When the Music Stopped

The DJ never came. But the soldiers did.

It was Sunday, August 1, 1982. Term 2 had just ended. Across Kenya, schools were closing for the long August holiday.

At one school in Nairobi, plans were underway for the end-of-term disco.
Boys had ironed their “Pipes”.
Girls had borrowed perfume and accessories from their big sisters, aunties (coz no one dared touch mum’s “Anais anais”).
Hair hot-combed. And dance moves perfected in readiness.

It wasn’t just a dance. It was the dance.
A chance to shine.
It was the closing day bash.
A chance to settle old scores (yes, the fights were epic—away from the noise, located at the “end of pitch,” the field where no one played. That was “Madison Square Garden”—the boxing ring for those who had a bone to pick with that dude who had harassed you throughout the term or for all your 7 years of primary school).
It was also the chance to ask her for a dance and finally quell that longing you had suppressed all those years.
And for many of us, the only time we’d ever hear music on proper speakers outside of church…

But the DJ did not show up.
Because at 3:00 AM that morning, the coup had begun.

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Nairobi was unusually quiet.
Then Kenya Broadcasting Corporation came crackling into life around 6.

We “city” kids never listened to anything but the “English” service.
(Way before Kameme, Inooro, Ramogi or Egesa—there were only 2 major stations. The vernacular ones were deliberately muted because of “nation building as one.”)

The Swahili service had been hijacked by the “Rebels” and they dragged Uncle Leonard (may his soul RIP)—the most recognized voice in the whole Republic—for “matangazo.”
(Clever move… I wonder if it happened today, who would fit the bill… maybe “Let me tell you Maina?” …nah.
My money would be on the “Blackest man in Black Africa”—Uncle Fred Obachi Machoka.)

Anyway, Reggae was playing.
Bob Marley had just toured Zimbabwe 2 years prior and had released the hit album Survival with the song Zimbabwe.

I remember innocently singing along to:

“Africans shall liberate Zimbabwe… I & I shall liberate Zimbabwe…”

We had all fallen in love with Roots and Liberation Reggae.
(Nowadays there’s Lover’s Rock and Dancehall… bonoko reggae nkt)
But back to the story.

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Radio silence replaced disco hits.
Young Air Force soldiers had decided to overthrow the government.

By 9:00 AM, Kenyans across the country were glued to transistor radios.
Parents panicked. Teachers were conspicuously absent.
There were hardly any school buses.
And our trusty Kenya Bus Services had been grounded in Eastleigh.
(That HQ has now become a funky mall wah!)

The music—literally and metaphorically—stopped.

That innocent generation of schoolchildren lost their dance,
and Kenya lost something more: its political innocence.

The failed coup would go on to harden President Moi’s rule.
The state became paranoid.
Dissenters were disappeared.
The Air Force was dismantled and rebuilt.

And in many homes of my schoolmates, kids were told:

“You don’t need discos. You need discipline.”
(#SameForest… hehe)

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⏩ Fast-forward to August 2025

43 years later, another storm was brewing.

Prophet Owuor’s old prophecies about rapture resurfaced on TikTok.
Then came CHAN 2024 (2025 Edition).

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Were the stadiums ready?

Billions were spent—but still…

CAF pulled Group D matches out of Nairobi, giving them to Zanzibar instead.
Fans were confused.

Was the opening match in Nairobi? Dar? Zanzibar?
Where are the tickets?
Where are Harambee Stars playing…?

First match was scheduled to kick off today at—
I must say—a new and VERY improved Kasarani, just days after CAF inspectors had cleared it by the skin of its canopy.

Kenya vs DR Congo.
40,000 fans—and it’s not a WANTAM rally or Reinhard Bonkke.

The mood? Proud… but fragile.

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💸 Chaos for Consumers, Sales Reps, and Mathee/Mokoro

(or whatever they call her nowadays)

Meanwhile, Kenyan families were navigating school holidays with the usual pressure:

“Mathe is getting old, we cannot afford those medical bills—can we find her a medical cover?”
“The kids are home, and we can’t afford both holiday plans and August fees.”
“Hawa Watoto wanakula kama mchwa… tuwapeleke ushago.”
(Translation: these kids are eating like termites… can we send them to their granddad/mum?)

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For insurance agents, salespeople, and FMCG reps, this was a hard week:

• Sales calls were rescheduled (Quarter 2 performance reviews).

• Hotels were overbooked… or half-full.

• Retailers didn’t know whether to stock for kids on holiday, visitors from upcountry, or turn off their fridges.

Politicians?
Silent. Or pretending the games were going just fine.

In every town, the rhythm feels... off.

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🌍 And the Diaspora Watched

In an article last week, Laila Macharia shared:

There are 194,000 documented Kenyans in the U.S.
(Hmmm… let’s put that on ICE literally 😉)
And an estimated 5 million globally—half of them following along.
Watching Kenya’s drama like a reality show they can’t quit.

Many remember the school dances. Some the coup.
The Kasaranis… the All-Africa games… the East & Central Africa soccer matches…
John “Bobby” Ogolla, Wilberforce Muamba, JJ Masiga (yes, Patch!), Mahmoud Abbas, and of course Ambrose Ayoyi and Scarlets FC (Big up Nakuru).

And they shake their heads—
But they never look away.

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🏉 Rugby Always Finds a Way

Yesterday, Australia’s Wallabies salvaged a win (kupanguza machozi)
with a 22–12 victory over the British & Irish Lions.

A 2–1 loss in the test series—
But a win against a top-tier opponent they haven’t beaten in years.
(Watch the OZ mob in 2027 RWC—they’re the hosts and will probably make the final.)

Proof that teams can be rebuilt, narratives can be redeemed,
and music can start again—
if the coach knows the rhythm, and the team keeps time.

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Kenya, too, has that chance.
But only if it stops outsourcing performance to prophets, politicians, and promises.

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🎤 Final Line:

“In Kenya, August doesn’t whisper. It drums.
When the music stops… will you freeze, or will you sing?”

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#SameForest #DifferentMonkeys

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