The red, fertile earth glistens in the Kenyan sun. Here in the lush green of the tea plantation uplands of Kericho County are some of the most lucrative lands in Africa.
Theaceae trees with their leathery, serrated leaves stretch in every direction. They provide tea to Europeans, making millions for the multinational companies that operate in the region. Yet for 85-year-old Peter Torongei, and thousands like him, there is very little hope. His tin shack sits firmly in the area called “Squatters Land”.
Torongei’s ancestors once owned land on these rolling hillsides. But it was reallocated to white settlers, who planted tea. He barely has enough to feed his family and himself.
Torongei is from the Kipsigis and Talai clans, who once lived in what are now known as Kericho and Bomet counties – land known locally as the “White Highlands”. They say they were moved by the British army, under instructions from the former colonial administration, from their own rich lands to arid and disease-prone “native reserves” where malaria was endemic and water scarce – with no compensation.
A land grab that began in the early 20th century accelerated from the 1920s, with people sent to the Gwassi Hills, a run of steep hills located in Suba district on the banks of Lake Victoria, part of the Ruma national park.
These hills – made up of deciduous forests, vast thickets and savanna – are areas of outstanding natural beauty. But those sent to live there, many of them children at the time, shared a “hostile environment not habitable for human beings”, with its lions, reptiles, crocodiles, diseases, starvation and malnutrition.
In 1962, some – like Torongei – were allowed to return to their homeland but put into a holding area. Five decades on, they are still living in “pens”, barely 50ft by 100ft, with no means of finding work or growing crops like their forefathers had done.
Torongei, a father of six and grandfather of 10, lives with his wife, Rodah, in a space divided into three makeshift rooms. He has an eighth of an acre with his four sons and their children. The land taken from his father ran to more than 100 acres.
The walls are adorned on one side with photographs of their children and grandchildren. On the other is a Manchester United poster.
Torongei laughs shyly. “Yes, we like,” he says. “Never see … [but] Manchester good.”
Born in exile, Torongei tells how his parents were evicted and walked for 11 days, crossing 150km, to reach banishment in the barren Gwassi Hills with nothing but the clothes on their backs.
“I was born there in 1934. Our homes were torn down under instruction of the government. We lost our cattle, everything,” says Torongei. “When we came back from Gwassi, we found that other people had settled in our lands and we were basically homeless, so we were put into this holding area. There were roll calls to make sure that we did not escape from this place. We were kept in poverty.
“[When I see the tea plantations] I feel very sad that my land is still held by foreigners. All these years after independence – and I lived through that – other people benefit from my land.”
In his 85 years he has never had a place he could call home. “I still don’t know what my fate is because I have been told, for all these years, that I will be given land.
“Life here is particularly difficult because I cannot keep animals, we cannot keep any livestock, we cannot grow any crops, we are just living on subsistence with no income. My children could not go to school because we could not afford the fees, so we have lived in poverty all along.”
He pauses and looks at the ground. “I am tired,” he says.
Torongei is not alone. There are 115,000 people originally from Kericho who claim they were forcibly removed from ancestral lands by the British.
Other victims have slowly been trickling into central Kericho since 5am from villages across the county. By midday a room in the local council offices is full. Men and women in their Sunday best are here to share their stories, to allege they were raped and tortured when they were “brutally driven from their homes”. Some carry grainy photographs and bits of earthenware, unearthed surreptitiously from beneath the tea fields: proof, they say, that their people once lived there.
Their testimonies are part of a complaint filed by British and Kenyan lawyers to the UN special rapporteur on the promotion of justice, Fabián Salvioli.
Starting with the crown land ordinance of 1902, 36,000 hectares (90,000 acres) of land in Kericho is alleged to have been taken from the Kipsigis and Talai, and given to white European farmers.
Lawyers say the UK pursued an intentional policy of violent displacement after realising the land in Kericho County was well suited to cultivating tea. They want the British government to open an investigation into the alleged crimes, arguing the treatment of these Kenyans between 1895 and 1963 amounted to a gross violation of human rights.
In March, Kenya’s National Land Commission ruled that the Kipsigis and Talai did suffer injustices and their land had been unlawfully seized, recommending the UK apologise.
But Joel Kimutai Bosek, a Kipsigis lawyer representing the community, says the multinational tea companies have been unapologetic and failed to engage in talks. His British counterpart, Rodney Dixon QC, says a similar approach has been taken by the UK government.
“We filed a complaint with the UK government, we sought to mediate and we got a complete no – even though there was a recognition of certain things that have happened in the past – no agreement to sit down and meet with the victims and find concrete solutions,” said Dixon.
“The UK’s main argument has been to say it is unfair to hear these cases so long after the events because it is difficult to access the relevant evidence from the time, which they say could prejudice the parties. But that does not carry any weight in respect of our complainants, who have waited decades for justice. Many of them are still alive.
“We have women who were raped, victims who were tortured, detained and ejected from their lands who can give direct, first-hand accounts. We have documents from the time. This evidence can all be reviewed and tested, so there is no unfairness to any party, and addressing these cases would clearly serve the interests of justice.”
For many in this room there is one thing they want more than anything – an apology.
Kibore Cheruiyot Ngasura remembers his childhood with tears in his eyes. His entire Talai clan, hundreds of families, was deported by decree and banished to Gwassi in 1934.
“We lived in harmony, many different clans, all together with our neighbours. We were in peace,” says the 94-year-old survivor of the mass deportation.
Ngasura holds photographs of himself as a 10-year-old standing alongside Kenyan police, known as askaris, employed by loyalist chiefs to carry out atrocities, and British officers outside his former home in Kericho. He remembers the day vividly.
He remembers the fear and confusion as he was separated from his family and the long walk to the alien plains of Gwassi.
“We begged to be told where we were going, but the white people would not say. When we got to Gwassi we were put into a colonial government-constructed dormitory house which was subdivided, but several people died soon after we came,” he says.
“It was a hard life. Many, many people died. The feeling of having been forcibly evicted from our land is still very painful. We had no means of survival. We had no land, no education, no livestock, nothing.”
Ngasura’s brother and father died shortly afterwards from snakebites. Other relatives also died over the years.
“There are too many to remember,” he says. “I just want one thing before I die. I want to lay my head somewhere, I want somewhere that I can call home.”
Mary Maina’s family home was burned down before they were driven off their land. Shortly after being evicted, her two younger sisters died of hypothermia and starvation.
“They were making room for the white settlers to come in but, since my father refused to allow the goats and sheep to be taken, they first beat him and then they torched our home. Not allowing us even a minute to remove any of our belongings,” says the 74-year-old.
“We scattered away in the rain looking for shelter somewhere else. It was so dehumanising, the way we were removed from our house. Two of my two sisters died when we were made to escape during the rainy season. They had no proper clothes. We want to see those people who made my family suffer punished. We suffered greatly.”
There are many more stories of torture and suffering told to the British and Kenyan lawyers who are making their first visit to Kericho since filing the official complaint with the UN.
A few days earlier in Nairobi, the governor of Kericho, Paul Chepkwony, who says he is a victim of displacement himself, describes the battle. He has fought for reparations for years.
“When the British colonialists came to Kenya in early 1900s, they found a very organised community that lived in harmony along clan lines. They found this very beautiful land in Kericho, where people are living nice lives, they uprooted them from what would become tea plantations at a later date,” he says.
Chepkowny urges the British government to engage in dialogue, saying his people did not necessarily want their “stolen land” back.
He adds: “We are very realistic. We know that that is a very important investment for the nation and for the local community. But the historical injustice has to be addressed. And the desire is that there be compensation and that is why they’ve been seeking audience with the British government. We’ve been patient.”
There have been numerous attempts to pursue colonial-era injustices through the British courts. In 2013, the UK government agreed to pay out £20m in compensation to more than 5,000 elderly Kenyans who were tortured and abused during the Mau Mau uprising in the 1950s.
But a more recent legal claim, raising the cases of a further 40,000 Kenyans who claimed they were variously tortured, mistreated and raped during the suppression of the rebellion, failed. The high court refused to allow the larger Mau Mau case to proceed because it said the events had taken place too long ago for there to be a fair trial.
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This raised the question of how far back claims for compensation can be pursued. Personal injury claims are supposed to be brought within three years unless it would be inequitable to uphold such a strict time limit.
Following a Guardian request to visit tea plantations, a spokeswoman for Unilever, which sources tea from Kericho for global brands such as Lipton, said the company purchased the plantations in 1987, and “we therefore cannot comment on historical claims being made against the British government from the colonial era”.
Williamson Fine Tea, and James Finlay Ltd, two other multinationals with major tea estates in Kericho, did not reply to requests for comment.
For the moment there is frustration. “The later generations are still bearing the brunt of the suffering. They want a formal apology from the British government. They are ready to take further action if dialogue fails,” says Chepkwony.
“It’s a very painful experience. They know that all the multinational companies are operating from stolen property. And this is a matter that needs to be settled.”
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