One year later, June 25 protest victim in fight to reclaim his life
By James Murimi, June 24, 2025On a chaotic afternoon in Nyeri town, tear gas hung heavy in the air, and angry chants echoed through Kimathi Street. It was June 25, 2024 — the day thousands of Kenyans took to the streets to protest the controversial Finance Bill.
For many, it was a day of defiance. For Daniel Ndirangu, it became the day everything changed.
The 29-year-old matatu conductor had joined the march with friends, driven by frustration over rising costs and what he saw as an unfair economic burden on ordinary citizens. But the protest quickly turned violent. Amid the confusion, a police officer — whose identity remains unknown — opened fire into the crowd. Daniel was hit twice.
“I remember the first shot — it felt like a punch,” he recalls, seated on a weathered plastic chair outside his corrugated iron-sheet house in Witemere slums, “Then the second one shattered my knee. I just dropped. Everything went black.”
As the crowd scattered in panic, Daniel lay bleeding on the pavement. There was no help from the police. Instead, it was fellow protesters, young men just like him, who flagged down a Red Cross ambulance and rushed him to Nyeri County Referral Hospital.
That quick response saved his life. But nothing could save his leg.
Doctors delivered the devastating news within days: the bullets had torn through the bone and tissue. Infection was setting in fast, and amputation was the only way to keep it from spreading.
Empty space
“I remember staring at the ceiling, unable to process it,” he says, his voice low, “I had a job. I had plans. A family. And just like that, I became someone else — someone who needed help just to get to the toilet.”
Once full of energy and always on the move, Daniel now depends on crutches to move around the single-room structure he shares with his wife and toddler. The amputated limb has been replaced not with a prosthetic, but with empty space — a void both physical and symbolic.
Before the shooting, Daniel was the sole breadwinner. His days were long, hopping in and out of matatus, collecting fares, cracking jokes with passengers, and bringing home just enough to make ends meet. Now, those roles have reversed.
His wife, who works at a small beauty salon in town, carries the weight of supporting the family. Her modest income barely covers rent, food, and diapers.
“There are days we eat once,” Daniel admits, “And nights I lie awake, wondering if I failed my family.”
Yet, through it all, he speaks with remarkable restraint — no anger, no bitterness.
“I don’t want pity. I just want to work,” he says. “Give me an artificial leg. Give me a job. I’ll do the rest,” he says defiantly.
As Kenya marks the first anniversary of the 2024 protests, Daniel is stepping forward not only to share his pain but to urge young people to think twice before marching into the streets.
“I believed I was fighting for a better future,” he says, “But when bullets fly, you’re on your own. The system forgets you. No politician calls. No government official visits. You just disappear into silence.”
He now encourages peaceful activism and civic education over confrontation.
“Before you protest, read the Bill. Know what you’re fighting for. Don’t let someone else’s anger become your tragedy,” he says.
Daniel’s story recently caught the attention of the Young Kenya People Forum, a youth-led advocacy group borne out of the 2024 protests. Moved by his story, the group visited him with donations of food and a promise of support.
“Daniel’s courage and resilience touched us deeply,” said Paul Nderitu, the forum’s founder. “He is the face of a forgotten struggle — and we refuse to let him be forgotten.”
The group is now lobbying local leaders and NGOs to help fund a prosthetic leg and offer Daniel job retraining. They are also pressing the government to honour its promise made in the 10-point truce between President William Ruto and former Prime Minister Raila Odinga, a truce that included compensation for victims of police brutality during the protests.
“To this day, I haven’t received a single shilling,” Daniel says quietly. “Not even a phone call.”
One year later, as the anniversary of the protests approaches, Daniel is reflective but firm.
“I’m not a hero. I’m not a martyr. I’m just a man who wanted something better — and paid too high a price for it,” he opines.
He dreams of owning a small business one day — maybe a kiosk or motorbike spares shop — something he can manage while adjusting to his new reality.
But for now, he waits; for a prosthetic leg, a job and for the world to remember him not as a statistic, but as a man with dreams.
“It’s not just about walking again,” he says, gripping his crutches with calloused hands. “It’s about living again.”