This past week has broken many of us.
Across Australia — in homes, offices, classrooms, and quiet corners of city parks — Kenyans abroad have been crying silently, wrestling with a deep, gnawing pain that only distance can magnify.
On June 25, Kenya erupted in nationwide protests. What began as a call to remember the lives lost during last year’s anti-tax demonstrations — over 60 people — quickly turned into a new storm. Sparked by the brutal death of activist and blogger Albert Ojwang, who died in police custody after criticizing a senior official, Kenyans across 26 counties poured into the streets in mourning and fury.
But what followed wasn’t peace.
According to Amnesty Kenya, 16 people were killed — all from gunshot wounds, reportedly fired by police. Livestreams captured chaos: tear gas choking city air, young protestors scrambling, gunshots cracking the sky. Nairobi — a city many of us know like the backs of our hands — looked unrecognizable. Looted shops. Burning buildings. Blood on the pavement.
And yet, for many of us here in Australia, the most haunting part was the stillness.
We had to go to work.
We had to show up to meetings.
We had to smile at customers, classmates, or colleagues — all while refreshing Twitter and WhatsApp, trying to find out if our brothers, sisters, cousins, friends were safe.
We’re used to distance. It’s part of diaspora life. But this — this was different.
This was sitting at your desk in Melbourne while watching a livestream of protesters being beaten outside Parliament.
This was calling your mother in Eldoret at 2am just to hear her voice.
This was screaming into your pillow because the world kept moving while your country burned — and you couldn’t do a damn thing about it.
It’s more than politics. It’s pain. It’s rage. It’s helplessness.
And it’s grief. For the young lives lost. For the trust in institutions. For the home we still love but can’t protect.
Mental health in our community is fraying. Many of us are carrying anxiety, trauma, and a deep sorrow that is hard to explain to those who haven’t lived it. Some are shutting down, disconnecting just to cope. Others are spiraling with guilt for being here, safe, while our people suffer back home.
If you’re one of them — you’re not alone.
There are no easy words for this moment. No clean way to package the heartbreak we’re feeling. But sometimes, just naming the pain helps ease it. And right now, we’re grieving. Loudly. Quietly. Collectively.
Let it be okay to feel everything.
Let it be okay to not be okay.
Let it be okay to fall apart a little — because that means you still care.
If You Need Support
If the events back home have impacted your wellbeing:
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Reach out to a trusted friend or someone in the community.
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Talk to a mental health professional. Services like Beyond Blue (1300 22 4636) are available 24/7.
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Keep checking our Kenyans in Australia pages for upcoming support spaces.
Even from across oceans, the ache is real. The fear is real. And the love — for our people, for our home — is real too.
We’re not okay. And that’s okay.
Let’s just keep holding each other through the distance.
