Lucy Kibuku Irungu: A Daughter of the Mau Mau, A Mother of Soweto's Transformation

Born in the midst of the chaotic Mau Mau uprising in April 1954, Lucy Kibuku Irungu began her life amidst resistance, resilience, and survival. Her date of birth is not known, but her mother, now just a little over 100 years old and still very sharp, frequently says it was at a time when there was much rain and the cold bit hard.

That recollection pegs Lucy's birth to the fourth month of the year. She is the second-born daughter in a family whose roots go way back to Kenya's fight for independence. Lucy's mother, a devout Catholic, had her baptism and confirmation records maintained by the Church, records that helped trace their family's milestones. On this sunny morning, as we sit over a steaming cup of tea, Lucy begins to tell the story of her life: a tale threaded with pain, resilience, and purpose.

Her memories of childhood are coloured by the realities of colonial occupation. Born in Murang'a, a region famous for its fertile highlands, she grew up at a time when these lands had already been appropriated by colonialists for their cash crops of tea and coffee. Africans, including her family, were pushed to the periphery, the colonialists’ feared uprising, so they were confined and under observation at all times. Everything was undertaken communally - building and thatching of the mud-houses, cooking, raising the children.

I ask Lucy to tell me more about life in the colonial villages between 1958 and 1961.  Her gaze deepened, her voice lowered, as though unlocking a memory long buried through her mother’s story since she was too young to fully comprehend all the details.

“We were caged like animals,” she said. “The villages were surrounded by fences that were made of wooden sticks, guarded by home guards and colonial soldiers. No one could leave unless given a pass or assigned work outside.”

Life inside was harsh. Food was a daily struggle, there were no shops, and land for farming was minimal. Families survived on what the women grew in small farms near their houses: sukuma wiki (kale that is cooked with onions and spices), cabbages, arrowroot, beans or maize. Children, including Lucy, played a quiet but vital role in fetching firewood, sweeping the compound or scouting for wild fruits within the vicinity, always risking beatings or punishment if caught near the fence.

I ask, “Did you have pots or what did you use?”

“My mother would wrap food in banana leaves, put it in pots made of clay and cook it on three stones with a small fire.” Lucy replies. The confinement stripped them of dignity, but Lucy remembers how women kept families alive and together with ingenuity and quiet strength. “It was the women who carried us through,” she said. “They found ways to cook, to care, to comfort, when everything else was taken.”

Lucy began education in 1964 at Marira Primary School, not long after independence. She completed her Certificate of Primary Education (CPE) in 1969, which was conducted in English, since Kiswahili and regional languages had not been accepted as a language of instruction. Her teachers, she recalls, were typically children of home guards, locals who collaborated with the colonial state and thus enjoyed better education.

"I used to wonder if those teachers were actually trained," she says. "Most of us, whose parents were anti-colonial, were left behind while the children of sympathizers got ahead."  Life was not easy. "I only had one dress, which we washed in the evening. During menstruation, we'd skip school, there were no sanitary towels, only old rags our mothers gave us. We'd wash them secretly in the river."

This gendered suffering continued with education. Boys were generally given priority, and girls were made to work as assistants for domestic duties. Lucy's mother defied tradition, however, and sent all four of her daughters to school. "We didn't have brothers - that, strangely, became our blessing," Lucy says. "My eldest sister left in Class 4 to assist our mother, but the rest of us continued."

Her father, a Mau Mau freedom fighter, disappeared into the bush and was never heard from again. "Like with the military today, they'd wait before declaring a missing fighter dead," Lucy explains. "We waited and hoped, days turned into weeks, then months and years and those who came back from the bush confirmed our worst fear."

With no grave to show, her father disappeared from the face of the earth never to return, leaving behind his young children and wife. Her mother described the large gabions, the mass graves where Mau Mau fighter bodies were tossed. "They'd fill them with bodies and cover them: "Forgotten heroes." Her family would at times seek sanctuary in the forest when the colonialists conducted raids. Houses were torched and sympathizers tortured. "The forest was safer," she says with understated determination.

Then in 1963 came independence and, with it, a tide of optimism. Colonial villages were dismantled, land demarcation began, and people regained their freedom of movement. Markets began and trading started to pick up. "That's when we began to see bread," Lucy chuckles. “My mother brought some once after performing for President Kenyatta. It was a big deal." Those days are etched in her memory well, women being driven around in lorries to sing for the President when he visited states. "It was fun as a child, even more so when your mother came back with gifts."

Despite cultural resistance, Lucy continued her education at Nginda Girls' Secondary School in Murang'a, where she sat for her Form Four exams. Lack of finances kept her from advancing. She subsequently met her late husband through a childhood friend. They were married in a Kikuyu traditional wedding, which was legally recognized, and were blessed with nine children, seven boys and two girls and now have 13 grandchildren.

In 1982, Lucy and her husband, who worked with Kenya Bus Services, bought a tiny plot of land in Kangemi at a price of just Ksh. 150. The land had been coveted by powerful elites, and the area was plagued by mysterious fires that were suspected to be deliberate attempts to evict squatters.

Lucy recalls the time women were not allowed to own land or even have ID. Women began receiving national identity cards in the early 1970s, primarily for taxation, she says. “Before that, women were dependents, first on their fathers, then husbands." The current Kenyan woman has come far through a deep history, appreciating the milestones, she says.

When President Kenyatta died in 1978, the nation was gripped by fear. Citizens were afraid of the re-colonization of the country. But with the rise of President Moi to power, the nation entered a long era of political stability, albeit a one-party dominated one until the introduction of multiparty politics in 1992.

"I was too busy raising a family to take much notice of politics," she admits. "But when we became squatters, I realized politics extend into every corner of our lives." Only 350 out of 6,000 families were resettled after the demolition of Kibagare slum, Lucy remembers. "I was working for a white woman when my son Njoroge came to tell me that our home had been demolished."

The families were loaded onto lorries and relocated to Kayole, a barren, snake-infested land then deemed unsuitable for human settlement. "But we knew peace in those makeshift tents. We tilled the soil, planted seeds, and started afresh." The same strength sustained Lucy in her pioneering efforts in the Kayole slum, where she was a beacon of hope, having founded the Tujisaidie Self-Help Group. CMS Ireland and All Saints' Cathedral Nairobi were the first to offer them substantial support, a breakthrough that launched her work in community development.

Her dream? "To see every child educated and every woman empowered," she says. "Just like my mother, I believe education breaks the cycle of poverty." She emphasizes entrepreneurship, urging young people not to wait for a job but to create their own opportunities. "We have to think of ourselves as problem-solvers. When we thrive as a community, the effect is multiplied."

As our tea cools, I know I haven't just interviewed a woman, I've traversed decades of Kenyan history through the eyes of Lucy Kibuku Irungu. A daughter of the Mau Mau. A mother. A leader. A nation-builder.

Asked what she wants to be remembered for, Lucy smiles and says: "That I overcame the odds. That I changed my story. That I never gave up on God and God has never given up on me. It's been God from the beginning, and it's still God today. Tujisaidie's tomorrow is with the members and the families who should speak well of it as we mentor our young ones to take over since age will catch up with us."

~ Jackie Nadunga

Jackie Nadunga is a writer and media advocate whose work focuses on women's rights and the freedom of the press in Africa, with her articles appearing on platforms like the Eastern Africa Editors Society. She is known for her commentary on the challenges and achievements of women journalists on the continent, particularly concerning gender-based violence, harassment, and leadership within the media. CMS Ireland is grateful to Jackie for collating and sharing Lucy's story with us.