Shame, secret struggles laid bare in 'Confessions of Nairobi Men'
TITLE: Confessions of Nairobi Men
AUTHOR: Joan Thatiah
PUBLISHER: Self-Published
REVIEWER: Tracy Ochieng
AVAILABILITY: shop.ekitabu.com
PRICE: Ksh1,250 (Print)
Imagine if no one believed you. Imagine if no one thought that you, as a man, could endure sexual abuse that drives you into the throes of alcoholism, depression, and even homelessness.
Such is the case of Samuel, in Joan Thatiah’s Confessions of Nairobi Men. When Samuel finally gets to “leave the block” and starts working in the legal department of an NGO, things take a sharp turn after he is invited to a house party by the cool kids in the office. To numb the shame and pain of being violated so diabolically, Samuel turns to alcohol, which stains his ascent to grace, leaving him a wanderer in the streets of Nairobi, alienated from his family.
The book features the stories of 15 men, each grappling with personal demons like divorce, abuse, imprisonment, impotence, identity, and survival. These men’s voices—raw, unfiltered, and achingly vulnerable—offer a perspective that is sorely lacking in Kenyan mainstream media. Confessions of Nairobi Men reminded me of cases like Bruce John Chawa and the Menendez brothers, both connected by the common factor of sexual abuse. Chawa, allegedly at the behest of the Mombasa governor, was abducted, tortured, and sodomised for his dissenting opinions online. The Menendez brothers, having suffered years of sexual abuse at the hands of their father, executed their parents and now face life imprisonment in the US.
This theme of sexual abuse—especially against men—stands out starkly because of the societal bias that often accompanies such cases. Recently, a six-year-old boy was sodomised in Kenya by a Catholic priest, a tragic occurrence that reflects a global issue. Even faced with criticism from the UN and victims’ testimonies, Pope Francis, like his predecessor Pope Benedict XVI, could only offer hollow apologies for what he described as “a few” guilty priests, in an attempt to salvage the church’s reputation. Yet, no one seems willing to confront these issues openly—not religious institutions, parents, or even educational systems. As Richard Gartner notes, "Boys and men are socialised to be invulnerable, so when sexual abuse occurs, it challenges the core of their masculinity, leading society—and sometimes the men themselves—to minimise the seriousness of the abuse." This pervasive silence is not just an oversight; it is a denial of the truth that many men and societies live in fear of acknowledging.
The connection between abuse and addiction also looms large in Kenya. Over the past two years, Deputy President Rigathi Gachagua and his wife Dorcas have campaigned to curb alcoholism, particularly in the Mount Kenya region. While some attribute addiction to recklessness, a lack of agency over one’s life and spiritual deficiency, it is completely overlooked how the person became a statistic: that behind the data, there is a human story. As I reflected on the efforts of the second family in Kenya, I couldn’t help but wonder: how many of these young men’s stories of addiction mirror Samuel's downward spiral after abuse? And if affirmative, were these stories given due attention before being used for politicking?
Men too… The unfamiliar territory
“It is going to be your word against mine. Let’s see who they will believe,” said Ahmed to Gonza after he rejected his advances at work. This one line encapsulates the power dynamics at play in workplace harassment—yet, in this case, it's a man being harassed. Gonza eventually quits his job, and his life spirals downwards, echoing a story that is all too familiar when women face similar challenges at work. But men? Harassed at work? It’s a misnomer, right?
For many, the idea that men can be victims of workplace harassment or domestic violence is far-fetched. Despite evidence proving otherwise, men often don’t report these incidents. The threat to their masculinity, compounded by societal expectations, keeps them silent. And even if they did report it—who would believe them?
In 2017 the #MeToo movement gained momentum when figures like Lupita Nyong’o broke the silence on sexual harassment in industries dominated by powerful men. While the movement amplified the voices of countless women, it also cemented the idea that sexual harassment is largely a "woman’s issue.” In Kenya, women continue to speak out and organise against predatory men, some of whom hold high positions of power. But as these conversations continue, the question arises: who speaks for the men? What if men like Gonza and Samuel had similar support? Maybe alcoholism and depression wouldn’t have them in a chokehold.
Breaking down assumptions
Reconciling a man’s point of view with that of a woman in a world that seems to be in the middle of a battle of the sexes can be disorienting. Men have undoubtedly been at the centre of many of the world’s ills, but they’ve also been victims. Reading Confessions of Nairobi Men broke my heart. I expected tales of sex escapades and tough, stoic men, but instead found stories of pain, anguish, abuse, and survival. Men, just like women, are vulnerable—they just haven’t had their stories heard in the same way. Their struggles are expected to be worn like armour, without complaint. After all, men are not supposed to struggle or feel pain, right? As the police officer chides Samuel, "What do you mean your wife beats you? What kind of man are you?"
This book shatters the one-sided generalisations about men in Nairobi. Joan Thatiah dares to humanise these men, seeing them as individuals first before assigning them any societal attributes. You have to read this book to truly understand the depth of their stories and appreciate the complexity of their experiences.
Tracy Ochieng is a staff writer with Books in Africa. Email: tracy.ochieng@ekitabu.com
Shame, secret struggles laid bare in 'Confessions of Nairobi Men'
TITLE: Confessions of Nairobi Men
AUTHOR: Joan Thatiah
PUBLISHER: Self-Published
REVIEWER: Tracy Ochieng
AVAILABILITY: shop.ekitabu.com
PRICE: Ksh1,250 (Print)
Imagine if no one believed you. Imagine if no one thought that you, as a man, could endure sexual abuse that drives you into the throes of alcoholism, depression, and even homelessness.
Such is the case of Samuel, in Joan Thatiah’s Confessions of Nairobi Men. When Samuel finally gets to “leave the block” and starts working in the legal department of an NGO, things take a sharp turn after he is invited to a house party by the cool kids in the office. To numb the shame and pain of being violated so diabolically, Samuel turns to alcohol, which stains his ascent to grace, leaving him a wanderer in the streets of Nairobi, alienated from his family.
The book features the stories of 15 men, each grappling with personal demons like divorce, abuse, imprisonment, impotence, identity, and survival. These men’s voices—raw, unfiltered, and achingly vulnerable—offer a perspective that is sorely lacking in Kenyan mainstream media. Confessions of Nairobi Men reminded me of cases like Bruce John Chawa and the Menendez brothers, both connected by the common factor of sexual abuse. Chawa, allegedly at the behest of the Mombasa governor, was abducted, tortured, and sodomised for his dissenting opinions online. The Menendez brothers, having suffered years of sexual abuse at the hands of their father, executed their parents and now face life imprisonment in the US.
This theme of sexual abuse—especially against men—stands out starkly because of the societal bias that often accompanies such cases. Recently, a six-year-old boy was sodomised in Kenya by a Catholic priest, a tragic occurrence that reflects a global issue. Even faced with criticism from the UN and victims’ testimonies, Pope Francis, like his predecessor Pope Benedict XVI, could only offer hollow apologies for what he described as “a few” guilty priests, in an attempt to salvage the church’s reputation. Yet, no one seems willing to confront these issues openly—not religious institutions, parents, or even educational systems. As Richard Gartner notes, "Boys and men are socialised to be invulnerable, so when sexual abuse occurs, it challenges the core of their masculinity, leading society—and sometimes the men themselves—to minimise the seriousness of the abuse." This pervasive silence is not just an oversight; it is a denial of the truth that many men and societies live in fear of acknowledging.
The connection between abuse and addiction also looms large in Kenya. Over the past two years, Deputy President Rigathi Gachagua and his wife Dorcas have campaigned to curb alcoholism, particularly in the Mount Kenya region. While some attribute addiction to recklessness, a lack of agency over one’s life and spiritual deficiency, it is completely overlooked how the person became a statistic: that behind the data, there is a human story. As I reflected on the efforts of the second family in Kenya, I couldn’t help but wonder: how many of these young men’s stories of addiction mirror Samuel's downward spiral after abuse? And if affirmative, were these stories given due attention before being used for politicking?
Men too… The unfamiliar territory
“It is going to be your word against mine. Let’s see who they will believe,” said Ahmed to Gonza after he rejected his advances at work. This one line encapsulates the power dynamics at play in workplace harassment—yet, in this case, it's a man being harassed. Gonza eventually quits his job, and his life spirals downwards, echoing a story that is all too familiar when women face similar challenges at work. But men? Harassed at work? It’s a misnomer, right?
For many, the idea that men can be victims of workplace harassment or domestic violence is far-fetched. Despite evidence proving otherwise, men often don’t report these incidents. The threat to their masculinity, compounded by societal expectations, keeps them silent. And even if they did report it—who would believe them?
In 2017 the #MeToo movement gained momentum when figures like Lupita Nyong’o broke the silence on sexual harassment in industries dominated by powerful men. While the movement amplified the voices of countless women, it also cemented the idea that sexual harassment is largely a "woman’s issue.” In Kenya, women continue to speak out and organise against predatory men, some of whom hold high positions of power. But as these conversations continue, the question arises: who speaks for the men? What if men like Gonza and Samuel had similar support? Maybe alcoholism and depression wouldn’t have them in a chokehold.
Breaking down assumptions
Reconciling a man’s point of view with that of a woman in a world that seems to be in the middle of a battle of the sexes can be disorienting. Men have undoubtedly been at the centre of many of the world’s ills, but they’ve also been victims. Reading Confessions of Nairobi Men broke my heart. I expected tales of sex escapades and tough, stoic men, but instead found stories of pain, anguish, abuse, and survival. Men, just like women, are vulnerable—they just haven’t had their stories heard in the same way. Their struggles are expected to be worn like armour, without complaint. After all, men are not supposed to struggle or feel pain, right? As the police officer chides Samuel, "What do you mean your wife beats you? What kind of man are you?"
This book shatters the one-sided generalisations about men in Nairobi. Joan Thatiah dares to humanise these men, seeing them as individuals first before assigning them any societal attributes. You have to read this book to truly understand the depth of their stories and appreciate the complexity of their experiences.
Tracy Ochieng is a staff writer with Books in Africa. Email: tracy.ochieng@ekitabu.com
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