Justice Denied, Then Served: The Trial of OCS Mutua

The sun dipped low over Baba Dogo… casting a soft orange hue across Nairobi’s working-class estate. The scent of charcoal fires and frying mandazi mingled with the sharper tang of miraa, while children darted through alleys and vendors hustled along the dusty lanes. In the midst of this daily rhythm was Martin Koome Manyara… a miraa trader in his early thirties… beloved for his hustle, wit, and love for his young family. Life wasn’t perfect… but he provided… he tried.

That December 19 evening, something cracked. A domestic dispute turned volatile. Koome, reportedly drunk, stumbled onto his balcony clutching his infant child… threatening to jump. His wife, Peninah, screamed. Neighbors gathered. Some shouted at him to calm down, others urged Peninah to grab the baby. Phones were out. A man from the next block called the police, worried the child would fall or worse. Like many nights in Baba Dogo, a personal crisis had turned into a neighborhood spectacle. And like many such crises, the police were summoned not to mediate, but to dominate.

A police van from Ruaraka Police Station screeched in… uniformed officers stormed up the narrow stairs… found Koome now calmed but defiant. The child was back in Peninah’s arms, but Koome, reeking of alcohol, barked at the officers. He questioned why they were in his house. One of them warned him to shut up. He refused. Another reached for his hand to cuff him, and Koome pulled back. That was all the excuse they needed. They twisted his arms behind his back, slammed him against the wall, then frog-marched him out of the building. They handcuffed him without much talk and hauled him into the van, citing domestic disturbance. Peninah was left behind… her baby in her arms… unaware that this was the last time she would see her husband alive.

Ruaraka Police Station… a notorious building not far from the estate… was a dim corridor of intimidation. Behind the reception desk… the Occurrence Book lay open as always… a ledger of Nairobi’s forgotten. The cells were dark… the air stinking of urine and forgotten cries. Into this grim place, Koome was dragged… still intoxicated, agitated, and confused.

At the reception, an officer asked for his name. Koome refused to answer. “Niko tu sawa,” he muttered… “I was just at home with my wife.” He raised his voice. That was when Chief Inspector Nahashon Mutua, Officer Commanding Station… known for his iron grip… emerged from his office. The other officers went quiet. Mutua walked over slowly… his boots clicking on the cold concrete floor. He looked at Koome like one might look at a cockroach on a white wall. His jaw tightened.

When Koome shouted again, asking why he was being held, Mutua took it personally. He didn’t respond with words. He responded with a blow. A slap so hard it threw Koome against the wall. Then he spoke, slowly, coldly: “Uko hapa utajua sisi ni nani.” Officers flinched but said nothing. He ordered Koome restrained and dragged to the back.

According to fellow detainees… peering through cracks between the cells… the OCS grabbed a ridged metal pipe kept beneath the bench behind the booking desk. It wasn’t regulation equipment… it was a tool of pain. Mutua didn’t ask questions. He struck Koome across the back. When Koome screamed, he hit him again. On the ribs. Then the shoulder. Then the face. The man who hours earlier had been negotiating miraa deals was now gasping for breath, pleading for mercy.

But Mutua’s anger wasn’t spent.

In a horrifying escalation, the OCS pointed at the black water drum in the corridor… the same one used for cleaning… and barked an order. “Muweke kichwa ndani.” Two junior officers obeyed. They held Koome by the arms and forced his head into the drum. He kicked. He thrashed. Bubbles surfaced as he tried to breathe. They pulled him up. He coughed violently. Then Mutua waved his hand again. Back into the water. This time longer. Detainees across the hallway heard the splashing. Then silence.

Koome was pulled out… unconscious… his face bruised and swollen… blood oozing from his ear canal. He was dumped in the corner of a filthy cell, his body soaking wet, the cement beneath him darkening with a mix of blood and water. Mutua stood over him for a moment. Then walked away like nothing had happened. The station went quiet again.

By morning, Koome was near death. Unresponsive… barely breathing… his face distorted and purple from the beatings. Officers, now nervous, rushed him to a clinic… then to Kenyatta National Hospital… where he was left unattended on a bench in the emergency room. Peninah arrived in time to see him alive… but just barely. Her cries echoed across the ward. Within hours, he died. The cause: blunt force trauma to the head… internal bleeding.

Mutua, realizing the situation had spiraled, launched a desperate cover-up. He falsified the Occurrence Book… claiming a cellmate, Kelvin Odhiambo, had assaulted Koome. He even pressed murder charges on Kelvin… threatened other detainees to back the lie… and reportedly offered Ksh 1 million to tamper with prosecution efforts. He released suspects. He paid medical bills. He tried to erase the night.

But justice had already awakened.

Peninah, armed with grief and fury, reached out. International Justice Mission (IJM) filed a complaint with IPOA. Investigators interviewed detainees… dug into the falsified logs… reviewed medical records. One by one, the lies fell apart. Witnesses recounted the beating. Forensic reports matched their claims. The case against Kelvin Odhiambo crumbled… and he was released after nine months of wrongful detention.

Mutua’s trial began in 2017. In court, he denied everything. But IJM’s lawyers and IPOA’s evidence painted a damning picture… of a man who used power as a weapon and law as a shield. On December 13, 2018, Justice Stella Mutuku delivered the verdict: guilty of murder. Mutua was sentenced to death on February 14, 2019. Though no execution would follow… the sentence carried weight. For once… the uniform didn’t protect the crime.

Peninah… now widowed… is raising her child alone. She sued the government, insisting Mutua didn’t act alone. Her voice… soft but firm… echoed beyond courts and settlements. The community remembered Koome… not just as a trader, but as a symbol. A father. A brother. A man who didn’t deserve to die the way he did.

Koome’s story became a turning point… a rare flicker of accountability in Kenya’s long struggle with police brutality. But it was also a sobering reminder. Because in 2025, posts on X still mention his name… usually alongside another name… another hashtag… another Kenyan lost in a similar way.

And so the fight continues.

And this was a

#VCDigest

story that you may have heard.

Below pictured: OCS Mutua



Protectors turned killers

#VCDigest