I found this on Pambazuka which is a fantastic source of progressive African  news.  I’m not sure if its a work of fiction or a real suicide note. I hope its not a real suicide note…


I write this letter as my final mortal action upon this earth.

I have determined to collect email addresses of the prominent people
that I know and my friends and send it to them from an anonymous
email address for two reasons.

First, to spare them the distress of knowing beforehand what I am
doing, therefore saving them from culpability, and second, because my
identity is now and in future irrelevant — it could be any of those
men around the country who feel like I do.

As you might guess from my style of writing, I am a well-educated
man. I am a graduate of Nairobi and Strathmore universities.

I have been privileged to be educated around the world.

I have worked in Berlin, Stockholm, London, New York and many other
places. I speak six languages fluently.

Even with all these achievements, I have no more reason to live. If
you will want to look for me as you read this, go to City Mortuary
where I have determined to fester among the anonymous people there.

I will explain why in this letter, and like Pavlov, I shall retire.
This is my only protest.

Mr Kibaki, I indict you.

You stole the election that I stood for six hours to participate in.
By your actions, my life irrevocably changed. History will now forget
the great achievement and legacy that you were poised to make and it
shall remember that for your self-righteousness, people lost lives,
property, and most of all, hope. On the blood of my people, I indict

Mr Odinga, my chosen president, on the blood and tears of my people,
I indict you.

Because of your bitterness, justified though it is, my life
irrevocably changes. My greatest achievements, my family, died in
your name. My son, my heir, named after my great ancestors, went up
in smoke before he could say my name, or his great name. Koitalet.

My twin daughters, Wanjiru and Sanaipei, were found by my burnt house
in Eldoret, having bled out of their wounds. My wife died with the
seed of six men inside her, demented and finally catatonic. This
happened in your name, Sir. Because you have to get justice. Because
my wife was from the wrong community. Because you must get what is

You will read this and feel nothing. You will rationalise it as
accepted collateral damage. Some must die in the pursuit of justice,
isn’t it?