From depression to collective struggle: The Journey of a Young Kenyan

The 1st April 2025, the Revolutionary Socialist League, together with other political organizations, organized an event in Kenya entitled “Exposing State weaponization of drugs and alcohol against activists”. The aim was to to “discuss the systematic use of drugs and alcohol as a tool to destabilize youth-led movements and misrepresent protests as driven by intoxicated individuals rather than politically conscious and organized communities.” We wanted to share with you a testimony produced as result of this event. It has been written by Wachira Nyaga, a dedicated community organizer with Embu Community Justice Center and a party member of the Revolutionary Socialist League.

By Wachira Nyaga

After finishing high school in 2012, I found myself struggling to survive in an economy designed to keep the poor in chains. Like many young people, I hoped to uplift my family from the suffering imposed by the neoliberal system.In 2015, I started working as a tout in the chaotic and exploitative matatu industry (matatus are private minibuses that act as public transport, the tout manages the money tickets and passengers), working the Githurai 45 route from the rapidly growing suburb of Ruiru to Nairobi’s Central Business District. After three years in the industry, I realised that my economic struggles would not be solved by working as a tout. The challenges were grotesque. I was constantly harassed and arrested by county askaris and the police. The matatu business is one of Kenya’s most corrupt industries, with state officers openly collecting bribes from the wee hours of the morning at roundabouts and roadblocks, never caring whether the casual workers they extort have even made a profit or had breakfast. You either pay, or you suffer the consequences. The rampant arbitrary arrests and ignorance of the law by all participants in the industry put young workers at risk of spending much of their youth in prison, fueling my realisation that the police and justice system exists to protect the rich while oppressing the poor.

It was through this experience that I developed a deep yearning to fight for change. The same youths I worked with who were parents, siblings, and friends continue to suffer under the weight of systemic poverty. As I searched for alternative work, I found myself in the unstable world of small-time hustling, selling whatever I could to survive. But in 2018, everything changed.

My Community Organising Journey

I met Edgar, popularly known as Liberator, who introduced me to community organising under the banner of the Githurai Human Rights Network. I began working with community groups to raise consciousness about human rights, accountability, and the Constitution. Through Liberator, I later met Garang Mzalendo, both of whom were radio presenters at Ghetto Radio, hosting the popular Changamka Show, which combined social justice with reggae music. Their work inspired me, and my focus sharpened, culminating in the formation of the Githurai Social Justice Centre (GSJC), which later became part of the Social Justice Movement Working Group.

As GSJC grew, I became deeply involved in organizing across Nairobi’s informal settlements. My revolutionary mission became clearer I had a duty to fight for justice and freedom for the people. But community organising is not without its challenges. The work is unpaid, yet human rights defenders carry the immense burden of documenting injustices, from extrajudicial killings to gender-based violence. The emotional and psychological toll is heavy. The lack of psychosocial support for organisers meant that I was absorbing all the trauma without an outlet.

Effects and Overcoming Mental Health and Substance Abuse

As the work of defending my community intensified, I unknowingly sacrificed my well-being. I started using drugs khat (Miraa) and alcohol (Chang’aa) to keep up with the demands of organising. The situation worsened when my house was demolished and I was forcefully evicted leaving me homeless. With no community support and a growing sense of despair, I became trapped in alcohol abuse. What started as a way to escape my struggles, quickly consumed my life.

I spent my days drinking in local chang’aa dens, often skipping meals, and losing touch with my responsibilities. My young family suffered my wife and child became ashamed of me while the community dismissed me as a lost cause. Human rights defenders are often vilified; perceived as nuisances rather than protectors of the people. My struggles reinforced that perception, further isolating me. One thing I had always believed was that change begins with me.

I had wasted years drowning in alcohol, and I knew that if I remained in the same toxic environment, nothing would change. I had to make a choice either continue on my self-destructive path or reclaim my life. I decided to leave Githurai and return to my rural home in Embu.

Turning a New Leaf Through the Community Kitchen and Organizing the Embu Community Justice Centre

Leaving Nairobi was not just about escaping substance abuse; it was about creating a new environment where I could rebuild myself. One thing that was clear is that, as a revolutionary, it’s our duty to organise everywhere capitalism is entrenched and in Embu, it was no different. Oppression was everywhere from unemployment of the youth, suppression of women, and poor conditions of peasant farmers. Historically, despite Embu being the centre of resistance for Mau Mau, it remained marginalised and underdeveloped. This is the reality for many towns in Kenya which have railway economies, inherited from colonialism. When the neo-colonial government of Jomo Kenyatta took over, Embu was among the many areas that were further exploited and subjected to historical injustices by neo-colonial leaders.

As a cadre of the Social Justice Movement and a disciplined adherent of the Revolutionary Socialist League, I knew that only militant discipline would get me back on track by employing political education through community organising. I stand guided by the wise words of Maya Angelou, ‘No one is free until everybody is free’.

In Embu, I sought new ways to sustain myself while remaining committed to the struggle. I started a community kitchen, which became a means of survival and a new space for organising. The kitchen provided a platform to engage farmers and rural workers about their struggles, helping me underline that the same oppressive structures in urban informal settlements existed in rural areas. Farmers were being exploited, the government was failing them, and their struggles were no different from those of the urban poor.

“A soldier without political ideology is a potential criminal” – Thomas Sankara.

Through these conversations, I saw the need to organise. The Embu Community Justice Centre was born out of this realisation, providing farmers and workers a platform to fight collectively for their rights. By advocating for cooperatives, trade unions, and revolutionary consciousness, we began laying the foundation for an alternative system that prioritises people over profit.

Conclusion

My journey from substance abuse to organising a new justice centre was not easy, but it was necessary. The capitalist system is designed to break us, to push us into despair and self-destruction. But the fight for justice is not just about confronting the state—it is about confronting the conditions that weaken our people, including mental health struggles and substance abuse.

Community organising is not just political; it is deeply personal. By rebuilding myself, I was able to rebuild my commitment to the struggle. My experience has shown me that revolutionary discipline, collective care, and political consciousness are essential for sustaining both individuals and movements. The fight continues, not just in Nairobi, but in every corner of the country where people refuse to accept oppression as their fate. For a free, just, and organised society—one community at a time.