Survivors Recall Horror Of Church Burning

This article is from the archive of The New York Sun before the launch of its new website in 2022. The Sun has neither altered nor updated such articles but will seek to correct any errors, mis-categorizations or other problems introduced during transfer.

The New York Sun

KIAMBAA, Kenya — First, the attackers pelted the church with rocks to pin down the women, children, and elderly people seeking shelter inside.

The armed men then slammed shut the church doors. They piled bicycles and mattresses outside the main entrance and blocked a smaller door at the back. They went about their business efficiently.

Inside the small Kenya Assemblies of God Church in Kiambaa, just outside the town of Eldoret in western Kenya, dozens of terrified people huddled together. They were Kikuyus, members of the tribe that has borne the brunt of the violence that followed last week’s disputed presidential election.

The attackers, members of the rival Kalenjin tribe, poured fuel on the mattresses and piled on dried maize leaves from a nearby field. Then they set the barricades alight and waited until the flames burned high.

The church turned into an oven. On Wednesday, the day after the attack, witnesses, and survivors came to collect their families’ belongings from the church yard. In muted voices, they told their stories, reliving their horror.

There was so much screaming, said Samuel Mwangi, 34, who rushed to the church Tuesday to try to defend those trapped inside, that he could not distinguish the cries of the dying Kikuyu women and children from the clamor of Kalenjin women who came with the attackers to watch the slaughter.

President Kibaki’s electoral victory, seen by the opposition as fraudulent, triggered days of ugly tribal violence from western Kenya to the coast. Mobs of opposition supporters have attacked Mr. Kibaki’s fellow Kikuyu, burned houses, looted shops, hacked people’s heads off or slashed them with machetes. There has been tribal fighting in recent days around Eldoret and in some slum areas of Nairobi.

The number of dead at the Kiambaa church was still unclear Wednesday. Many bodies were burned to ashes, according to a witness with the Red Cross, which recovered 17 corpses during the day but estimated that 35 people had died. Accounts from witnesses such as Mwangi offer contradictory reports on the number who perished.

Some people did manage to escape the flames.

Mwangi saw a woman break through the main entrance, a baby tied to her back. But the wrap holding the infant caught fire. As the mother leaped to safety, the baby fell back into the flames and died.

The mother “ran away, with her hair burning. She was screaming,” Mwangi said.

On Wednesday, the site was one of silent desolation. An acrid smell of ashes filled the air. Charred machetes, cooking pots, and handbags were scattered on the ground beside children’s shoes: these small pink sandals fit a toddler girl, those running shoes a child of about 7 or 8.

Inside the church was a fragment from a Bible page, burned around the edges.

Before the attack, as rumors tore through the district that Kalenjins were burning Kikuyus’ houses, the people of this small community reasoned that churches had often served as refuges in times of tribal tension.

But Kenya’s violence in recent days, which has left at least 275 people dead, has crossed an invisible line. For the first time, Kenyan newspapers are raising the example of Rwanda, where about 800,000 people died in tribal killings in 1994.

The current atrocities, dubbed by the government as “ethnic cleansing” of the dominant Kikuyus, are unexpected and deeply shocking to Kenyans: “We didn’t think that they could burn them in the church. It is a terrible thing. I’ve never heard of that thing before,” Mwangi said.


The New York Sun

© 2024 The New York Sun Company, LLC. All rights reserved.

Use of this site constitutes acceptance of our Terms of Use and Privacy Policy. The material on this site is protected by copyright law and may not be reproduced, distributed, transmitted, cached or otherwise used.

The New York Sun

Sign in or  Create a free account

By continuing you agree to our Privacy Policy and Terms of Use