Friday, July 4, was meant to be another milestone in the opposition’s multi-county tour—a roadshow to rally disillusioned Kenyans, capitalize on the Gen Z protest momentum, and push back against the government’s perceived authoritarian drift. But instead of cheers and placards, a different reception awaited them in Chwele, Bungoma: rocks, knives, and gunshots.

Moments after leaving a charged rally where former Deputy President Rigathi Gachagua addressed crowds on the need for democratic renewal, chaos erupted. Their convoy, which also carried Wiper Party leader Kalonzo Musyoka, ex-CS Fred Matiang’i, and Trans Nzoia Governor George Natembeya, was ambushed in what many are now calling a government-sanctioned assault.

“This Wasn’t Random—It Was an Execution Plan”

According to lawyer and political ally Ndegwa Njiru, the attack wasn’t spontaneous. The convoy was moving toward Kitale when armed individuals emerged—some shooting, others wielding stones and clubs. What began as a peaceful transition between rallies quickly became a life-threatening ordeal.

“They were shooting at our convoy. Real gunfire. This wasn’t a demonstration gone rogue. It was an attempt to send a message—violent, unmistakable, and state-approved,” Njiru said from the safety of a relocated vehicle.

Former nominated senator Gloria Orwoba was even more direct. She described an orchestrated ambush: knives drawn, police standing idly, and some allegedly assisting the goons. “They are doing this ahead of Saba Saba to terrorize the streets into silence,” she warned. “They want fear, not freedom.”

Blood on the Pavement, Silence in Uniform

In the wake of the attack, one of the opposition leaders was left bleeding with deep wounds to the head and multiple body injuries. Orwoba recounted how their team had to forcibly pull him out of the violence and rush him to a local hospital—while the police, whose constitutional mandate is protection, stood down.

“This is no longer just suppression—it’s sanctioned violence. We’re seeing a militia disguised as public order enforcement,” she stated.

The convoy’s attackers reportedly moved with coordination, some dressed in plainclothes, others in familiar local group attire, hinting at a disturbing trend: state outsourcing of violence to loyalist street gangs.

A Convoy that Refused to Bow

Despite the attempt to dismantle the rally and drive fear into the tour, the convoy reassembled and pressed on toward Kitale. Shaken but unbroken, the leaders resumed their mission—highlighting state overreach, youth unrest, and deepening inequality.

Former DP Rigathi Gachagua later addressed the crowd in Kitale, making it clear that Bungoma and the greater Western region were not afraid to rewrite the script. “Power belongs to the people—it always has. And no amount of bullets or stones can kill that truth,” he said to thunderous applause.

The Bigger Picture: Saba Saba Looms Large

With the Saba Saba demonstrations just days away, this violent ambush sets a dangerous precedent. It speaks to a regime increasingly willing to weaponize fear, to silence opposition voices not through debate, but through brute force. The rhetoric from state officials may remain measured, but the actions on the ground suggest a tightening grip and a fading tolerance for dissent.

As the opposition tour continues across counties, the question isn’t whether more violence will erupt—but whether Kenya’s democratic institutions will allow it to go unchecked. The path to Saba Saba is now stained in blood and smoke.

Final Words

The attack in Bungoma is more than just a political assault—it’s a mirror reflecting the state of Kenya’s democracy. When goons with knives replace ballots, and when police aid attackers instead of victims, the message is loud: the fight for Kenya’s soul is no longer rhetorical—it’s physical, and it’s already begun.