A small group of family members gathered around an open grave in the English countryside, with my father’s mother resting in a casket beside us. It was a summer day in the village of Oaksey, near the Cotswolds, during the COVID-19 pandemic. The atmosphere was almost biblical as the sky opened up and rain poured down. Before the priest delivered a eulogy, I read a letter written by my grandfather to my grandmother just before his passing.
The letter portrayed a loving and caring husband, describing his young wife as “heavenly” and “perfect” before bidding her goodnight. As my grandmother was laid to rest, it felt like a part of our family’s history was being buried as well.
Later, while indulging in canapes, a relative surprised me by revealing that my grandfather was considered a hero. During the Mau Mau uprising in Kenya in the 1950s, he was part of a unit that infiltrated enemy gangs, sometimes using blackface to blend in during military operations. This revelation seemed unbelievable at first, as my grandfather’s memory was mostly absent from my childhood.
After my grandmother’s funeral in June 2020, I delved into archives and spoke to relatives to uncover more about my grandfather’s past. I discovered the brutal colonial history of the British Empire’s response to the Kenyan uprising, and realized that my own family was connected to this dark chapter.
Investigating my grandfather initially felt like betrayal, but as I learned more about his story and its connection to colonial atrocities, a sense of reckoning emerged. Writing about him became a way to understand and take control of his complicated legacy.
I learned that my grandfather’s real name was John Evelyn Grahame Vetch, though he was known as Tony. Born in London in 1923, his family moved to Kenya in the 1930s, where they set up a coffee farm in the Nyeri district. Tony served in World War II before returning to the family farm, where tensions between the British settlers and Black Kenyans led to the formation of the Mau Mau movement.
Growing up, I heard stories about my ancestors’ adventures in Africa, painting a picture of exploration and discovery. However, the snippets of history I learned in school and from relatives often glossed over the darker aspects of the British Empire’s past.
My childhood yearning for adventure was fueled by family tales of exploration and discovery in distant lands. As I uncovered more about my grandfather’s past, I grappled with the complexities of my family’s history and its connections to colonialism. We encountered relatives at traditional country clubs and in secluded conservancies. In the 1987 film “White Mischief,” depicting the hedonistic lives of settlers in 1940s Kenya, there is a scene where Countess Alice de Janze gazes out at the Kenyan savanna and expresses disdain for yet another beautiful day. This portrayal of British colonial attitudes towards Kenya reflects the era my grandparents grew up in. As I delved into the history of the British Empire at university, I began to feel uneasy about my connection to Kenya, realizing that my nostalgia may be overshadowing the trauma of others. In the mid-20th century, as British society started questioning the ethics of imperialism, Kenya became embroiled in the Mau Mau uprising, one of the bloodiest conflicts of the empire. My grandfather, who spoke Kikuyu and understood the terrain, was involved in operations against the Mau Mau in Kenya. Visiting the McMillan Memorial Library in Nairobi, I spent time researching old newspapers from the 1950s that documented my grandfather’s unit’s activities. These reports highlighted the intensity and challenges faced by the British forces in combating the Mau Mau. The article mentions a successful operation led by my grandfather that involved disguises, including blackface, to infiltrate and apprehend Mau Mau fighters. He developed a technique that drew in other settlers, eventually leading to the whole Kenya Regiment using a version of it. Referred to as “pseudo-gangs,” the technique involved luring Mau Mau gangs into the forest to meet a fake gang made up of Europeans, loyal Kikuyu, and captured Mau Mau members. To blend in with the African gang members, the Europeans darkened their skin using cocoa powder, soot, and boot polish, and some even wore wigs made of black wool. The operations took place at night in the cold forest at high altitudes of up to 13,000 feet, 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. Now in his 90s, Leete shared stories of his experiences, including an incident where his white genitalia caused frustration among his unit during a pseudo-gang operation. Despite the passing years, Leete remains entrenched in a “little European ghetto” environment, separate from the Black Kenyan community.
When I pressed Leete for information about what happened to captured Mau Mau members, he cited his own emotional scars as a hindrance to answering. He was aware of the detention camps but claimed ignorance about the extent of the violence that occurred within them. This sentiment was echoed by others in the old white settler community, who downplayed the brutality committed by the British and their allies.
Caroline Elkins, a historian, argued that the local settler community must have been aware of the atrocities being committed in their name due to the widespread nature of the violence. Tales of cruelty and torture, including accounts of whip marks and brutal interrogations, are documented in the National Archives in London.
In a court martial trial involving a private in the Kenya Regiment accused of assaulting a female detainee, my grandfather, a senior military figure, testified in support of the accused. Despite the heinous allegations of abuse, the accused was found not guilty, with the judge attributing the Mau Mau’s alleged oathing ceremonies as corrupting their minds.
The legacy of the Mau Mau uprising and the violence that ensued is still felt in Kenya, as evidenced by my visit to the home of Julius Ndegwa Migwi, whose father was killed by camp guards. The lack of transparency and communication surrounding his father’s death left a lasting impact on the family, underscoring the deep scars left by this dark chapter in Kenyan history. Suspected of sympathizing with the Mau Mau, he was sent to a screening camp where men in hoods identified him as a Mau Mau member. He was then transferred to different locations, including being forced to do hard labor leveling the ground for what is now Nairobi’s main airport. Refusing to work on digging rice terraces led him and several others to be taken to Hola Camp in southeastern Kenya.
While he was detained in the camps, the women and children in Migwi’s family were confined to villages surrounded by barbed wire and spikes to keep the Mau Mau out. They were allowed a brief period each day to gather food, firewood, and water before being called back by a whistle.
In 1959, Migwi’s father and 10 other detainees were brutally killed by guards at Hola Camp. This massacre prompted Enoch Powell, a British politician, to express concern about the treatment of detainees in Africa.
During our conversation, Migwi and I visited a cave hidden behind a waterfall where Mau Mau fighters would hide for months. Despite the challenging conditions, the Mau Mau persisted, using homemade weapons against the Kenya Regiment soldiers who had superior firepower.
The conflict between the Mau Mau and the British resulted in numerous violent acts, with casualties on both sides. The British forces ultimately prevailed, but at a significant cost in lives.
After exploring the historical sites, Migwi and I returned to town, reflecting on the past and the impact of the Mau Mau uprising on Kenya’s journey to independence. La función “La familia de Migwi Ndegwa pasará este problema de generación en generación hasta que escuchen nuestra voz”. Hoy en día, los Mau Mau juegan un papel importante en cómo los kenianos perciben su lucha por la independencia. Como parte del acuerdo, los británicos pagaron por un memorial en el centro de la ciudad. Pero en el museo nacional de Nairobi, la rebelión ocupa tres pequeñas paredes que contienen equipos utilizados por los combatientes y algunas fotografías antiguas. “Creo que definitivamente, colectivamente, Kenia podría hacer un trabajo mucho mejor en la memorialización y también en el reconocimiento”, me dijo Chao Tayiana Maina, historiadora keniana. The main characteristic