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the man had such power and knowledge. Kihika unrolled the history of Kenya, the coming of the whiteman and the birth of the Party. Mugo glanced at Gikonyo and Mumbi. Their eyes were fixed on Kihika; their lives seemed dependent on his falling words.
    ‘We went to their church. Mubia, in white robes, opened the Bible. He said: Let us kneel down to pray. We knelt down. Mubia said: Let us shut our eyes. We did. You know, his remained open so that he could read the word. When we opened our eyes, our land was gone and the sword of flames stood on guard. As for Mubia, he wenton reading the word, beseeching us to lay our treasures in heaven where no moth would corrupt them. But he laid his on earth, our earth.’
    People laughed. Kihika did not join them. He was a small man with a strong voice. Speaking slowly with emphasis on the important words, he once or twice pointed at earth and heaven as if calling them to witness that what he spoke was the truth. He talked of the great sacrifice.
    ‘A day comes when brother shall give up brother, a mother her son, when you and I have heard the call of a nation in turmoil.’
    Mugo felt a constriction in his throat. He could not clap for words that did not touch him. What right had such a boy, probably younger than Mugo, to talk like that? What arrogance? Kihika had spoken of blood as easily as if he was talking of drawing water in a river, Mugo reflected, a revulsion starting in his stomach at the sight and smell of blood. I hate him, he heard himself say and frightened, he looked at Mumbi, wondering what she was thinking. Her eyes were still fixed on her brother. Everybody’s eyes were on the platform. Mugo experienced a twang of jealousy as he too turned and looked at the speaker. At that moment their eyes met, or so Mugo imagined, with guilt. For a split second the crowd and the world at large seemed drenched in silence. Only Kihika and Mugo were left on the stage. Something surged for release in Mugo’s heart, something, in fact, which was an intense vibration of terror and hatred.
    ‘Watch ye and pray,’ Kihika said, calling on his audience to remember the great Swahili proverb:
Kikulacho Kimo nguoni mwako
.
    Kihika lived the words of sacrifice he had spoken to the multitude. Soon after Jomo and other leaders were arrested in October 1952, Kihika disappeared into the forest, later to be followed there by a handful of young men from Thabai and Rung’ei.
    The greatest triumph for Kihika was the famous capture of Mahee. Mahee was a big police garrison in the Rift Valley, the heart of what, for many years, were called the White Highlands. In Mahee too was a transit prison for men and women about to be taken to concentration camps. Situated in a central position, Mahee fed guns and ammunitionto the other smaller police and military posts scattered in the Rift Valley to protect and raise the morale of white settlers. If you stood at Mahee at any time of day, you would see the walls of the escarpment, an enchanting guard to one of the most beautiful valleys in the land. The walls climbed in steps to the highlands; a row of smaller hills, some hewn round at the top while others bore scoops and volcano mouths, receded into shrouds of mist and mystery.
    At night the valley was hidden in darkness, except for the light outside Mahee. It was quiet. The guards, following the example of their white officers, who were used to a life of indolence, for the name of Mahee itself was proof against any attack, had already drunk and gone to sleep, leaving a few guards to observe the convention. Suddenly the night was broken by the simultaneous sound of bugles, trumpets, horns and tins. From inside the prison came a responding cry of Uhuru. The officer in charge, aroused from the spell of whisky he had taken earlier by this commotion, instinctively reached for the telephone, trying the magic feat of pulling up his trousers and ringing at the same time. Suddenly, the hand that lifted the receiver let it