By Morris Wambua

I have not written in a while.

Not because my hand forgot how to caress the page, nor because my pen dried of ink. No, my dear
reader, I have been silent because I chose to immortalize myself—to pour my soul into books that, I hope, will outlive me.

But today, the silence weighs too heavily. My pen trembles, compelled to capture the grief of a nation and the fire of a people who refuse to be extinguished.

The year 2025 has arrived with a cruel paradox: it brims with the possibility of change, yet it begins under a shadow darker than any we’ve known in recent memory.

Our youth—Kenya’s brightest, boldest, and most creative minds—are being plucked from our midst. They vanish without explanation, their voices silenced, their absence a void that grows deeper with
each passing day.

And they are not random victims. They are young critics of the government, creators who dared to wield their art as a weapon for truth.

These are the cartoonists who use satire to expose injustice. The filmmakers who project the cries of the people onto screens for all to see. The spoken-word poets who weave words into weapons sharper than any blade.

And the silhouette artists who paint the walls of our cities with images too powerful to ignore. They are the youth who refuse to stay silent in the face of corruption, brutality, and failed leadership. And for that, they are being taken.

A Nation in Fear, A Generation Under Siege

The pattern has become impossible to ignore. One by one, the voices of dissent are vanishing. These are not isolated incidents.

They are systematic, targeted attacks against those who dare to speak out.

The youth who use their creativity to critique power have become the
hunted—silhouettes themselves, slipping into the shadows of a nation gripped by
fear.

The tools of their expression—smartphones, and the national flag have become symbols of rebellion in the eyes of those who claim to lead us.

A silhouette on X, a sketch in a cartoon, or a verse in a spoken-word performance—these are now considered threats. And the cost of such "threats" is chillingly clear: abduction, silence, disappearance.

What does it say about us as a nation when the creativity of our youth is met with fear and violence

When the government views art not as a celebration of freedom, but as an act of war?

When dissent is met not with dialogue, but with shadows that swallow our children whole?

Silhouettes of Resistance

It is not just the abductions themselves that haunt us—it is the silence that follows.

The unanswered questions.

The families left to search for their children with no help, no answers, only fear and whispered
warnings.

The unspoken truth that hangs heavy in the air: we know who is behind these disappearances, but we dare not say their names.

And yet, even in the face of such terror, the youth persist. Their creativity refuses to die. The silhouettes they paint on walls have become symbols of resistance, as if to say, “We are still here, even when you erase us.”

Their words, their images, their music—they live on, shared in encrypted messages, scrawled on hidden walls, whispered in protests that dare not speak their names aloud.

This is the power of art.

This is the power of the youth.

No matter how many they take, no matter how many voices they silence, the truth will always find a way to rise.

For every silhouette erased, ten more appear.

For every voice silenced, a hundred more take up the cry.

The Cowardice of Fearful Leaders

What kind of government is so terrified of its own people?

What kind of leadership feels threatened by the creativity of its youth?

These abductions speak volumes—not about the strength of the state, but about its fragility.

A government that fears cartoonists and silhouette artists is a government that knows it has failed.

The leaders of this nation are not bothered by guns or external threats, but by a single cartoon that exposes their lies.

They are not undone by riots, but by a silhouette painted on a wall that speaks
louder than words ever could.

They fear not the weapons of war, but the tools of creation—a microphone, a camera, a brush, a pen.

This is the hallmark of a government that knows it cannot withstand the weight of its own corruption. And so, it lashes out in desperation, trying to snatch away the voices that hold up a mirror to its failures.

But what these leaders fail to understand is this: you can silence a voice, but you cannot kill an idea. You can erase a silhouette, but you cannot erase the truth it represents.

A Fragile Flame of Hope

Even as my heart breaks for the youth who have vanished, I find myself clinging to hope. For I know this about Kenya: we are a people who refuse to be broken.

We have endured colonization, dictatorship, and the pain of betrayal by our own leaders. And still, we rise.

I see hope in the whispers of resistance that refuse to die. I see it in the anonymous silhouettes that continue to appear on various platforms, their outlines defiant and unbroken.

I see it in the underground networks of young creators who are finding new ways to express
themselves, even in the face of unimaginable danger.

I see it in the courage of families who refuse to stop searching for their loved ones, even when the odds are stacked against them.

And I see it in you, my fellow Kenyans. I see it in the way you share these stories, amplify these voices, and demand accountability.

I see it in the way you refuse to forget, even when forgetting would be easier.

I see it in the way you continue to hope, even when hope feels like an act of defiance.

What Will 2025 Be?

The year is still young, and it holds an enormous opportunity. But it is up to us to decide what kind of year it will be.

Will it be another chapter in the story of a nation silenced by fear? Or will it be the
year we turn the tide—the year we reclaim our voices and our future?

Let us begin by refusing to be silent.

Let us refuse to let these abductions become just another headline that fades into memory. Let us amplify the voices of the missing, demand answers, and hold our leaders accountable. Let us organize, strategize, and resist.

But most importantly, let us remember that we are not powerless. The tools of creativity, the courage of the youth, and the resilience of the Kenyan people—these are our weapons. And they are stronger than any force that seeks to silence us.

A Call to Action

To the youth of Kenya: your creativity is your power. Do not let fear extinguish it.

Keep drawing, keep writing, keep singing, keep speaking. Your voices are the light that will guide us through the darkness.

To the families of the missing: your courage inspires us all. We will stand with you in your search for justice, and we will not rest until your voices are heard.

To the leaders of this nation: the people are watching. The world is watching. History will judge you, not by your words, but by your actions. Choose wisely.

And to every Kenyan reading this: the time to act is now. The pen is in our hands. The story of 2025 is ours to write.

Let us write a story of hope, of resistance, and of a Kenya that refuses to be silenced.

As I close my notebook, I am reminded of a verse in the good book, the Bible.

Isaiah 41:10 So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.

The pen is in our hands. Let us write.

Let us ensure that this promise is kept. Let us ensure that the voices of the missing are never forgotten.

Let us write a story that will make future generations proud to call themselves Kenyans.

The pen is in our hands. Let us write.