The Blood Soaked Land

The Blood Soaked Land

“His name was Pepo, the dark one; he grew up twisted and angry. Pepo gained immense power as an unknown Mau Mau leader whose story is yet to be told. His first arrest was in Mombasa in 1953, along with four other men. They were taken to a British police station, heavily questioned, and every attempt was made to force them to become informants. The judge found the four men guilty of Mau Mau subversive activities and sentenced them to be shot that evening.

As the sun started to set, the officers arrived at their jail cell and took out one prisoner at a time to the firing squad. Pepo listened with heightened fear to the gunshots, and reluctantly waited for the pain of dying. He wanted his death to make a difference but knew deep down that no one would know, or worse yet, didn’t care. He was the last, his time had come. He heard the heavy tread of the officer’s hard-soled boots approaching and the jangling of keys.

When they opened Pepo’s cell door, his demeanor was sullen and angry. They handcuffed him and clicked on leg-irons, tightly, then led him under heavy armed guard down a short hall. Pepo shuffled along as the clanking leg-irons cut in painfully, blood drops left a trail on the highly polished tile floor. As they neared the precinct front door, a British officer burst through it at a run while breathing heavily; he bent over and tried to catch his breath before shouting out, “There’s a large bloody fight going on between the Mau Mau and police in downtown Mombasa. You need to come quick!”

The next morning around 6 a.m., the police commander called Pepo into his office and said, “You are a lucky man that you didn’t die last night. Instead, we’re going to detain you indefinitely as we consider you a hard case and a Mau Mau leader. You will die in a detention camp.”

The detention camp was more like a concentration camp with torture, starvation, hangings, and firing squads. This twisted Pepo even more, he refined his underground leadership and set up a system with unique codes. His life and death orders were secretly delivered with the inflow and outflow of prisoners, and he used this power with a deadly vengeance. His Mau Mau soldiers killed many Europeans and even more Kikuyus, who were loyal to the British – his own people. He came to revel in the fact that he was not known. Men, women, children, and animals alike were savagely slaughtered…”

Kikuyu proverb: “ Violence makes no profit, but only evil.”

“The night revealed shadows of movement as twelve heavily armed African men crossed the side of the Aberdare mountain range through a series of high, rolling hills. A narrow game trail led them through the dense jungle. The tall, thick canopy of trees was shrouded in a wet, dripping mist in the bitterly cold night.

They walked in silence, as was their custom, and used sign language to communicate. It started to rain, which turned the game trail into dark red mud, a soil common to the area. Many of the men slipped in the ice-cold mud, numbness set into their bare feet, and yet, no one said a word. The rain gave way to a light fog as they silently approached a farmhouse nestled in the foothills of the Aberdares in the North Kinangop area. The blades of their long knives glinted off the lamplight in the kitchen window…”

Tuesday, January 27, 1953 MAU TERRORISTS Murder Family.
Nairobi, Monday. A British farmer, Mr. Roger E. Ruck (37), along his wife, Dr. Esmee Ruck (33), and their young son, Michael (6 ½), were found slashed to death with pangas, the long knives, on their farm in the Kinangop district in Kenya, located in the rolling, cold foothills of the Aberdares. The bodies of Roger and Esmee Ruck were found on the lawn outside their home, along with the body of their Kikuyu servant. Their son Michael’s locked bedroom door had been shattered, and he was found murdered in bed, with very little left of his head. Their murders were the worst outrage against the Europeans since the anti-Mau Mau emergency was declared in Kenya in September of 1952. Trove Barrier Miner, Australia

Bwana Roger Weaver: “The rough dirt road led through a winding valley, it was laboriously slow from the muddy ruts after the last long rains. The mud had dried hard into tortured forms. I was on my way home to Kilgoris after spending the day doing errands and checking the mail in Narok. The winding road curved around the base of a hill, which was heavily enshrouded with thickets on both sides, halfway through the curve, I was startled to see a tree lying across the road. I hit the brakes hard and swerved to miss African men who suddenly materialized in high numbers from all directions. They shouted and shook their fists, many carried long sticks or rocks, and a few had pangas – the deadly African long knife, and all were heading towards my jeep.

An African must have known where I was going and told the Mau Mau, it was an unsettling feeling, but who could it be? I made a split-second decision and gunned the jeep, which pelted the men with gravel, the rear-view mirror showed their anger. I aimed for the top section where the trunk and branches were smaller and hit it so fast that it jolted the jeep hard, throwing everything from the dashboard onto the floor, before going airborne…”

 

These stories of long ago are passing away quickly, like the flicker of light in the cold mist. The light has been caught and will reveal more…

 

Coming in 2021

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