On a cool March evening in 2012, Agnes Wanjiru, a 21-year-old mother from Nanyuki, Kenya, left home hoping for a night of laughter with friends. She never returned. Days later, her body was discovered in a septic tank at Lion Court Lodge, stabbed and abandoned. Thirteen years on, her family’s search for justice has become a symbol of unresolved pain, colonial legacies, and the struggle of ordinary Kenyans against entrenched power.
According to BBC News, that night Agnes had asked her friends—both young mothers themselves—to join her at a local bar, Sherlock’s. The British Army Training Unit Kenya (BATUK) maintains a permanent base in Nanyuki, and its soldiers, often referred to by locals as “Johnnies,” were a familiar, if uneasy, presence. “There were a lot of muzungu (white) men there,” Friend A recalled, describing a mix of plainclothes and uniformed soldiers. “They made me uncomfortable because I’d heard bad things about muzungu men.”
For Agnes and many women in Nanyuki, poverty often forced hard choices. Her friends told the BBC that Agnes was not a sex worker but struggled to make ends meet, sometimes relying on small acts like exchanging drinks for cash. On that fateful night, after a tense exchange with a white man at the bar, Agnes told her friend to go ahead to Lion Court Hotel, promising to join her soon. She did, appearing later in high spirits, but by midnight, she was seen leaving with one of the soldiers. She was never seen alive again.
When Agnes failed to return home, her friends and family began a frantic search. Days turned into weeks, and nearly three months later, a watchman at Lion Court revealed there had been a “big fight” in a hotel room that weekend. Eventually, Agnes’s body was found in a septic tank near the hotel, a discovery that shocked the community and ignited years of grief and anger.
Witnesses reported to the BBC and The Sunday Times that Agnes had last been seen with a British soldier from BATUK. In 2019, Kenyan judge Njeri Thuku concluded after an inquest that Agnes had been murdered by one or two British soldiers. Yet, the man believed responsible was merely struck off by the army and continues to live freely in the UK, as reported by The Sunday Times.
For years, Agnes’s family, especially her niece Esther Njoki, have fought for answers. “Both governments have refused to serve us justice. We have carried this pain for 13 years. Justice delayed is justice denied,” Esther told Open Democracy. In September 2025, a Kenyan High Court finally issued an arrest warrant for Robert James Purkiss, a former BATUK officer, marking the first time Kenya has sought the extradition of a British soldier for the murder of a civilian. If extradition proceeds, it would set a historic precedent.
But faith in the process is fragile. Kenya’s long history of deferring to British interests and Britain’s reluctance to extradite its soldiers have left many skeptical. “The British government should stop the culture of impunity and cover-up,” Esther insisted. “If the soldier didn’t want to face extradition, he shouldn’t have killed Wanjiru. The Kenyan government must start valuing its citizens instead of protecting British interests. No family deserves what we’ve gone through.”
The pain extends beyond Agnes’s family. The Truth, Justice and Reconciliation Commission (TJRC) documented that from the 1970s to early 2000s, 2,187 Kenyan women accused British soldiers of rape. At least 69 children were born from these assaults, but none underwent DNA testing. The British Army investigated itself and concluded there was “no reliable evidence” for the allegations, and files in Kenya mysteriously vanished. “Thousands of lives shattered, and nobody held accountable,” as recounted in Open Democracy.
Recent years have brought renewed scrutiny. In 2022, following allegations of sexual exploitation by UK troops in Kenya, the British Army formally banned transactional sex. Yet, an internal inquiry in August 2025, reported by Open Democracy, found at least 35 cases of misconduct, including ongoing transactional sex at BATUK, with many more likely unreported. The inquiry’s language—“low to moderate levels of transactional sexual activity”—has been criticized for minimizing the suffering of local women and communities.
Agnes’s friends and family have become vocal campaigners. Esther Njoki, now raising funds to travel to the UK, hopes to press British authorities directly. “We need to push for financial security for Agnes’s daughter,” she told BBC News, noting that the girl, now a teenager, has grown up without her mother or any support from the British government or the soldier allegedly responsible.
In April 2025, UK Defence Secretary John Healey traveled to Kenya to meet Agnes’s family, offering condolences and pledging that the British government “will continue to do everything we can to help the family secure the justice they deserve.” Still, a UK government spokesman told the BBC, “This is subject to ongoing legal proceedings and we will not comment further at this stage.”
Kenyan civil society and legal experts have welcomed the arrest warrant as a positive step. Kelvin Kubai, a lawyer at the African Centre for Corrective and Preventive Action, said, “It is highly welcome and a positive step towards the arch of justice. However, the battle isn’t yet won, given the legal hurdles of extradition proceedings, and we hope the relevant government institutions of both states shall continue cooperating to meet the ends of justice.”
For many in Nanyuki, the presence of BATUK is a daily reminder of unresolved injustice. Locals speak of soldiers who “train here, drink in our bars, sleep with our women, father children they later abandon, and leave behind trails of destruction.” The camp, often described in diplomatic language as a symbol of partnership, is, for some, a crime scene.
Agnes’s story is not an isolated tragedy. It is part of a larger pattern of abuse and impunity that has persisted for decades. As one friend of Agnes put it, “Many men know what happened, and many have covered it up.” The silence and inaction of both Kenyan and British authorities have only deepened the wound.
Yet, the determination of Agnes’s family and friends has kept the case alive. Their fight is not just for Agnes, but for every Kenyan woman who has suffered at the hands of foreign soldiers, for every child left behind, and for every family forced to live with unanswered questions. Esther’s campaign, including a documentary titled Guardians From Hell, aims to shine a light on the reality of BATUK and the crimes that have been buried for years.
As the extradition process unfolds, the world is watching. Will justice finally be served for Agnes Wanjiru? Or will her case become another chapter in a long history of betrayal and silence? For her family, and for many Kenyans, the answer will speak volumes about whose lives are valued—and whose are not.
