Esther Njoki was only eight years old when her aunt, Agnes Wanjiru, was killed in 2012.
She remembers watching her mother, Rose, desperately search for Agnes for 61 days before her body was found in a hotel septic tank in Nanyuki — a quiet town that hosts the British Army Training Unit in Kenya (BATUK).
At the time, Agnes’s baby, Stacey, was only five months old. In the thirteen years since, Rose has raised Stacey as her own child. Today, it is Esther — now 21 — who has emerged as the family’s voice in their long fight for justice.
“I knew I had to take this responsibility, especially because of her daughter,” Esther says, standing by the tree that marks her aunt’s grave. “She was left at five months old and is turning 14, and I always feel bad for her because it is a lot — knowing what happened to her mum and knowing that the government knew and never took any action.”
Now the same age her aunt was when she was killed, Esther is not attending university in Nairobi like many of her peers. Instead, she is preparing for a crucial meeting in London with UK Defence Secretary John Healey to discuss the case — one that has come to symbolize a broader struggle for accountability between Kenya and Britain.
“I feel excited but also sad,” she says quietly. “At 21, I should not be doing this. I should be enjoying my life. But since the British and Kenyan governments failed, I have to go and lobby for Agnes.”
Earlier this month, Kenya’s Director of Public Prosecutions (ODPP) issued an arrest warrant for the British soldier accused of murdering Agnes Wanjiru — a long-awaited breakthrough after years of public outrage and pressure from human rights groups.
The Kenyan government has indicated it will request the soldier’s extradition, though the formal process has yet to begin.
“Although it’s taken long, I think something will be done now that the warrant of arrest has been issued,” says Esther. “But again, it is a long journey ahead. Extradition might take as long as five years.”
“We want him extradited so that he can serve as a lesson to other soldiers who think they can come to Kenya and do anything they want because they have power.”
When she died, Agnes worked as a hairdresser and sex worker, one of many women in Nanyuki who interacted with British soldiers stationed in the area.
In 2022, the UK Ministry of Defence (MoD) officially banned British troops from soliciting sex overseas, but a subsequent internal review admitted “low to moderate” violations of the policy in Kenya.
Local activists say little has changed.
“They are using Airbnbs now and have pimps who bring the girls to them,” says Maryanne Wangui, a friend of Agnes and leader of the Nanyuki Sex Workers Alliance. “We are not protected. If a girl is killed in an Airbnb — who will be responsible for that death?”
In response, the MoD said:
“There is absolutely no place for sexual exploitation and abuse by people in the British Army. It is at complete odds with what it means to be a British soldier. It preys on the vulnerable and benefits those who seek to profit from abuse and exploitation.”
Regarding Agnes’s murder, the MoD added:
“Our thoughts remain with the family of Agnes Wanjiru and we remain absolutely committed to helping them secure justice.”
Nanyuki, a market town on the edge of Mount Kenya, remains the main base for BATUK. It was originally founded in the 1920s as a white settler outpost following the British colonial expulsion of the Maasai from the Laikipia plateau.
Decades after independence, locals say that colonial-era power dynamics still shape their lives.
Public hearings held last year in Laikipia and Samburu saw dozens of Kenyans accuse BATUK of environmental damage, sexual abuse, and land violations, calling on both governments to ensure accountability and compensation.
Esther, who addressed one such hearing, says her mission is not just about her aunt — but about justice for all victims of military abuse.
“Neocolonialism is still in Kenya,” she says. “Even our government knew what these soldiers had done but never took action. They don’t protect their own citizens.”
As she prepares to board her flight to London, Esther carries her aunt’s memory and her family’s hopes for justice.
“For sure, these guys are still colonising us,” she adds. “Because why are they training here? They have their own land.”
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