The last lessons were on explosives. Starting with different types of hand grenades, we studied different types of bombs and land mines. We were taught how to lay land mines and construct mine maps and booby traps. How to navigate a suspected minefield was one of the last practical lessons in the camp.

On the afternoon of April 6, 1992, senior officers from Kampala came to the camp. We were summoned from training sessions and commanded to do a march-past. And without ceremony, the training was concluded. No passing out parade; no certificates. But a contingent of people's soldiers had been baked. We broke camp and left for Kampala that evening. Under the cover of darkness.