A small group of family members gathered around an open grave in the English countryside, with my father’s mother in a casket beside us. It was a summer day in Oaksey village near the Cotswolds during the COVID-19 pandemic. The skies opened, and rain poured down dramatically. Before the priest spoke, I read a poignant letter from my grandfather to my grandmother just before he passed away.
The letter depicted my grandfather as a loving husband, calling his wife “heaven” and “perfection” before bidding her goodnight. As we laid my grandmother to rest, it felt like a piece of our family history was being buried too.
Later, while indulging in canapes, a relative revealed a surprising fact about my grandfather’s involvement in the Mau Mau uprising in Kenya in the 1950s. This revelation led me to delve into archives and family stories to uncover more about his past. This exploration connected my family to the brutal colonial history of British colonization, prompting a personal reckoning.
Investigating my grandfather’s past initially felt like a betrayal, but as I unearthed more details, it became a way to understand and take control of his story. Discovering his true name, John Evelyn Grahame Vetch, shed light on his upbringing in London and subsequent move to Kenya with his family to start a coffee farm. His involvement in World War II and the events leading up to the Mau Mau uprising added layers to his story and our family’s history.
Reflecting on my ancestors’ adventures in Africa and snippets of British Empire history passed down through generations, I realized the complexity and nostalgia surrounding colonial narratives. This journey of discovery challenged my perceptions and spurred a deeper exploration of my family’s past and its connections to broader historical events. We encountered relatives at historic country clubs and in remote conservancies. In the 1987 film “White Mischief,” which delves into the hedonistic lives of settlers in 1940s Kenya, there is a scene where an actress portraying Countess Alice de Janze gazes out at the Kenyan savanna and laments, “Oh God. Not another beautiful fucking day.” This portrayal reflects the callous disregard for Kenya during Britain’s oppressive colonization. My grandmother’s godfather, Josslyn Hay, the Earl of Erroll, features prominently in “White Mischief,” with his real-life murder being a central plot point. This was the Kenya where my grandparents grew up.
It wasn’t until I attended university that I learned about the troubling legacy of the British Empire, prompting me to confront my discomfort with my connection to Kenya. The nostalgia I felt for my heritage seemed to ignore the suffering of others.
During the mid-20th century, segments of British society began questioning the morality of imperial expansion. The independence of India in 1947 and uprisings in Malaya and Palestine highlighted the empire’s vulnerabilities.
In 1952, as Queen Elizabeth II began her reign, a state of emergency was declared in Kenya to combat the Mau Mau uprising, marking one of the bloodiest conflicts in the empire’s history.
I delved into historical archives in Nairobi’s McMillan Memorial Library, exploring the colonial past through old newspapers. Stories of my grandfather’s unit, I Force, featured prominently in the press, lauded for their effectiveness in fighting the Mau Mau.
As the conflict intensified, my grandfather took command of I Force, leading successful operations against the Mau Mau. The unit’s tactics, including disguising white settlers as Mau Mau fighters, were controversial, with some resorting to blackface to deceive the enemy.
Reflecting on this dark chapter in history, I grappled with the complexities of my family’s role in Kenya’s past, recognizing the need to acknowledge and reckon with the legacies of colonialism. He developed a technique that drew in other settlers, eventually leading the entire Kenya Regiment to use a version of it. Referred to as “pseudo-gangs,” this method involved luring Mau Mau gangs into the forest by creating a fake gang consisting of Europeans, loyal Kikuyu, and captured Mau Mau members. To blend in with the African gang members, the Europeans darkened their skin with cocoa powder, soot, and boot polish, some even wore wigs made of black wool. At high altitudes in the cold forest, operations took place at night, making their disguises difficult to detect. The technique was successful in capturing and eliminating Mau Mau gangs.
During my time in Kenya, I met Dennis Leete, a former soldier who fought under Erskine during the uprising. Leete shared his experiences of using the pseudo-gang operation, including a moment where his exposed white skin caused frustration among his unit. We met at a golf club north of Nairobi, surrounded by a predominantly white community, still segregated from Black Kenyans. Leete, now in his 90s, recounted his diverse career in East Africa, from selling agricultural products for Shell to involvement in gold mining in Sudan.
When I asked Leete about the fate of captured Mau Mau members, he expressed hesitation, citing the scars he carries from that time. He acknowledged the existence of detention camps but claimed ignorance of the extent of the atrocities within them, suggesting that claims of abuse may have been exaggerated for reparations. This sentiment is echoed by others in the old white settler community.
Historian Caroline Elkins suggests that the brutality of the British operations during that time would have been widely known among the settler community. Acts of cruelty perpetrated by British forces and their allies are now well-documented, including instances of extreme violence and torture in detention camps.
In the National Archives in London, I discovered shocking accounts of abuse, including whip marks on a Kenyan man’s back and reports of inhumane treatment like hanging individuals upside down and crushing their testicles. The trial of a private in the Kenya Regiment accused of assaulting a detainee shed light on the violent tactics used during the conflict, with conflicting testimonies from different parties.
The court martial proceedings revealed a disturbing pattern of abuse and misconduct, with accusations of sexual assault and torture. Despite the gravity of the charges, the accused soldier was acquitted, raising questions about the impartiality of the judicial process. Allegations of maltreatment and abuse by the British forces were widespread, with efforts to discredit the Kenya Regiment documented in historical records.
Visiting the home of a man whose father was killed by British camp guards, I learned of the tragic consequences of the conflict. The family’s experience of loss and mistreatment underscored the lasting impact of the Mau Mau uprising on Kenyan society. Identified as a potential Mau Mau sympathizer, he was sent to a screening camp where men in hoods labeled him as part of the group. This led to him being transferred to different locations, including being forced to do strenuous labor to level the ground for what is now Nairobi’s main airport. When he and others refused to work on digging rice terraces, they were taken to Hola Camp in southeastern Kenya.
While the father was detained in the camps, the women and children in Migwi’s family were relocated to villages surrounded by barriers to keep Mau Mau members out and sympathizers in. They were allowed a brief period each day to gather essential supplies before being called back by a whistle.
In 1959, Migwi’s father and several other detainees were brutally killed by guards at Hola Camp. The violence of the massacre prompted strong reactions, including remarks from Enoch Powell, a British Parliament member. The conversation with Migwi also included a visit to a cave where Mau Mau fighters hid for extended periods.
The conflict between the Mau Mau and British forces involved brutal acts of violence, resulting in casualties on both sides. The British military had superior weaponry and tactics, ultimately leading to the containment of the Mau Mau movement. After Kenya gained independence in 1963, efforts were made to reconcile and move forward, although challenges persisted for families like Migwi’s, who sought justice for past injustices.
The British government eventually settled a case with Mau Mau veterans, acknowledging the mistreatment during the uprising. However, many Kenyans, including Migwi and his family, felt unsatisfied with the compensation and the handling of the historical injustices. Migwi emphasized the importance of remembering and learning from the past, even if justice and closure remain elusive for many affected by the conflict. Fitur “Keluarga Migwi Ndegwa akan meneruskan masalah ini dari generasi ke generasi hingga mereka mendengar suara kami.” Hari ini, Mau Mau memainkan peran penting dalam bagaimana orang Kenya mempersepsikan perjuangan mereka untuk kemerdekaan. Sebagai bagian dari penyelesaian, Inggris membayar untuk sebuah tugu peringatan di pusat kota. Tetapi di museum nasional di Nairobi, pemberontakan hanya menempati tiga dinding kecil yang berisi peralatan yang digunakan oleh para pejuang dan beberapa foto lama. “Saya pikir, secara kolektif, Kenya bisa melakukan pekerjaan yang jauh lebih baik dalam memorialisasi dan juga pengakuan,” kata Chao Tayiana Maina, seorang sejarawan Kenya, kepada saya. Ketika dia masih anak-anak di sekolah Kenya, dia tidak diajarkan apa pun tentang kamp-kamp penahanan atau penyiksaan, meskipun beberapa sekolah di negara itu berada di situs-situs kamp lama. Seolah-olah mencerminkan hubungan Inggris sendiri dengan sejarah, di Kenya, rasa malu dan sakit telah membantu mengubur ingatan kolonisasi, meninggalkan keturunan Mau Mau terkadang terisolasi, berteriak ke arah angin. Tetapi hal-hal mulai berubah. Ketika Anda melihat media sosial dan berbicara dengan orang Kenya tentang hal itu, ada banyak pertimbangan lebih dari sebelumnya, menurut Maina. Generasi yang lebih muda, sedikit terpisah dari masa lalu, lebih mampu mengatasi itu. Sekarang, dia ingin Inggris melakukan hal yang sama dengan sejarah bersama mereka. Ketika saya membawa ayah saya ke makam Tony di pinggiran London beberapa tahun yang lalu, kami menemukan gundukan yang tidak rata dengan rumput yang tumbuh di sana. Saya merasa kami adalah pengunjung pertama dalam beberapa dekade. Saya butuh beberapa percobaan untuk mendorong ayah saya pergi. Saya pikir saya sedang melakukan kebaikan padanya. Sekarang saya menyadari mungkin saya melakukannya untuk keingintahuan saya sendiri. Tony tidak pernah melihat berakhirnya pemerintahan kolonial yang begitu sulit dia perjuangkan untuk melindungi. Pada tahun 1960, dia pergi ke London, mengetahui bahwa dia akan mati karena kanker. Dia meninggal pada Malam Natal, sementara nenek saya sedang hamil dengan ayah saya. Dia segera masuk ke dalam spiral. Janda muda, dia melanjutkan dengan dua pernikahan lagi dan akan kehilangan seorang anak. Bagi ayah saya dan dua saudari perempuannya, anak-anak dari ayah yang berbeda, itu adalah masa kecil yang penuh gejolak. Ayah saya akan tumbuh dewasa tanpa benar-benar memikirkan ayahnya. Dia kemudian akan berduka atas kehilangan seorang ayah, tetapi bukan ayah kandungnya, dan bukan karena kematian. Ketika dia berusia 18 tahun, ayah tiri Paddy, yang telah membesarkannya, mengirim surat yang mengecamnya. Istri baru Paddy telah mendorongnya untuk mengusir ayah saya dan saudari perempuannya dari kehidupan mereka karena dia ingin memulai keluarga sendiri. Ayah saya akan belajar untuk membangun tembok di sekeliling dirinya dan orang-orang terdekatnya. Bagi ayah saya, mekanisme kelangsungan hidupnya adalah untuk melihat ke masa depan, kepada anak-anaknya. “Pada suatu titik pasti ada saat ketika Anda mengatakan, ‘Sialan, saya sendiri, tidak ada gunanya melihat ke belakang dan saya tidak terlalu peduli tentang hal lain,'” ayah saya memberi tahu saya dalam sebuah percakapan baru-baru ini di dekat tempat saya dibesarkan di pedesaan Inggris. Saya teringat Julius, yang akan tumbuh melakukan sebaliknya, menghabiskan hidupnya mencari potongan-potongan ayahnya di mana pun dia bisa. Seberapa rapuhkah sejarah? Begitu banyak pemahaman kita tentang sejarah diteruskan melalui rumah, melalui cerita yang diceritakan orangtua kepada anak-anak mereka. Ironisnya, absennya kakek dari masa kecil saya sendiri yang mendorong saya untuk menggali sejarah ini. Saat saya keluar dari Nyeri, saya memutuskan untuk mampir di peternakan lama keluarga saya. Lokasinya terdaftar di peta pemerintahan kolonial tahun 1950an yang mencakup lokasi peternakan penjajah dengan menandainya dengan nama keluarga pemilik terakhir. “Vetch” tersembunyi di sisi kanan salah satu peta itu. Dimana rumah keluarga saya mungkin dulu berdiri sekarang adalah sebuah sekolah. Anak-anak dengan bersemangat berteriak “mzungu,” artinya orang kulit putih, ketika saya lewat. Di luar sekolah terdapat ladang kopi yang membentang selama hektar, akhirnya melandai ke lembah tanah merah. Begitu sunyi sehingga Anda bisa mendengar angin menyapu melalui pepohonan. Saya bisa melihat mengapa leluhur saya mengubah hidup mereka untuk pindah ke sini; tawaran lahan subur yang besar dari pemerintah kolonial pasti menarik. Bagian Kenya ini, seperti bagian lain negara ini, juga sangat indah. Kenya kolonial yang sebenarnya sering kali kejam dan kakek saya berperan dalam itu. Dan namun ada bagian dari saya yang merindukan untuk menjadi bagian dari Kenya, yang menemukan ketenangan tak tertandingi dalam lanskapnya. Meninggalkan peternakan kolonial lama keluarga saya, saya melewati tanda yang ditulis dengan huruf putih tebal, seolah-olah masa kini berbicara kepada masa lalu: “Properti Pribadi. Tidak Untuk Dijual. Dilarang Masuk.” The main characteristic