How Kenyatta welcomed me back home from my London trip

Achieng Oneko. [File, Standard]

In 1951, Achieng’ Oneko and Mbiyu Koinange were sent to England by KAU to present petitions calling for independence. In his biography “The Price of Freedom,” by Barrack Muluka, Oneko explains how he returned home just before the State of Emergency, during which he, Jomo Kenyatta and four others were arrested.

Almost without exception, the colonial powers were unable to address adroitly the issues in the United Nations Charter. The colonial system favoured grossly privileged interests and aggravated the danger of conflicts in the world. The attendant excesses and repression sowed seeds of revolt among the colonised. It created insecurity and endangered economic and cultural relations and cooperation that the international system aspired for.

It was, therefore, necessary that the General Assembly of the United Nations address the concerns of colonised peoples in line with the UN Charter in its most extensive and broadest interpretation.

We presented a wide range of documents to the UN, including the Kenya petition that was signed in blood, the proposed interim Constitution of Kenya, and an exposé of the economic situation in Kenya.

We also presented a copy of the Congress of Peoples Against Imperialism declaration. We made a similar petition to the British Parliament. We also planned to appeal to British citizens to exert pressure on their government on the unacceptable colonial situation in our country.

Meanwhile, Kenyatta suspected that a declaration of a State of Emergency in Kenya was in the offing. Nairobi was concerned that Mbiyu and I should not be caught up in London, in the event that such a situation materialised. The view was expressed that one of us should return home at once. The decision on who should return and who should remain behind was, however, left to us.

We decided that I should return to Kenya immediately after the presentation of all the petitions to the Colonial Office. The petition to the British citizens, we agreed, could be done later.

My return to Kenya was significant in many ways. First, I was expected to deliver a message from the Colonial Office in regard to the future of Kenya. Second, I expected to be received at the Eastleigh Airport by a multitude of Kenyans, who at the time humorously expected me to carry a form for the transfer of power, under the hand of Her Imperial Majesty, Queen Elizabeth II. Incidentally, Princess Elizabeth became Queen of England on Kenyan soil upon the death of her father King George VI, on February 6, 1952.

Charles Mugane Njonjo, a Kenyan law student in the UK, was the only person who saw me off at the airport. Jomo Kenyatta became restless at Eastleigh Airport when he was told that our plane had developed a mechanical hiccup and that it would arrive two hours later than scheduled. He demanded to speak to me on the phone once we reached Entebbe Airport in Uganda. I was excited to hear his voice and managed to diffuse his anxiety by jokingly saying that should the problem take too long to solve, I would swim across Lake Victoria to our land. He was amused. One hour later, he gave me a warm welcome back home.

He went on to tell me that there was a huge crowd waiting for me. They had assembled early that morning at the Kaloleni Hall in Nairobi. He was not impressed by the government’s decision to prohibit people from walking to the airport. I had consoled him on the phone from Entebbe that the pressure for Uhuru was greater than an avalanche hurtling down the slopes of a mountain.

It would sweep away everything that stood in the way. I also informed him that I had spotted Evelyn Baring during a stopover in Tripoli. He remarked simply that they could wander around as much as they wanted, but the die was cast.

We touched down in Nairobi on a fresh clear morning. Mzee and I hugged while Chief Koinange wa Mbiyu, David Oluoch Okelo, and Jesse Kariuki looked on. I briefed them as we went to the Kikuyu Social Club, the only African social building in Nairobi, in line with the schedule of the day. It felt good to be home.

I had no rest that morning. The big crowd at Kaloleni Hall was still anxiously waiting to receive me. Also with Kenyatta was Peter Abrahams, a South African politician and novelist who had stopped over in Nairobi on his way to some African country.

I looked around at the smiling faces of my colleagues. After introducing the guest, Peter Abrahams, in a short speech, I asked him if he could say something to the gathering at this point. But he only greeted the assembly and muttered words to the effect that he would take the floor later “after the day’s guest of honour, the beloved delegate Achieng’ Oneko.”

The people in the hall all rose to their feet and let out a loud applause that filled my heart with pride. For a moment, I nearly broke down with emotion. The courage in me carried the day. The first words from me conveyed hearty and warm wishes from Mbiyu Koinange to the people of Kenya. The second message was that the struggle for freedom had started and there would be no retreat until Kenyans won the battle.

My short speech was phrased in the following manner: When I arrived in England, my first duty was to search for the custody under which independence was locked. I looked everywhere but all was in vain. I enquired about the weight and size of Uhuru so that I could try and lift it on my shoulders and bring it back to Kenya, but all was in vain. The best answer I got was that Uhuru was not in England, but in Kenya.

Better still, the best answer was that Uhuru was hidden in the national unity of all Kenyans. Every one of you sitting here and outside this hall must be prepared for the struggle to be free from the clutches of colonialism.

The sustained roar of applause filled my ears and brought tears of joy down my cheeks. I restrained myself from uttering any more words in that state of emotion.

Kenyatta had cautioned me not to call for action. He said he knew that my friends on the fringes of the party would want me to call for action. But he appealed to me not to be inflammatory. He confided in me that he had applied for licences for 50 meetings over a three-month period, to stretch from March all the way to May 1952. The meetings would mostly be in the Mt Kenya region and in the Lake Basin.

Kenyatta did not want to see these rallies cancelled on any account. I was going to be the main and only speaker at all these rallies in my capacity as the delegate to the Colonial Office. I was, accordingly, under close watch. He also told me that the government had rejected his application to address the rallies, but when he pressurised the authorities, they allowed him to be my interpreter in Central Kenya.

That was a major win for us. Closing the rally that had taken the better part of the morning and afternoon, Kenyatta made a landmark public declaration on our policy for Kenya’s Uhuru.

He emphasised that the tree of freedom would be watered not with the blood of an animal like a sheep, but with human blood. He paused and breathed hard. He illustrated how a brave fighter kills a lion. “I will hold the lion by the head,” he said.

He told the people that they would in turn seize the animal by the claws. Together, they would put down the beast. He demanded a show of hands in support of the necessary solid unity of purpose for action.

With the people’s heads high and hands up in a visible ecstatic emotional parade, the crowd roared back in support.