solidarity
/ˌsɒlɪˈdarɪti/
noun
noun: solidarity; singular proper noun: Solidarity; noun: Solidarity
- unity or agreement of feeling or action, especially among individuals with a common interest; mutual support within a group.
There’s a lot of ways to be with each other, and the Kenyan protests in June and July — started by the a rejection of the Finance Bill 2024, but also encompassing all the other issues we face, from lack of proper and affordable healthcare, education, staggering levels of corruption, steep taxation, and many more — served as a testament to what it truly means to be with each other.
The solidarity. The sheer solidarity that Kenyans showed each other is what held us, and continues to hold us into the future of this fight.
We’ll talk about the people who showed up and gave their all to this fight, some, including with their lives.
We won’t focus on one particular individual, but instead, we’ll talk about how the common Nairobian mwananchi played their beautiful part in all this.
For a city that’s known for its individualism, fast paced environment and get rich or die trying culture, my goodness, tuliungana.
We held each other’s hands while we ran, making sure no one was left behind and shouting, “Msikimbie haraka, tuchungane!” to ensure that no one got trampled while scrambling for safety from teargas, water cannons, live bullets and rubber ones
Doctors were on the streets with solutions that would make the burn from the teargas and water cannons better. Nairobi business owners put buckets of clean water outside their business premises and offered a safe spot from the police.
The courage was infectious too. Getting into CBD during maandamano days was an anxious affair. You’d alight the matatu or nduthi and be welcomed by the lingering sting of teargas, or shots ringing out. But you’d see people just as scared as you in the middle of the road chanting, waving their flags in front of police armed with deadly weapons. They’d be rebranding street names to those of our fallen heroes, climbing onto high places to dance, cheer and laugh. They would see the police coming and not move a muscle. And that, that gave you the courage to wave your flag too, to sing the anthem too, to cheer whenever teargas and shots rang out, to show our unity and fearlessness.a
Hawkers would motivate us, telling us how important this fight is and we have their support. Parents would wake up early in the morning to pray for us before we hit the streets. Matatu operators and motorbike riders would defy police orders and ferry people home, hooting in support as they passed.
When the police and masked armed men (we couldn’t tell who was who) came out to shoot, beat, abduct and burn us to death, we stood with the dead. There were vigils for shujaaz like Beasley Kogi, a 22 year old whose last tweet read, “Daima mimi mkenya, mwananchi mzalendooooooooooo” … on the day he was killed fighting for his country.
Our youth respectfully wrapped the bodies with Kenyan flags, moved them away from the road, held flags over their bodies and stood there, fists up in the air, even as police tried to scare them away. They stood there, the corpse of one of their own at their feet, terrified but firm in ensuring that no one is alone, even in death. We showed up for their families, wrapped in the eternity of grief.
Watu wa Nai walisimama pamoja. Tuko tayari kulinda nchi yetu, kuijenga, tumeungana mikono pamoja kazini… and this work will set this country free.