After rising to the top of the criminal pyramid in Nairobi’s Kibera slum, George Okewa rejected violence in favour of local leadership

George Okewa once terrorised his community. Spurred on by violence, drink and drugs, he believed that one day his lifestyle would cause his death.

The day he met Kennedy Odede, that changed. Following the realisation that their most powerful weapon was not guns but communication, they now use their skills to bring peace and resources to Kibera, Africa’s largest slum.

Facebook Twitter Pinterest George Okewa, a one-time gang leader, is now director of community relations at local charity Shofco. Photograph: Atieno Muyuyi/The Guardian

At the age of 11, Okewa’s determination to seek out a better life regardless of the consequences overcame his insecurities, and he chose to leave his family, his 27 siblings, and all he knew.

“I decided: let me find something in the capital city. Along with my elder cousin, we came to Nairobi both looking for opportunities. I wanted a high school education but needed part-time work to supplement our income.”

Nairobi was the natural choice for Okewa, who had watched countless others leave his village for “the big city” and never return. Something he never quite understood, until he got to Kibera.

Alongside his 25-year-old cousin, Okewa’s naivety took him away from school into a life of dishonesty and crime. Ambition drove him from gang foot soldier, to becoming one of Kibera’s feared “12 disciples of crime”, followed by a role as Kibera’s ‘crime overlord’ – an ‘honour’ comparable to that of a mafia godfather.

“In the gang leadership there are structures, you had to show yourself as committed. You have to do it in the right way and be committed to their ideologies.”

Q&A Why are we reporting on Kibera? Show Hide More than 60% of all African city dwellers live in slums. As the climate crisis continues to drive people away from rural areas and into cities, urbanisation has become a growing issue across the globe. The Guardian's Global development team travelled to Africa's biggest slum, Kibera, in Nairobi, Kenya, in an effort to look beyond the stereotypes and myths of life in a slum. Many people living in Kibera work hard, long days. They pay high rents for flimsy shacks on land owned by the government and effectively squatted on by landlords. They have no services and the only taxation comes in the form of protection money demanded by police and gangs. Each day is a struggle to scrape together enough money and food to reach the next. Electricity, clean water, toilets, healthcare and schools are either non-existent or not available to all residents. At any one time, 50% of Kibera's 15- to 25-year-old women are pregnant. Abortion is illegal and contraception scarce. Rape and child sex abuse is endemic. Abuse of drink and drugs is rife. Food is cheap but unhealthy – fizzy drinks are easier to get than clean water.

Today Okewa is director of community relations for Shining hope for communities (Shofco), a 514-strong charitable organisation, which he co-founded with Odede in 2004. Okewa and his fellow disciples spend their time building relationships with the police and government in an effort to keep Kibera’s young people alive and divert them from crime, while building infrastructure that supports Kenya’s poorest. Okewa’s first lesson to the youth: respect for oneself and for women.

Smartly dressed, quietly spoken, Okewa is not what you would expect for an ex-crime overlord. Born in Siaya, western Kenya, he has lived in Kibera for 25 years. His father had three wives and could not afford schooling. “My mother and two stepmothers worked hard to provide for us, but the number of mouths to feed meant that all [their] earnings went on food.”

The only place Okewa and his cousin could afford to live in Nairobi when they arrived were the slums. They rented a shanty and carried out small building jobs. Enrolled in high school outside Kibera, Okewa made a promising start but soon faltered as he attempted to balance the need to earn money against an education. As their dream of city life slowly fell apart, disillusionment set in.

“For me there was little choice. I started skipping lessons for a life on the street and the money it provided. It wasn’t long before I was immersed in Kibera’s gangs.”

Okewa’s brief encounter with education had at least enhanced his communication skills and, along with his ambition to succeed, this provided him opportunities.

“In the slums we were powerful people ruling over our own. We ended up forming our own gang. We used to ‘tax’ people to protect them against landlords, the government and anybody who was interfering with their lives. We were not good friends with central government, the local chief or police. We were not given recognition or opportunities. We ended up in the slums and so formed our own government,” says Okewa.

By 15, Okewa had been inaugurated as “Serikali”, or government – leader of the gang – having made most of his money from contracts commissioned by wealthy individuals outside of the slums.

“Doing protection in the slums was interesting, but very dangerous,” explains Okewa. “Rich people will always hire you to do their jobs [criminal activities]. Maybe they are having problems and they want to settle the cause and you’d get hired … the best or most famous politicians know me by name, we are still friends.”

Facebook Twitter Pinterest Election periods often trigger violent uprisings in Kibera. Photograph: Carl de Souza/AFP/Getty Images

Not satisfied with being the leader of a small outfit, Okewa began taking control of rival slum gangs. As the number of foot soldiers grew, so did the robberies, the beatings of women, gang rapes, confrontations with the police and involvement with politicians who used the slum gangs as pawns to influence voting across Kenya.

It is the persistent political influence over the gangs that Okewa believes continues to make Kibera a tinderbox, triggering violent uprising across the country during election time and leading to clashes with police and loss of life on both sides of the divide.

Okewa identified the gang leaders and made them a proposal. “We were the top-ranking cabinet who can sit down and decide what the entire gang did, go raid or who to give protection to, depending on the pay. I didn’t consider myself the best, but I ended up being the leader.”

He was now head of the “the 12 disciples”. “You had to prove that you were at the top of your game, use extra violence. It’s not all about being rough, killing or doing more crime – you have to show leadership, getting them together, giving strategies on how it can work, how you don’t interfere with the lives of the common people, but at the same time getting a protection fee … leadership characteristics. There were jobs that we wouldn’t take because it would make us look bad in the eyes of the community, so the 12 would sit down and decide on which jobs to take.

“The average lifespan in Kibera is currently 30 years but it used to be younger due to disease and gang violence,” says Okewa.

Quick guide Kibera in numbers Show Hide - Estimates of how many people live in Kibera range from 250,000 to 1 million. - Life expectancy is 30 years. - The biggest killers come from diet and dirt. Diabetes is rife from cheap, high-sugar food. - One in four children attends school. - One toilet block serves approximately 50 shacks, with each shack housing roughly eight people.

He has lost foot soldiers in the past. “The police killed some, back then we thought we were right but we were doing wrong. Some lost their lives in fights and through other gangs in other slums. They used knives and pangas [machetes], sometimes you’d hire guns, but not much, as there are many loose guns. When employed by clients or politicians, they would pay for guns that could be delivered within two hours”, he says.

“The money we were making was much, but we used it straightaway for drugs, drinks and women; then we had nothing, and would say: ‘Lets go do another job.’ I would get the cream of it,” he says. “We were many, 30–40 from all the villages.”

From a “job” that made 50,000 Kenyan shillings (£385), those who carried it out got 5,000 shillings and the rest went to “the rank” – principally himself and the other disciples. With the proceeds Okewa rented his own home from where he also ran a small shop, providing an air of respectability.

But that changed in 2004 when an equally intelligent and ambitious young man, Kennedy Odede, approached Okewa, hoping to join his gang. Okewa saw something in Odede and refused, hoping to deter him from a life of crime. Okewa listened as Odede told him of his dream to bring peace and resources to Kibera, admitting his first thought was: “Who is this man?” who seemed to want to overthrow his empire. Realising Odede had no interest in undermining him, he saw a challenge offering the opportunity he craved. The two men debated the future, whether it might be possible to use their skills to divert young men from violence “to build positive aspirations, hope and security”. Together they hatched a plot to make good what had been bad.

Facebook Twitter Pinterest Kennedy Odede, entrepreneur and co-founder of charity Shofco, had a ‘dream to bring peace and resources to Kibera’. Photograph: Kate Holt/The Guardian

“Kennedy came up with the idea that the negative energy could be used in other things like soccer, theatre, cleaning up and helping our community. We talked about ourselves and how we could protect our mothers and sisters from violence and rape.”

They took their proposals to the gang leaders. As “Serikali”, Okewa was perfectly placed to negotiate. Odede formed Shofco, a charity promising to bring stability and resources. Slowly they brought the other disciples on board, followed by gang members. If Shofco had their monthly meeting, Okewa was present to show solidarity. If gang members did a cleanup, so did Okewa. At the registration of Shofco, Okewa stood alongside Odede at the government offices, where they informed officials that they were there to “transform Kibera’s community”. “I wanted it registered and it was registered,” Okewa says proudly.

“There was big resistance, many would have loved to continue [with crime], but we had a strategy. We arranged football matches, theatre workshops and lessons in respect, after which [we] encouraged them to debate on what was needed to make life comfortable for everyone.”

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By 2008, the majority had joined Odede and Okewa and were given work in Shofco shops or as carpenters.

Okewa introduces Miller, 46, one-time gang member turned community worker. He says: “These days George is a good person, back then he was bad, we would hang around together when the place was full of violence.”

Miller concentrates on bringing peace to the community, especially during elections. “Here, politicians play with people’s minds. I believe that our people should be better prepared to understand that leaders will come and go and that they use idle hands to carry knives and throw stones to fuel political uprisings.

“There are rogue policemen, those who kill during demonstrations. Instead of using tear gas to disperse people they are shooting people for nothing,” he says.

“After the shooting of Carilton Maina, we had to work with the police, as they wouldn’t enter Kibera and the vigilantes took over. We helped to bring about change by showing people sense and giving support. Here, police are doing a lot of injustice, you’re supposed to be innocent until proven guilty. That’s why young men rise up and ask: ‘Why are they killing?’ If you kill a thief people will not rise up, they will not demonstrate. But with Maina they shot him without telling people what he did … you’d like to think that justice would follow for the person who shot him, policeman are not above the law.”

Facebook Twitter Pinterest Ex-gang disciples Jonah Savimbe and George Okewa share a joke, despite their differing viewpoints on how to strengthen the community. Photograph: Rod Austin/The Guardian

A short distance away is ex-gang disciple Rastafarian Jonah Savimbe, who made it clear that he objected to Okewa’s conformist approach.

“We were very strong, even against the police we were fighting. We wanted our freedom, when they attack us we show them that we are very strong. Shofco introduced some empowerment to the youth, but we are still strong, we are militant. Even now if they attack us we still have spirit inside us. We can even attack them if they don’t do what we want, I would fight and resist them with stones,” says the 45-year-old carpenter.

Another ex-disciple is Issac, 38, a quiet, softly spoken man, who lives with his wife and three children, and complains of rising costs. His rent was 1,100 Kenyan shillings a few years ago, now it’s 3,000.

“I joined the disciples because life was difficult. If we formed a group, it was power. Having power you can chart your own ways, have something to divide, to eat, and if you got into difficulty you could get something from the group. During tribal wars the 12 disciples could come out and say no, we are one, no need for that. It was a voice that could be heard in the community, the people could come out and be heard, it was both positive and negative. The voice of peace spread not only in Kibera but also the other neighbourhoods.

Facebook Twitter Pinterest ‘The voice of peace spread not only in Kibera, but also the other neighbourhoods,’ says ex-disciple Issac. Photograph: Rod Austin/The Guardian

“The police are afraid of the people when they bind together as a community. Today, I can travel to Kilimani [an affluent neighborhood in Nairobi] to meet with police to discuss local issues. Many years ago I would never have done that, as police were criminals and looked at the 12 disciples as criminals. I was a criminal but now that has changed and we can meet together.”

Acknowledging Issac’s comments, Okewa adds: “We worked with the people to stop conflict, to create a balance in order, to not be seen as sellouts. Nowadays, we engage with high-ranking police and government officials to avoid conflict, we still meet to discuss government issues and to mediate situations.

“They were not interested in the people and their needs,” he says. “Instead they told them: ‘Kibera was government land, go back to where you come from.’ But that has all changed: Kibera is now on the map with the government taking notice, the people now have power.”