Následující text není historickou studií. Jedná se o převyprávění pamětníkových životních osudů na základě jeho vzpomínek zaznamenaných v rozhovoru. Vyprávění zpracovali externí spolupracovníci Paměti národa. V některých případech jsou při zpracování medailonu využity materiály zpřístupněné Archivem bezpečnostních složek (ABS), Státními okresními archivy (SOA), Národním archivem (NA), či jinými institucemi. Užíváme je pouze jako doplněk pamětníkova svědectví. Citované strany svazků jsou uloženy v sekci Dodatečné materiály.

Pokud máte k textu připomínky nebo jej chcete doplnit, kontaktujte prosím šéfredaktora Paměti národa. (michal.smid@ustrcr.cz)

Wanjiru Koinange (* 1986)

• born in 1986, Nairobi

• Kenyan writer, cultural activist, and co-founder of the non-profit Book Bunk Trust

• studied Journalism and Literature at the United States International University

• later completed a Master’s degree in Creative Writing at the University of Cape Town

• her debut novel, The Havoc of Choice (2019), explores Kenya’s 2007–2008 post-election violence and has remained a bestseller

“My name is Wanjiru Koinange. I’m a 38-year-old woman from Nairobi, Kenya - born and raised in Nairobi.” She introduces herself simply, but the story that follows is anything but simple.

A Life Shaped by Family and Place

Koinange grew up on a farm in Campbell, on the outskirts of Nairobi. Her earliest friends were her siblings and the children of farmworkers. “I grew up with a strong sense of community beyond the nuclear family,” she recalls. It was a childhood of scent and sound: “Freshly cut grass. Rain hitting red soil. And pilau spice - the smell of my childhood.”

Her parents left deep marks on her worldview. Her mother, “one of the fiercest fighters I know,” embodied a quiet matriarchy familiar to many Kenyan families. Her father, however, was unusual in his emotional openness. “He was the emotional center, and that might be less typical,” she says. “When I was in primary school, he didn’t understand why he had to spend most of the day away from his kids. He would drive to school and take us out in the middle of the day… He’d say, ‘They’re my kids; you can’t tell me I can’t access them.’ That was who he was.”

Her father died in 2009, but Koinange remains, in her own words, a “massive daddy’s girl.” Much of her work, she admits, is fueled by his “almost divine presence.”

Nairobi Then and Now

The Kenya of Koinange’s youth in the 1990s was politically fragile but brimming with potential. “Even if we were under a dictator and didn’t know better, we were beginning to feel there could be better,” she explains. That hope carried into the early 2000s with a “massive political awakening.”

But as the city grew, so did its dysfunctions. Asked how Nairobi smells today, she does not hesitate: “Like sewage. Rivers that don’t flow correctly. Garbage that accumulates. Nairobi has massive water and drainage issues.” It is a blunt sensory metaphor for a society grappling with corruption, inequality, and environmental neglect.

Finding Her Voice

Koinange’s turning point came at 19. After a brief stint at a U.S. university, she returned home and found work with musician-activist Eric Wainaina. “Working under him taught me that I can do things that are fun, aligned with who I am at my core, and still shift the needle,” she says.

“I always wanted to be a writer; that’s never been in doubt. What I didn’t know was that my writing could do more than entertain. Eric taught me that.”

Her apprenticeship with Wainaina showed her both the power and the cost of activism. It also taught her to blend joy with responsibility: “I want to shake - and even trick - people into caring a bit more.”

Writer, Activist, or Something Else?

Koinange resists labels. “Some call me an entrepreneur or a cultural creative. I don’t call myself an activist; I’ve never seen what I do as activism.” She prefers to be judged by her work: “I don’t pick easy tasks. I’ve chosen to tackle some of the hardest problems in Kenya - despite disliking the limelight and being a homebody who’d be happiest just writing books.”

Her novels are one piece of the puzzle. The other is her work restoring libraries, which she sees as inseparable from writing itself. “I don’t want to leave my country every time I want to write. I want to roll out of bed into a library that lets me write my stories for Kenyans and for people who care about Kenyans and humanity. If the spaces don’t exist, let’s build them.”

Reclaiming the Library

In 2017, together with publisher Angela Wachuka, Koinange co-founded Book Bunk, an ambitious project to restore and reimagine Nairobi’s historic public libraries. Their flagship site is the McMillan Memorial Library, opened in 1931 for white colonial settlers.

At first, their plan was practical: fix the building, restock the shelves. But then came a realization. “Our first instinct was to strip it of reminders of that painful past and make it contemporary, but that would have swept history under the national rug again.” Instead, they set out to confront history while reshaping the library’s role.

“Libraries are powerful, even neglected ones; they demand attention,” she insists. The challenge is not just architectural but cultural: to convince Kenyans that they deserve such spaces. “People ask, ‘All that money on a library?’ I ask, ‘Why do we deserve a $7 million hotel or mall, but not a library?’”

Pride and Reluctance

Asked how proud she feels of her work so far, Koinange answers modestly: “A four - because there’s so much more to do.” She measures progress not only in restored buildings but in restored dignity: “The libraries have become palaces for our people - places where underserved members of our cities feel dignity and gain access to knowledge to change their lives.”

Still, she acknowledges how far there is to go: McMillan’s full restoration remains unfinished, and funding is a constant hurdle. Yet she is convinced of its necessity. “Life is now; elections are now. We must create the world we need so we can enjoy it too.”

Kenya’s Promise and Its Politics

For Koinange, the fight for libraries is inseparable from the fight for democracy. “Good governance. A government that listens - not one that renews empty promises every five years. We have what we need to thrive. Our greatest resource is our workforce. Kenyans work incredibly hard. It’s heartbreaking to see that labor siphoned into the pockets of corrupt leaders.”

She is frank about the challenges: “Nothing competes with hunger; if you’re offered money, what do you do? So the richest person on the ballot often wins.” But she also sees hope in young Kenyans: “Sometimes TikTok is where it’s at,” she laughs, pointing to the new platforms where civic engagement emerges.

Writing as Duty

For all her activism, writing remains her deepest calling. “To hold up a mirror so people can see themselves - and a mirror that’s malleable, so we can experiment with who we are.” She admits she doesn’t write the books she wants to write, but those she feels duty-bound to: on climate change, on elections, on Kenya’s fractures and hopes.

Her debut novel, The Havoc of Choice (2019), was inspired by Kenya’s contested 2007 election. It has become a bestseller and a touchstone in national conversations about politics and identity. Fiction, she explains, gives her a layer of protection: “In Kenya, you’ll know who I’m talking about, but there’s no way to come for me because I haven’t named anyone. I feel protected by the truth and by Kenyans’ goodwill.”

“Look to the Libraries”

If given three minutes to address an international audience about Kenya, Koinange would skip the clichés. “We’re more than wildlife, safaris, and beaches. We’re athletes and storytellers, agitators for climate justice - think of Wangari Maathai. We’re proud, and our national PR highlights the beauty - the Maasai beads, the Mara - but if you look deeper you’ll find people who profoundly care about their country and are desperate for reality to match the country of their dreams.”

And where should outsiders look? “Look to its young people, its artists, and its libraries - that’s where the magic is.”

The Work That Never Ends

In the end, Wanjiru Koinange does not define herself by labels or by accolades. She defines herself by an ongoing refusal to accept decay as normal, or public neglect as destiny.

“I don’t see it as ‘either activist or writer.’ I can do both,” she says. “If I have to work on this planet, let me do work that changes the future for everyone - and the present too.”

That vision, woven from the smells of rain on red soil, the grief of losing a father, and the conviction that libraries can be palaces, is what makes her one of the most compelling literary voices in Africa today.