In Kenyan politics, few narratives carry as much potency as the story of surviving political exclusion. Long before modern sound systems amplified political rallies, the legendary Gĩkũyũ musician Joseph Kamaru captured this enduring spirit in his iconic anthem, “No Ithui Twari Kuo” (It Was Only Us Who Were There).
Decades after Kamaru sang about endurance and historical witness, his core thesis remains the dominant pulse of political discourse. The recent high-profile defiance of Nairobi Senator Edwin Sifuna making a landfall in Kakamega, alongside former Deputy President Rigathi Gachagua rallying supporters in Kikuyu, demonstrates how the ancient language of resistance continues to echo across party lines.
1. The heritage of “No Ithui Twari Kuo”
Historically rooted in the Mau Mau struggle and the socio-political betrayals of post-independence Kenya, Kamaru’s song was never just a melody, it was a declaration of presence and resilience.
“No Ithui Twari Kuo” was a direct message to the establishment: We bore the brunt of the furnace, we paid the ultimate price, and despite every effort to rewrite history or shut us out, we are still standing.
Kamaru tapped into a deep cultural muscle memory, the refusal to be erased by the state or politically sidelined by power brokers.
2. Two politics, one echo
When contemporary politicians face state pressure or political zoning, they reach into the very playbook Kamaru composed.
A. Sifuna in Kakamega
When Edwin Sifuna arrived in Kakamega despite heavy political resistance and warnings from local kingpins, his response was simple, urban, and direct:
“Walisema hatuwezi fika hapa… lakini hapa ni wapi, na mimi ni nani?” (They said we couldn’t make it here… but where is this place, and who am I?)
By stepping onto disputed ground, Sifuna transformed an attempt at exclusion into a display of constitutional freedom and personal strength. It was the modern, Sheng equivalent of Kamaru’s message: You do not own this land, and you cannot stop us from showing up.
B. Gachagua in Mt. Kenya
For former Deputy President Rigathi Gachagua, facing state machinery after his fallout with the administration, returning to Kikuyu carried an almost identical tone. Echoing the same phrase“Walisema hatuwezi fika…”—Gachagua reframed his political trials not as a defeat, but as evidence of his survival.
By landing among his constituents despite state opposition, he tapped directly into Kamaru’s emotional frequency: framing political persecution as a shared collective struggle where the leader and the community remain rooted together.
3. The power of “Hapa Ni Wapi?”
Why does this specific rhetoric resonate so deeply with the Kenyan public?
- Defying Political Gatekeeping: Kenyan political culture often relies on regional “ownership” and state-enforced perimeter lines. Breaking those unspoken boundaries strips the establishment of its aura of authority.
- The Weaponization of the Underdog: In Kenya, being targeted by “the powers that be” is often a political gift. It transforms a politician into a folk hero who is standing up to systemic bullying.
- The Permanence of the People: Just as Kamaru reminded leaders that politicians come and go while the citizens remain, modern figures use these moments to remind their opponents that power is temporary, but the populace is constant.