“Accept and move on.”
This phrase took root after Kenya’s 2007 election, developed after the controversial night-time swearing-in of Kibaki as president. It was an election fraught with tension, with widespread belief that the results were rigged, a sentiment that left the country in a state of deep unrest.
To understand how we got here, we need to rewind. The 2002 election was a pivotal moment in Kenya’s history, marking the end of President Moi’s 24-year reign and the dawn of a new multiparty system. I was too young to vote then, but I remember the excitement, the hope, the sense of possibility that swept through the country. Everyone felt like change was finally within reach. By the time the 2007 elections arrived, I was eager to cast my first vote, believing that my voice could shape the future.
As the elections drew closer, we debated about each of the candidates, we scrutinised their track record in government, we debated on Twitter, we talked about it with our friends and family. We learned that tribalism was a big driver of how people voted. I and my fellow idealists on Twitter decided that we were going to overthrow the powers that be, and vote for the underdogs, and this time, there were many.
So I was excited to vote for the first time. I happily displayed my inked finger, confident that I had exercised my right to vote.
The Aftermath
What I hadn’t expected was the devastation that would follow. When my candidate didn’t even make the top three, I felt disappointed and disillusioned. But that was nothing compared to what was soon to follow, when the post-election violence began. What I had once viewed as a simple exercise of my democratic right suddenly became a flashpoint for ethnic conflict, political betrayal, and unimaginable loss.
Fast forward to today, and I had forgotten much of that pain. That is, until I read The Havoc of Choice by Wanjiru Koinange. The book reopened memories I didn’t realize I had buried. I had to put this book down a few times, because it made me revisit that period in a way I am not sure I was ready for. Through the lens of a middle-class Nairobi family, Koinange vividly recreates the events surrounding the 2007 elections, showing how political turmoil can fracture families and communities alike. The story was both personal and national, capturing experiences that I hadn’t directly faced but knew all too well.
In her reflection questions, Koinange asks: “Do you think this novel is an attempt at rekindling collective memory around this time?”
Yes, absolutely. This novel didn’t just remind me of what happened—it forced me to confront it. The trauma of those days, the fear that gripped the nation, the horrifying images we saw on TV, especially the church burning in Eldoret—all of it came flooding back. Yet, there was also something more. Through the fictionalised account of this family’s experience, I began to see layers of trauma that I had not fully grasped back then. For many, the violence wasn’t just something witnessed; it was lived. And for others, like me, the phrase “accept and move on” became a blanket we used to cover our collective wounds.
Koinange further asks: “Can fiction act as an accessible version to deal with the trauma of the 2007 post-election violence in Kenya?”
For me, the answer is yes. Literature has always been a powerful tool for reflection and healing. In The Havoc of Choice, Koinange creates a safe space to relive those traumatic events, but at a distance, allowing us to process our emotions without feeling overwhelmed. Art, in all its forms—be it novels, plays, or films—can help us relive, reflect, and eventually heal from the pain that lingers. Through fiction, we can find ourselves weeping, laughing, and confronting the truths we’ve tried to ignore.
As I read the book, I couldn’t help but wonder: where are we now, as a country? Are elections still a trigger for many? Have we really dealt with the scars of 2007, or are they still festering under the surface? Personally, I hadn’t thought deeply about my own disillusionment until now. Perhaps, like many others, I buried the pain of feeling powerless, thinking that my vote didn’t matter. But this book has reawakened something in me, a desire to engage more actively in the future.
Pain shouldn’t be buried—it should be dealt with. The Havoc of Choice reminded me of the importance of addressing the past, so that maybe, in the next election, I will finally be ready to show up again as an active citizen, driven by the belief that we all hold the power to shape the future of our country.