The Confession of Officer Mukhwana: A Story of Orders, Guilt, and Truth -

The Confession of Officer Mukhwana: A Story of Orders, Guilt, and Truth

James Mukhwana was an ordinary police officer, serving his routine shift at Central Police Station on June 7th, 2025, when his life took a fateful turn. The day had begun as usual—he had reported for duty at 8:00 a.m., replacing PC Kimani on cell sentry duty. But by evening, something ominous was brewing within the walls of the station.

At around 7:30 p.m., Deputy OCS Inspector Nganga approached Mukhwana with a cryptic message:
“Mukhwana, umechoma. Unaitwa kwa OCS.”
(“Mukhwana, you’ve messed up. The OCS wants to see you.”)

Confused and uneasy, Mukhwana followed the Deputy to the office. Once inside, the door was locked behind them. The OCS, Chief Inspector Talam, looked up from his desk and asked calmly, “How long have you worked here?”

“About two years,” Mukhwana replied.

Then came the instruction:
“A suspect is coming in from DCI headquarters—orders from DIG Langat. I want you to tell the remandees to discipline him… lightly. Just rough him up.”
He handed Mukhwana a KSh 2,000 note. “Give this to the inmates. Let them do the job.”

Mukhwana hesitated. “Isn’t this wrong?” he asked.
But Talam was blunt. “Orders from above aren’t to be questioned. I complied. You should too.”

Reluctantly, Mukhwana accepted. He walked to the cells and found Ngige, a long-term remandee he knew well. He explained the job: a new suspect was coming in and needed to be “handled.” Ngige agreed, asking for alcohol in exchange.

Mukhwana obliged.

Later, at around 9:00 p.m., a black Subaru arrived at the station. Men stepped out with a handcuffed suspect. One of them called out, “Who is Mukhwana?” When Mukhwana identified himself, they handed him a phone. On the line was OCS Talam. His voice was clear:
“Ni huyo mtu.”
(“That’s the one.”)

The suspect was placed in the cells.

At 10:00 p.m., the brutal beating began. Ngige and four other inmates dragged the man to the cell opposite the toilets. Mukhwana heard the screams and rushed in. The suspect was bleeding and slumped against a wall. This had gone too far. He immediately called Deputy OCS Nganga, urging him to take the suspect to hospital.

Then, Mukhwana left. He took a motorcycle taxi home, trying to quiet his thoughts.

The next morning, news reached him. PC Lydia called and asked, “Unajua ile kitu imefanyika huku?”
(“Do you know what happened here?”)

“What?” he asked.
She replied: “The suspect from last night was found unconscious.”

Soon, whispers turned into calls. Fellow officers reached out, all asking if he had heard what happened. The man—Ojwang—had died.

Guilt began to claw at him.

He called OCS Talam: “Are we safe?”
Talam replied, “Not bad.” But quickly warned, “Don’t text me again on this number.”

When IPOA (the Independent Policing Oversight Authority) summoned Mukhwana on June 11th, he panicked. Pressured and afraid, he gave a false statement. He still believed he had to protect his colleagues.

But everything changed when he learned the others were pointing fingers—at him.

On June 12th, Mukhwana made a choice: he would tell the truth.

He returned to IPOA, asked to record a fresh statement, and confessed everything—names, times, orders, regrets. By June 13th, he had been taken to court and remanded.

“I deeply regret the outcome,” his final words read.
“Ojwang was not meant to be killed. Only to be disciplined. But we were following orders. I pray for his family. May God help them heal.”

This was no longer just a statement—it was a confession, a cry for redemption, and a chilling reminder of what happens when power is abused and silence is mistaken for loyalty.

Ends