A mother’s plea has been stamped, filed, and entered into the official record of the High Court of Kenya. It is not just a mother’s cry, but a formal legal accusation, etched onto numbered pages that name the most powerful security organs of the state as respondents in the case of a son who never came home.
The documents—a Certificate of Urgency, a Chamber Summons, and a Supporting Affidavit—paint a chilling and precise narrative. They allege that on June 12, 2021, Mwenda Mbijiwe was not simply lost, but was “abducted… and whisked to various destinations that are unknown” by individuals identified as “members of the 3rd Respondent,” the Directorate of Criminal Investigations (DCI). The language is careful, legalistic, yet devastating: the alleged abductors were “not only ununiformed but also drove unmarked motor vehicle[s].” This is not a theory whispered in fear; it is a claim presented to a judge.
The affidavit of Jane Gatwiri Mithinji, a document sworn under oath, methodically builds its case. It notes that the car her son was driving that day, registration KCN 641K, was later found abandoned—a fact presented not as a mystery, but as evidence of a crime scene. It reveals that before his disappearance, Mbijiwe had already sought protection from the state itself, having reported death threats at Central Police Station under OB No. 75/16/06/2021. The petition suggests a motive, linking the abduction to a radio interview he gave on matters of security just two days prior, implying his words may have triggered a brutal silencing.
The legal prayer of the documents is as stark as it is urgent. They do not ask for an investigation; they demand a production. The application calls on the court to order the state to immediately and unconditionally “present the 1st Applicant dead or alive… before this court to be dealt with according to law.” This grim, legal formulation—“dead or alive”—underscores the profound hopelessness of a family seeking not just a man, but the truth, whatever its terrible form.
Citing Article 29 of the Constitution, which guarantees the right not to be “deprived of freedom arbitrarily or without just cause” or “detained without trial,” the papers argue that the state’s silence is a constitutional injury. The argument reaches beyond Kenya’s borders, invoking international law and the Universal Declaration of Human Rights to assert that this is not merely a local incident, but a violation of universal principles.
Now, these papers rest before a High Court judge. They transform a personal tragedy into a formal confrontation, challenging the state to either produce its citizen or answer for his absence in the one place designed to hold power accountable: a court of law.
