Scars of injustice: Activist pays heavy price for defending truth

The Bible tells the story of Job, a man who lost everything—his family, his property and even his health—yet remained steadfast in his faith. Despite immense suffering and relentless trials, Job refused to renounce his belief in God.

Job’s story mirrors that of Nathan Chumba, a human rights defender from Kuresoi North in Nakuru County.

Tested by loss, violence and persistent threats, Chumba has remained unwavering in his resolve to defend and champion the rights of society’s most vulnerable. His activism has cost him dearly. He has lost his twin brother, watched his home reduced to ashes on more than one occasion, and lived under constant threat for speaking out against injustice.

“I have been in the civic space for the past 20 years, fighting for the rights of indigenous people and defending human rights,” he says.

Born and raised in Kuresoi, a cosmopolitan area long plagued by election-related violence, Chumba’s life has been shaped by conflict and resistance. He draws inspiration from the late Karimi Nduthi and Tirop Kitur, renowned human rights defenders from the region.

“I admired the way they stood up for people’s rights. I wanted to be a human rights defender like them. Their courage resonated with me because they came from my region,” he recalls.

In 2007, as Kenya reeled from post-election violence, Chumba was among those advocating for peace and the resettlement of internally displaced persons in Nakuru. Working alongside networks of human rights defenders, he played a role in efforts to reconcile communities.

But life in civic activism often means confronting powerful interests—and paying a price. His work earned him enemies who, he says, were determined to silence him.

“I started my day normally, unaware that someone had put a price on my head,” he recounts quietly. “In the afternoon, I left home to attend to some matters. Soon after, my family was attacked by people we knew.”

As the attackers chanted his name, his twin brother stepped out to find out what was happening. Mistaken for Chumba, he was brutally killed.

“My brother went out, and one of the attackers identified him as me. He was hacked to death. I watched helplessly, devastated, unable even to scream,” he says.

The assailants made off with the family’s livestock and torched their home. The attack happened at around 3pm. By 5pm, Chumba was rescued by fellow civil society members with the help of security officers.

The trauma did not end there. Three months later, his father died, overcome by depression after losing a son and their property.

Since the 1992 elections, Chumba says his family home has been burned down in every election cycle, with 2007 marking the darkest chapter. “I could not even bury my brother. The threats and hostility were overwhelming. I was advised to stay in a safe house until things calmed down,” he says.

Yet the violence did not deter him. Instead, it steeled his resolve to continue defending the less fortunate.

In 2016, Chumba found himself on the frontline of another battle, this time over public land meant for a market. A private developer, he claims, had illegally grabbed the land. After sustained pressure, the land was returned to the community.

That victory, however, came with consequences. One night, as his family slept, he was jolted awake by his seven-year-old daughter screaming that her hair was on fire.

“If not for her, I don’t know what would have happened. She screamed, and I realised the house was burning,” he says.

They managed to escape, but the incident left him shaken and fearful for his family’s safety. Once again, it was his colleagues in civil society who came to his aid. For his protection, he was later relocated to the Netherlands as tensions eased back home.

While abroad, Chumba says he observed how civic work in developed countries is carried out freely, without intimidation or state victimisation—an experience that deeply contrasted with life back home. Eventually, he returned to Kenya.

Amid the suffering, Chumba takes pride in the impact of his work. In Kuresoi, an area with high cases of defilement, he has worked with other defenders to pursue justice for victims.

“If I am not in court, I am at a police station, helping those denied justice because they lack power or resources,” he says.

His family, he adds, has been his greatest source of strength.

“My family is my support system. My greatest fear comes during elections. I hope that one day I will live without fear, and that my children will enjoy their childhood without constantly looking over their shoulders,” he says.

Chumba regrets that many Kenyans remain unaware of their rights—a gap he believes allows exploitation and abuse to thrive.

Like Job, his faith has been tested by fire. And like Job, he endures—scarred, steadfast and unbroken.