Oloo

manuar

[Typical African @Joe__Bassey]

All you see is that African uniqueness and aura. Black is an epitome of beauty. 🖤❤️

[SEUN Yk @YKoluwaseun9]

“My driver, my cook, yourself..”

Dangote sef dey cook🤣

[SANKEI🇰🇪 @SankeiSaitoti]

The effort being used by the men disqualifies the instrument from being called a machine. 😕

[Oloo @Olooerick7]

@SankeiSaitoti Heri watumie tu mwiko

[akilto @akiltomen]

I can’t stand black people that think proximity to whiteness is a prize

[Ian Prowse @IanProwse]

No we’re not, fuck off.
The shit you used in 1913 won’t work now.

[Buni, The Investorpreneur @BuniChristopher]

Dear Europeans, this is what avacado should be, not that roll-on deodorant ball sized malnourished Hass type

[Lydia Owuor @itslydiaowuor]

I’m going to say this yet again, because as exhausting as it is to keep defending something that should never have needed defending in the first place, we can't wish it away with silence.

Thing 1: No Luo woman is begging to be picked by your tribal, misogynistic selves.

🧵

[Pedro Sánchez @sanchezcastejon]

Yo seré un perro, pero no tengo amo.

[kijana ya Manchester🧢 @dropdalot]

Clean money inaeza kutoa kwa hesabu.😅😅

[JaPrado. @Dr_AustinOmondi]

Just had a call with someone on who made $180million in one transaction and came away really impressed.

He shared with me how he became a dollar billionaire:

1. 4:30 AM wakeup
2. Cold showers
3. Gratitude journal
4. Meditate
5. Dad was a former President who stole money

[Eric @amerix]

Avoid people who come to you to gossip other people because they will go to other people to gossip you.

[cartonero @flanchota]

el video que me manda mi mamá preguntándome si es ia

[Sir-Rap-A-Lot @Osama_otero]

Watching Prison Break, I have just noticed all the main charatcters were doing everything out of love. Indeed, love is the most powerful thing on earth.

[Como1907 @Como_1907]

It’s @ChampionsLeague week on Lake Como ✨

[Joel Jiranï @Kemboi67]

If Ndindi Nyoro becomes president.

[• @RealElvo]

"Tuma za sumu bois."
AI model kwa ground:" ni kama anataka kujiua."

[Ƙŵɓñ🦅 @akokc_dark0]

Me in 2015 instead of buying bitcoin:

[Somoina Kapeen @SomoinaKapeen]

Fagia wote!

[Francis Gaitho @FGaitho237]

The Body-Count Defence: How Comparing Extrajudicial Killings Normalises State Violence

An infographic circulating over the weekend, associated with ODM-blogger Gabriel Oguda, presents estimated figures for extrajudicial killings across successive Kenyan administrations. It places William Ruto’s tenure at roughly 347, Uhuru Kenyatta’s at more than 4,000, Mwai Kibaki’s above 9,000, and Daniel arap Moi’s era above 11,000.

The clear political intent is comparative: to suggest that the current administration has been relatively restrained. That framing is the problem.
Extrajudicial killings and enforced disappearances have been a persistent feature of Kenyan state practice since independence.

Human rights organisations, including the KNHCR and later coalitions such as Missing Voices, have documented patterns of police executions, disappearances of young men in urban informal settlements, and lethal force during protests and security operations under multiple governments.

The Mungiki-related crackdowns of the mid-2000s, the post-election violence of 2007–08, anti-terror operations, and repeated cycles of protest policing all form part of this continuum. More recent tracking by Missing Voices shows 104 police killings and 55 enforced disappearances in 2024, rising to 125 police killings (with far fewer recorded disappearances) in 2025.

These are not abstract statistics; they include named young Kenyans.

The constitutional standard is not relative. Article 26 of the Constitution protects the right to life. There is no acceptable quota for state killings outside the strict bounds of lawful use of force. Presenting lower recent tallies as a defence does not erase the principle; it lowers it.

When political actors and their online amplifiers treat body counts as a scoreboard, they normalise the practice itself. Killings become an administrative metric rather than a fundamental violation.

This normalisation has long been aided by a culture of engineered forgetting. Older generations frequently met state violence with phrases such as “accept and move on” or “tumeachia Mungu.” The human cost was absorbed into religious fatalism or political fatigue.

A younger generation has rejected that script. Names such as Rex Masai, shot during the June 2024 anti-Finance Bill protests; Beasley Kogi, killed the same month; and Albert Ojwang, who died in police custody in 2025 after an arrest linked to online speech, are kept in public memory through documentation, court processes, and digital remembrance.

These are not distant historical footnotes. They are recent cases that triggered sustained public anger, inquiries, and political pressure.

The discomfort of the political class with this shift is visible. When even a single extrajudicial killing can fuel nationwide mobilisation and demands for systemic change, numerical comparisons lose their protective value. The argument that “others killed more” no longer functions as a shield once a critical mass of citizens treats every such death as illegitimate.

The deeper issue is structural continuity. Successive regimes have inherited and adapted British colonial security practices that treat certain categories of young Kenyans - especially those in informal settlements or those who challenge authority - as expendable. Whether the scale is larger or smaller in any given period does not change the underlying logic: state violence used as a tool of control.

Reducing the discussion to who killed how many concedes that logic instead of rejecting it.

The proper response to documented cases is investigation, accountability, and institutional reform - not comparative spreadsheets designed to make the present appear moderate by measuring it against a bloody past. One killing outside the law is already one too many. Treating that principle as negotiable is how the practice endures.