At 9.30 am on Saturday morning I drove past the Westgate Mall on my way to the National Museums of Kenya. It’s in the western part of the city of Nairobi, and I stayed in the area that night to attend the dinner for the stars of the Story Moja Hay Festival, an annual celebration of literature and arts that I was honoured with directing in 2013. I slept late that night and I badly needed a coffee – as I drove past, the mall traffic was easy and I briefly contemplated stopping, but for no particular reason I drove on. I was aware that the mall had only just opened and only one group of men sat on the balcony of Art Cafe which overlooks the road. They were having an animated discussion.

My mind was on the night before. As the director of the festival I had toasted the authors at a function for all the literary stars from around the world who had gathered for the festival on Friday night. Three thousand children had attended the festival on Friday breaking all our expectations. It was destined to be a festival of records. I spoke to many of the writers poets and film makers that night, we were happy, excited and full of enthusiasm for the weekend program. It was raining outside, an unexpected unseasonal downpour, we took it to be an African blessing.

Today, the conversations we had that night seem so far away now, and irrelevant.

On Saturday morning when the festival opened and plays started, lectures were on, children were streaming into the grounds, and books were selling. I noticed the other stars arriving but not Kofi, he had a late appearance in the show and had gone to the Westgate Mall to do some shopping with his son Afetsi.

By 11.30 as we ended the premier of wildlife films made in Kenya, we got the first news that there was shooting in the mall. We were assured that it was a robbery and we did not panic. But as the day progressed, the program continued, the crowds swelled and everyone was having so much fun, but helicopters were buzzing above us, and police and ambulance sirens screamed down the highway. We began to get reports of injuries then deaths and rumours that this was a terrorist attack. By 3pm we informed participants that something was happening and we assured them that the police were in control. By 6pm we began to understand how much we had underestimated the situation, Afetsi was injured, and Kofi could not be found. We were in shock. We had been celebrating literature and arts all day while less than 3 kilometers away people were being gunned down.

Seeing the photographs now makes the situation leap from being surreal to terrifying. Many Kenyans recognize the steps where a body lay sprawled in a pool of blood, or the bronze elephant at the entrance of Nakumat, at whose feet lies a dead man whose head is unrecognizable, the escalators, the shops, the places we went shopping, had coffee, even the toilets. For all of us who were not there it is hard to believe that we felt safe in the mall. Most of us know someone who was directly affected by the attack.

It is hard not to be angry, and as the situation drags on, it is easy to demonize Somali people. I drove to Nairobi Hospital to give blood where I met many Somalis donating and volunteering proudly – they are Kenyans. Kenya is a country that is proud of its tolerance of religion and race which makes the attack so astonishing. Ironically, the slaughter of elephants and rhino may have in part paid for the attack, as the illegal trade in these products is known to be fueling terrorist groups.

Trying to make sense of something so brutal is tearing Kenyans apart. Why did they attack the mall? Why are they still holding people hostage? What do they really want? None of these questions have been answered. But what is certain, is that this attack is not an attack by the government of Somalia but of a small group of radical terrorists. The brutality of the attack and immediate statement by the Somali government to Kenya suggests that Somalia relations are likely to strengthen not weaken as a result. Indeed Kenyans and friends of Kenya have come out in great solidarity. But when the dust settles and the losses are counted, how will people respond?