Episode 3: I wouldn’t wish my kidnap
ordeal on my worst enemy
I am Jamil Longton, a resident of Kitengela town in Kajiado County. All I want is for these abductions to stop. No one should ever have to go through what I endured — being taken by armed men in broad daylight cuffed, and whisked away like a criminal with no explanation, no warrant, nothing.
When our abductors finally freed us, they warned us against speaking to the media. I was terrified, but their threats haven’t silenced the truth of what happened. To this day, I haven’t filed a case demanding compensation for my physical, emotional, and psychological damages.
Honestly, I don’t know where to start, and it feels like justice is so far out of reach. The day my younger brother, Aslam Longton, and I were kidnapped, a report on our being missing was immediately filed with the police.
My family was in a panic. When we were finally freed and found, another report was filed at Kitengela Police Station, the same desk where the initial missing persons report was made. But nothing seems to be moving forward. Our suffering is just another statistic to them, not something urgent or worth resolving. While under their control, our abductors kept interrogating us, demanding to know who was funding the anti-Finance Bill protests.
I told them, over and over again, that I didn’t know anything. And that I was just an ordinary person in the wrong place. I was defending my brother from being picked up by the abductors, and that’s why they picked me, too. But they didn’t believe me. I was at their mercy. The questions, the intimidation, and the sheer helplessness were a nightmare I wouldn’t wish on anyone.
To this day, the case that forced the [then] Acting Inspector General of the National Police Service, Gilbert Masengeli, to produce us in court has since collapsed when we were released, and he also appeared in court. I want justice—not just for me, but for everyone who has been
through this kind of horror. No one should have to live in fear
of being snatched off the streets, silenced, and forgotten. This
madness must stop
Episode 2: How did my son wrong the police to deserve nine bullets?
My name is Penina Mueni, and I am the mother of Benson Mbithi Ouma—known to his friends as Scott. I never imagined I would have to tell my son’s story like this. The pain of losing him is unbearable.
Scott was 29 years old, a hardworking young man who earned his living as a tout at the Kisumu Bus Terminus. He had dreams—big dreams. He had started building his own house, and by December 2024, he hoped to finally move in. But life had other plans.
On June 25, 2024, he left home for work as usual. That day, protests broke out in the city. Like any mother, I prayed for his safety. But later that night, at 9:00 PM, I received the most terrifying call of my life—Scott had been shot and was fighting for his life in the ICU at Jaramogi Oginga Odinga Teaching & Referral Hospital.
My daughter, Faith, rushed to the hospital the next morning, only to be met with the devastating truth—Scott had succumbed to his injuries. He had been shot nine times.
When I heard the news, I lost control. I screamed, I collapsed, I rolled on the ground in agony. The pain was unbearable. I wanted to end my own life, but my church members held me back, trying to console me. But how do you console a mother who has lost her only son so cruelly?
Scott was buried on July 26, in the quiet evening hours, as per our Islamic traditions. His unfinished house still holds the cement bags he had planned to use. His five-year-old daughter now grows up without a father. His widow now faces life without her husband.
Since that day, I cannot look at a police officer without my heart breaking all over again. I cover my face and walk past them quickly, haunted by the same question that won’t leave my mind—What did my son do to deserve such a brutal death?
Episode 1: Police beat and left me for dead
On June 12, 2024, during the anti-Finance Bill protests in Kisumu, 16-year-old Brian Amoit’s life took a tragic turn. Sent by his mother to buy maize flour near their home in Obunga, he was confronted by a group of anti-riot police officers. Despite having done nothing wrong, they mercilessly beat him, leaving him unconscious.
Brian woke up three weeks later at Jaramogi Oginga Odinga Teaching and Referral Hospital, struggling with memory lapses and concentration issues that have severely affected his education. His mother, Emily Anyolo Rapundo, a widow, now faces the overwhelming burden of raising KSh. 80,000 for his urgent brain surgery.
Brian’s story is a chilling reminder of the unchecked police brutality targeting innocent Kenyans. As his mother fights for his recovery and justice, we must ask: How many more lives must be destroyed before change happens?
Trailer
We have followed a survivor-centred methodology to document and share the real accounts of police abuses during the 2024 Gen Z protests—just a sample of the many incidents we could capture. Every survivor whose story appears here gave full consent, and we engaged with them in line with the highest ethical standards, ensuring a “do no harm” approach.
For us, this documentation is about more than just recording violations—it is about upholding human dignity. We worked closely with survivors and families of victims, prioritizing their voices, agency, and well-being. Our aim was to make this process as empowering as possible while mitigating risks of harm and re-traumatization. Beyond storytelling, we also facilitated access to psychosocial support and independent investigative institutions to address survivors’ ongoing needs.
Many of those we spoke to wanted their stories told—not just for justice but to inspire courage and resilience in others. They wanted to be heard, not as passive victims, but as actors and decision-makers shaping the conversation on police accountability. Through their words, they challenge duty bearers and the country at large to reckon with the realities of violent policing.
We honour the courage of every survivor who shared their experience with us. Their testimonies are a powerful reminder that police abuse is not just about numbers or statistics—it is about real lives, real people.
As part of the Protect the Protest campaign, Amnesty International Kenya continues to observe, monitor, and document violent policing of assemblies. The struggle for justice is ongoing, and these stories must not be forgotten.
