The Last Field Marshal: How Musa Mwariama Outlived the War and the Betrayal

Nyambene Hills, 1951

The mist settled thick that evening, wrapping itself around the tall cedar trees like a heavy blanket. The ground smelled of wet soil, and the forest was still, except for the soft rustle of leaves and a jackal howling somewhere far off. In the middle of this silence, a few men moved quietly. Their bare feet knew every tree root, every bend in the path. Here, deep in the forest, freedom was not something spoken about in big speeches… it was a feeling in the blood, a silent promise in the way these men looked at each other.

To the British colonials, this was wild land. Untouched. Backward. But to the Mau Mau, this forest was everything. It was their base, their shelter, their training ground. It was the only place left where they could fight for what had been taken… land, respect, and future. And inside this forest, among brave men who had little more than belief and courage, stood two warriors whose names have lived on: Musa Mwariama, a fearless commander who never surrendered… and Ruku Mau Mau, a quiet but clever foot soldier whose story, like many others, was never written down.

The General from Tigania

In a village called Muthara in Tigania East, under the shade of a sacred fig tree, a young Musa Mwariama knelt down on cracked earth. Around him, elders, women, and young men sat in silence. There was a small fire burning, and in his hands was a gourd filled with goat’s blood and red soil. It was time to take the Mau Mau oath. Musa’s voice was deep and firm. “We swear to take back what was stolen… our land, our dignity, our future.” That night, they stopped being ordinary villagers. They became freedom fighters.

Musa didn’t grow up in a rich home. He never saw the inside of elite schools. But he saw something else—British settlers fencing off Meru land, forcing people to work like slaves on farms their ancestors once owned. He saw shame in the eyes of fathers who could no longer provide. And that shame became anger. Not the loud kind. The quiet, focused kind. The kind that grows over time… until it explodes.

By 1951, the Mau Mau uprising was starting to rise. People were taking secret oaths at night, preparing for a different kind of war. When the movement reached Meru, Musa didn’t wait to be invited. He took charge. He started giving oaths himself. He brought together the Meru, Embu, Kikuyu, and Kamba. He helped build fighting units from scratch.

That’s around the time he met Dedan Kimathi, a man who believed in both the gun and the pen. Kimathi wrote letters and speeches. Musa moved in silence. While the British chased Kimathi through newspapers and reports, they avoided mentioning Mwariama. They feared that even saying his name might inspire more resistance.

While Musa was building his command in Meru, somewhere in the Central Highlands, a young Kikuyu man named Ruku took the Mau Mau oath. No one remembers his full name. No photo of him survives. But his story stayed alive in the memories of the people he fought beside.

Ruku was not a general or a leader. He wasn’t loud. But he was smart with his hands. He could build working guns using bicycle parts, pipes, and old metal. One of his rifles, a handmade .303, worked only once before jamming… but that one shot was often enough. He didn’t fight for fame. He just wanted revenge for his parents, who had lost everything to the settlers.

When he joined Mwariama’s unit, he quickly became known for being reliable. He knew how to move through the forest without making a sound. He could tell direction just by the feel of the air. He slept in the rain, ate wild honey, and never cut his dreadlocks. The forest became part of him.

The Emergency and the Real Fight

In October 1952, the British declared a State of Emergency in Kenya. Soldiers flooded the villages. People were arrested. The Mau Mau were called “savages” and “terrorists” in colonial newspapers. But Musa Mwariama didn’t run. He organized better.

He brought together fighters from different communities and trained them in small groups that could move fast and disappear quickly. He didn’t rely on radios or vehicles. He relied on local knowledge, messengers, and trust. By 1954, almost every home in Meru, Embu, and Kikuyu areas had been oathed. Whole villages were now part of the war effort.

Ruku became even more important during this time. He made traps, sharpened pangas, and taught younger fighters how to build guns from scrap. He survived by fishing in rivers with spears, chewing bark for water, and staying one step ahead of enemy patrols. He was rarely seen… but everyone who fought beside him remembered his presence.

One Bullet, One Raid, and a Message to the British

In 1954, word reached Musa that a Home Guard camp was holding captured Mau Mau fighters. The place was heavily guarded, but Musa was determined to free them. He gathered his team, laid out a plan in the dirt, and pointed at Ruku. “You go first,” he said, handing him one bullet. “One shot. Make it count.”

That night, under complete darkness, Ruku crawled through the grass until he was close to the camp. A guard stood near the gate. Ruku took his shot. The man dropped without a sound. That was the signal. Within seconds, Musa’s men attacked with pangas and spears. They broke through, freed the prisoners, and melted back into the forest.

Ruku had been shot in the leg during the escape, but he refused to stop. He limped for more than eight kilometers, and Musa stayed with him the whole time. They made it out together.

The British were shaken. They tried to hide the news, but behind closed doors, they knew they were losing control in Meru.

Bombs from the Sky… and a Burning Land

The British hit back hard. They started punishing whole villages. Over a million Kikuyu were forced into guarded camps. Homes were burned. Crops stolen. Families scattered.

Then they brought the war from the sky. Between 1953 and 1955, British planes dropped more than six million bombs on the forests of Mount Kenya and the Aberdares. Fires burned day and night.

But Mwariama didn’t stop. He kept moving, kept organizing. His hideouts changed every week. His men were loyal. His enemies couldn’t find him.

Ruku, even with one leg injured, kept fighting. Sometimes his friends carried him. Sometimes he dragged himself. He taught the next group how to fight, how to survive, how to build weapons from nothing.

After Kimathi, the War Continued in the Shadows

In October 1956, Dedan Kimathi was captured and later hanged. Many thought the rebellion was over.

But in Meru, Mwariama was still standing. He became the last remaining Field Marshal. No one talked about it in public, but in the forest, the fight continued. He moved like mist. Never caught. Never surrendered.

Ruku’s story after that is unclear. Some say he died in a bombing raid. Others believe he walked out when Kenya became independent and lived the rest of his life quietly, selling charcoal, never telling anyone who he once was.

1963: Independence Comes… But Not for All

When Kenya gained independence, Mwariama walked into Ruringu Stadium with two thousand fighters behind him. His leopard-skin jacket had the words “FIELD MARSHAL” stitched on it. He embraced President Kenyatta… but in his eyes, there was no celebration.

He saw that the new government was rewarding former collaborators. The land was still not given back. The fighters were forgotten.

He accepted the Elder of the Burning Spear medal. But he kept his weapons. He moved to Timau and waited. But justice never came.

In 1989, while helping a friend who had been bitten by a snake, Mwariama tried to suck out the venom. He died a few days later… not from battle, but from a selfless act.

The Forest Still Remembers

Musa Mwariama was never caught, never betrayed the cause, never sold out. His leopard-skin jacket is still around today, kept like treasure by his family.

Ruku is the face of all the unnamed warriors. The ones buried in unknown places. The ones who never got medals but helped win the war.

The trees still whisper their names. The rivers still carry their memories. And as a country, we must never forget what they gave.

And this… was

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MchunoOne Ian

Kenyatta sold the couse