NAIROBI, Kenya —What began as a peaceful candlelit vigil in downtown Nairobi on Wednesday night ended in chaos and clouds of tear gas, as police officers dispersed mourners honoring 24-year-old Boniface Kariuki—a face mask vendor who became a national symbol of police brutality.
Dozens had gathered quietly along Mondlane Street near Imenti House, the spot where Kariuki was gunned down on June 17. With candles in hand and grief etched across their faces, the mourners came to remember a young man who had gone out that day not to protest, but to work.
But in a scene as tragic as it was familiar, the police arrived. Tear gas canisters were hurled into the crowd without warning, sending mourners scrambling for safety.
Thick white smoke swallowed the evening air. Still, some stood their ground. “We are used to that,” one mourner shouted defiantly as others fled, coughing and shielding their eyes.
The vigil took place just hours after Kariuki’s requiem mass at All Saints Cathedral. His funeral is scheduled for Friday, July 11, in Murang’a County.
Kariuki’s story gripped the nation. On June 17, he had shown up at the protests with only face masks to sell—but left fighting for his life. Caught on camera, a police officer shot him at point-blank range in broad daylight. He was unarmed, young, and simply trying to earn a living.
Initially rushed to Kenyatta National Hospital’s Intensive Care Unit, Kariuki underwent emergency brain surgery.
Doctors removed what they suspected was a rubber bullet lodged in his skull. Despite their efforts, he was declared brain-dead on June 29 and passed away the following day.
Public outrage was swift. The horrifying footage sparked demonstrations and demands for accountability.
Two police officers seen harassing Kariuki before the shooting were arrested. Investigations are still ongoing.
Ironically, the June 17 protests had originally been sparked by the death of Albert Ojwang, a teacher and blogger who died under mysterious circumstances while in police custody.
For many, Kariuki’s shooting was proof that the violence wasn’t just a one-off—it was systemic.
Following Kariuki’s death, his family faced another blow: a staggering hospital bill of over Ksh3.5 million.
They called for public help, and the outpouring was significant. A group of politicians from Murang’a County visited the family and delivered a Ksh1 million donation from President William Ruto to support the funeral costs.
But Wednesday night’s tear gas attack raised even more questions. Why were unarmed mourners tear-gassed for simply holding candles and grieving? What message does it send when even the dead can’t be mourned in peace?
As Boniface Kariuki is laid to rest this week, his name now joins a growing list of victims whose deaths have ignited a national reckoning on police conduct and justice in Kenya. And for many, the fight for answers—and accountability—is far from over.
