On a quiet morning in February 2025, a casket wrapped in the Kenyan flag touched down at Jomo Kenyatta International Airport. Inside lay the body of Police Constable Samuel Tompei Kaetuai, the first Kenyan officer killed during a mission in a country most of his fellow citizens could not locate on a map—Haiti. His death marked the beginning of a tragedy that continues to unfold, raising uncomfortable questions about Kenya’s role in one of the world’s most volatile conflicts.

President William Ruto had positioned Kenya as a continental leader when he agreed to send 1,000 officers to spearhead the Multinational Security Support Mission in Haiti. Backed diplomatically by the United States and endorsed by the United Nations, the mission was touted as a humanitarian intervention—an African solution to a Caribbean problem. But on the ground, far from the grand halls of diplomacy, Kenyan officers were dropped into a hornet’s nest. The terrain was unforgiving, the gangs heavily armed, and the mission lacked not only proper intelligence but also basic equipment.

It was in the gang-ridden Artibonite region, particularly near Pont-Sondé and Savien, that Kaetuai met his death during an anti-gang operation on February 23. Barely a month later, a second Kenyan officer was killed in the same region during a rescue mission that turned into an ambush. The officer, whose name has been withheld pending notification of his family, died in a firefight while trying to rescue a group of trapped Haitian police officers. These were not battlefield victories. These were botched missions. And then came the mystery that deepened the sorrow—Benedict Kabiru Kuria, another Kenyan officer, vanished in late March. He had been part of the same rescue unit but never returned. Haitian media reported him dead. The Kenyan government refused to confirm. His family clings to hope. In Kenya, the silence is deafening.

What was framed as a peacekeeping mission quickly degenerated into a tragic misadventure. Officers on the ground speak of disorganized planning, insufficient protection, and a near-complete lack of coordination with local Haitian forces. While the U.S. pledged financial and logistical support, much of it was slow to arrive, and Kenya bore the operational burden. Other countries promised boots on the ground but hesitated to deploy. The result was predictable—Kenyan officers became sitting ducks in an urban war zone.

The backlash in Kenya is growing. What began as a diplomatic badge of honor has turned into a national wound. Families of the fallen have demanded answers. Civil society groups accuse the government of sacrificing lives for international clout. Even members of Parliament have begun to question the decision, asking why Kenyan blood is being shed on foreign soil while domestic insecurity festers at home. Kenyans die in their villages at the hands of bandits and police alike, yet the government finds the will and resources to deploy abroad. Are the lives of Kenyan officers less valuable because they are spent in a distant land?

Beneath the surface lies a deeper geopolitical question. Kenya is leading a mission that is, in effect, a proxy intervention for the global north. The U.S. applauds Kenya’s “leadership,” the UN waves its flag, but when the bullets fly, it is African sons who die. There is a cruel irony in the fact that a country battling its own domestic crises is being used to stabilize another collapsing state. If this is what Pan-African solidarity looks like, it comes with bloodstained boots and unanswered prayers.

The families mourn in silence. Samuel Kaetuai was laid to rest in Kajiado, far from the headlines that briefly flashed his name. The second officer’s story remains buried beneath official bureaucracy. Benedict Kuria’s mother lights a candle each night, hoping the phone will ring with good news. It never does. In Parliament, the matter barely makes it to the Order Paper. On social media, a hashtag rises for a day and disappears. But for the families, for the widows and the children and the grieving parents, the pain does not trend. It lingers.

This is not just a Kenyan story. It is a story about how nations trade lives for prestige. It is about the quiet cruelty of foreign policy when filtered through African sweat and blood. It is about how easy it is to lose a son in a war that does not belong to you, in a country that will never say your name. If the Haiti mission was meant to showcase African leadership on the world stage, it has instead revealed the unbearable weight of its cost—measured not in diplomatic speeches, but in folded flags and empty chairs at dinner tables.

By Salome Mutuku | Freelance Journalist shared this article

Diaspora Times Disclaimer: This article contains emotionally sensitive content. Every effort has been made to verify information from public and press sources. Names of officers and families have been published with discretion and respect.