A handwritten letter from the Koinange family, penned in the late 1950s, offers a rare and deeply personal window into one of colonial Kenya’s most contentious detention cases.
Addressed to a visiting parliamentary delegation, the letter appeals for the release of their father, ex-Senior Chief Koinange wa Mbiyu, then nearly 90 years old and held without trial for years in Marsabit.
The letter, dated January 18, 1957, was written from Takwa Special Detention Camp in Lamu. In it, the family describes the deteriorating condition of their elderly patriarch, who had by then spent over four and a half years in detention.
“We… would be most grateful if you would sympathetically consider the case of our father,” the letter reads, setting a tone of urgency and restraint.
Koinange’s detention traces back to the assassination of Senior Chief Waruhiu in October 1952, a killing that marked a turning point in Kenya’s colonial history.
Waruhiu had just left a tribunal in Kiharu when his vehicle was ambushed near Gachie.
A pursuing car overtook and blocked his path. A gunman approached, confirmed his identity, and shot him at close range, killing him instantly.
In the days that followed, colonial investigators arrested suspects who later confessed before magistrates.
One alleged gunman claimed he had been instructed by John Mbiu Koinange, son of the ex-chief, to carry out the killing. Another suspect admitted knowledge of the plot.
These confessions formed the backbone of the prosecution’s case.
However, during trial proceedings, both suspects retracted their statements, alleging they had been extracted under torture. Despite these claims, the court dismissed the recantations as falsehoods.
On April 15, 1953, two of the accused were convicted and sentenced to death. John Mbiu Koinange, however, was acquitted due to insufficient corroboration.
The acquittal did not end the family’s ordeal. Colonial authorities moved swiftly, detaining Koinange, his sons, and several relatives—including his wife, daughters, and in-laws—on allegations of giving false evidence. None were tried in court.
Instead, they were held under emergency regulations that allowed detention without trial.
The 1957 letter captures the human toll of that decision. The family notes that multiple members remained in detention: one wife, four sons, three daughters, three daughters-in-law, and two sons-in-law.
The separation left the elderly Koinange isolated.
“The old man was left, and still is, without anyone of his relations to keep company and to attend to his needs,” they wrote.
The letter also highlights his long service to the colonial administration. According to the family, Koinange had served the government loyally for 55 years before retiring in 1950 at the age of 85.
His position was later taken over by his son, Chief Charles Karuga. The family argues that his record and age should have warranted leniency.
Health concerns feature prominently in the appeal.
The family describes Koinange as being in a “delicate state,” nearing 90 years old and suffering from past medical complications, including a stomach operation dating back to 1930. They urge authorities to “do all you can to hasten his release.”
The letter also reveals the broader strategy employed by colonial authorities during the State of Emergency—using administrative detention to neutralise individuals considered politically or socially influential, even in the absence of court convictions.
Koinange’s case exemplifies how acquittal did not necessarily translate into freedom during this period.
Ultimately, Koinange remained in detention for eight years, until 1960. He died shortly after his release, bringing a quiet end to a case that had once stood at the centre of Kenya’s colonial security crackdown.
Today, the letter stands as both a historical document and a personal testimony—capturing a family’s appeal for justice amid a system that often blurred the line between law and executive power.