Military decolonisation and Africanisation: the first African officers in the Kenyan army, 1957–1964

ABSTRACT

On 15 July 1961, the first eight African officers were commissioned into the King’s African Rifles in Kenya. This was very late to begin Africanising the colonial military force. The colonial army, even more than other institutions, was neither anticipating nor preparing for independence until it was imminent. Then, Africanisation was dramatically sped up to try and match political progress. This article explores how the first African officer corps was created in Kenya. Using lists of commissions published in The Kenya Gazette, it shows what types of people were commissioned, focusing on ethnicity, age, experience, training, education, and promotion. Three types of servicemen were commissioned: effendis, with years of colonial experience; non-commissioned officers, who were briefly trained in Britain and rapidly promoted; and direct-entry officers, better educated, younger, and trained in Britain. The article argues that the opportunities that military decolonisation and Africanisation offered to these varied groups of men had an impact which lasted for decades, as these first commissioned officers became and remained the leaders of Kenya’s military. Understanding the process of Africanisation therefore helps to explain the trajectory of Kenya’s military after independence.

KEYWORDS:

• Kenya
• King’s African Rifles
• Africanisation
• Officers
• Decolonisation
• Military training

On 15 July 1961, Kenya took a significant step towards Africanisation as the first eight African officers were commissioned into the King’s African Rifles.¹ The army had been formed in 1902, but this was the first time that Africans were allowed to become officers. Less than two and a half years before Kenya’s independence, this was very late to begin Africanising the colonial military force; other colonial powers, and even Britain in West Africa, had begun this process much earlier, if in limited ways.² But colonial officials in East Africa still believed they had more time. In the following years, the process was sped up. By independence in December 1963, Kenya had 80 African officers out of a total of 165, making up 48.5% of her officer corps.³ While less than half, this was a far higher percentage than either Tanganyika or Uganda had at their own independence in 1961 and 1962 respectively.⁴

Military decolonisation, or the shift from a colonial force to an independent military, is an important part of the wider story of decolonisation. In East Africa, it is clear that the army, even more than other institutions, was neither anticipating nor preparing for independence until it was imminent. When it did eventually accept decolonisation, there was a rush to reshape the racial stratification of the army by commissioning African officers. For British colonial officials, the aim was to foster ‘friendly’ relationships with the soon-to-be-independent military and thus secure their interests. These included arms sales and training relationships, as well as keeping Kenya Western-aligned in the Cold War.⁵ Their hope was to gradually replace British officers with Africans, allowing Britain to keep control of the process.

Scholars including Timothy Parsons and Sarah Stockwell have recognised the late start to Africanisation in the East African army.⁶ Yet, as Andrew Brooks has argued, ‘The creation of the colonial officer corps remains woefully understudied’, especially in East Africa.⁷ This article explores how an officer class was created in Kenya, what kind of people became officers, their ethnic make-up, age, education, and training. Using lists of commissions published in The Kenya Gazette, as well as material from British and Kenyan archives, it shows how Africanisation worked in practice.

Examining who became Kenya’s first officers helps to understand what categories of people benefitted from Kenyan independence, and how the colonial and newly independent governments approached the task of remaking colonial institutions into ones that would serve an independent state.⁸ Militaries in African colonies had been set up as instruments of colonial coercion and now had to transition to a new role as national militaries. Military decolonisation, however, was a slow process. It was difficult to immediately reform the armies inherited at independence, even when these had acted against nationalist movements and did not represent the elites now in power.⁹ Choosing the men to lead the military was a high-stakes affair as they had the potential to become political actors in their own right. In Kenya, former Mau Mau fighters believed they were entitled to military positions, but many politicians viewed them as a threat.¹⁰ Factional politics among Kenya’s elite made the military a potential arena for competition.¹¹ Deciding where to train future officers was also a tense political issue as it was closely tied to Cold War alignment.¹² Yet these issues did not fundamentally destabilise Kenya’s military. This was not the result of successful British planning, but because President Jomo Kenyatta saw the inherited structures of the military as valuable. Comparing Kenya to other former British colonies in Africa, it is striking that elsewhere, military officers commissioned prior to independence could lead military coups (Uganda), be killed in military coups (Nigeria), or become politicised through military restructuring (Tanganyika); while in Kenya these original African officers remained the leaders of the military until at least the 1980s (although a few were implicated in attempted coups).¹³ Understanding the process of Africanisation helps to explain the trajectory of Kenya’s military in the decades after independence.

There are a number of studies of the King’s African Rifles (KAR), the colonial military force across East Africa.¹⁴ However, existing works have tended to focus on the Askaris (soldiers) rather than the officers.¹⁵ Studies of the colonial KAR have explored the social implications of Askaris’ service, Second World War experiences, and demobilisation.¹⁶ Another key concern has been the mutinies that took place in January 1964 in Tanganyika, Uganda and Kenya.¹⁷ Understanding those who took part in the mutinies and their reasons for disquiet are vital, but it is also instructive to uncover the motivations of those who chose not to mutiny, including the new African officers.

Another focus of the scholarship on the Kenyan military has been ethnicity, and specifically the Kamba. Myles Osborne’s work has clearly shown both why the Kamba were perceived by the British to be a ‘martial race’ and the ways in which ideas of being ‘martial’ were adopted by Kamba themselves to argue for benefits from the colonial state.¹⁸ The Kamba were certainly overrepresented in the KAR compared to their proportion of the wider population, while other groups, notably the Kikuyu, were underrepresented.¹⁹ Once in office Kenyatta acted to increase the proportion of Kikuyu in the military.²⁰ However, while ethnicity was crucial to creating an African officer class, it is only part of what can be learned about the new officers. Alongside ethnicity, they also differed in age, training, and education. The first section of the article details the process of Africanisation in the KAR and why and when the British colonial government made the key decisions. This highlights the changing nature of policy as plans were dramatically sped up to try and match political progress. The second section of the article explores who in Kenya was commissioned, focusing on issues of ethnicity, age, experience, training, education, and promotion. This shows that the men who were commissioned had diverse backgrounds, and that the 1964 mutiny had a significant influence on increasing promotions. The final section addresses the significance of this military elite in Kenya’s independent armed forces. Those who were commissioned before independence led the military for decades thereafter. This contributes to explaining why Kenya’s military was comparatively stable in the decades after independence.

Africanisation of the colonial king’s African rifles

Founded in 1902, the KAR spanned the British colonies of Kenya, Tanganyika, and Uganda.²¹ This section will therefore consider all three colonies. The bulk of the KAR, like other colonial forces in Africa, was always made up of Africans, with a small top layer of British officers and non-commissioned officers (NCOs). The KAR expanded in the First World War, then again during the Second World War, when Africans began to take on roles as NCOs.²² After the war, the size of the KAR was reduced, and the African NCOs were not promoted further. This contrasts with the experience of the West African colonial force. There, Africanisation began in the late 1940s, with the first Nigerian officer commissioned in 1948.²³ In 1951, two Nigerians were sent to train at the Royal Military Academy, Sandhurst in Britain, with the first Ghanaian sent in 1953, and at least one from each colony annually for the rest of the decade.²⁴ Independence came more quickly than British planners had anticipated, and by independence there were only twenty-eight Ghanaian officers and sixty-one Nigerian officers.²⁵ Nonetheless, the process had begun more than ten years prior to independence, and by the end of 1960, fifty Nigerians had two years of officer training at Sandhurst.²⁶

The picture in East Africa was very different. There were no moves in the early 1950s towards commissioning African officers. This was influenced by the Mau Mau Emergency that made colonial officials question Kenyan loyalty to the KAR.²⁷ British officials also took account of the presence of Europeans and Asians in Kenya, expecting them to step into officer roles if necessary. Europeans received military training in the Kenya Regiment. The Regiment had been formed during the Second World War, then disbanded and reformed in 1951 with compulsory service for Europeans in Kenya, annually training around 190 soldiers. The Kenya Regiment created a potential supply of European military leadership and offered an alternative to Africanisation.²⁸ In 1954, KAR leaders were concerned about recruiting good British soldiers for secondment rather than leadership from Africans, or even from the Europeans in Kenya. As a 1954 report bluntly put it, ‘the [East] African is not yet sufficiently advanced to be granted officer status’.²⁹ Colonial planners were clear that the KAR would continue to rely on British officers for the foreseeable future.

Officials did consider a change in 1956 with a proposal to grant Governor’s Commissions to Africans.³⁰ These would be distinct from Queen’s Commissions that were given to British officers and West African officers, and instead followed the model of Viceroy’s Commissions that had been used in colonial India.³¹ Governor’s Commissions would create a lower grade of officers. This was significant as the first proposal for East African officers. However, it proved incompatible with East Africa’s racial hierarchy. The key issue was the authority – or lack thereof – that these officers would have over British soldiers, with their draft instructions stating that: ‘Governor’s Commissioned Officers will have no disciplinary powers over European ranks … B[ritish]O[ther] R[anks] will not salute Governor’s Commissioned Officers’.³² Despite being officers, these Africans would not be treated as such by British soldiers. Maintaining the racial hierarchy above the military hierarchy, as these plans proposed, was a sign of how shaped by racial thinking East African colonial societies were. The plan was a concern for the Governor of Uganda, who ‘felt that he could not put it to the Uganda Legislative Council’ that Governor’s Commissioned Officers ‘would be saluted by African Ranks, but not by British Other Ranks’.³³ He recognised that there was no justification for British soldiers not to salute officers simply because they were Africans.

This reaction stymied the plan for Governor’s Commissioned Officers, and instead a new rank was created: the effendi.³⁴ The effendi was ‘a senior Warrant Officer rank’ at the top of the NCO ranks that Africans could access, but below the level of a commissioned officer.³⁵ Creating the rank of effendi would maintain the racial hierarchy: Africans would not enter the officer corps. The instructions (almost identical to those planned for Governor’s Commissioned Officers) noted that ‘Effendis … will be saluted by all African other ranks but not British other ranks’.³⁶ No British soldier would have to salute an African. Notably, too, effendis would not attend the officers’ mess. This would have challenged the racial hierarchy underpinning the colonial army. It is clear that planners’ primary concerns were how British soldiers would react to African officers, and a desire to sustain colonial racial hierarchies. The effendi role was a compromise that, on paper, was very similar to Governor’s Commissioned Officers, but avoided equality for Africans by changing the title and lowering the prestige of the highest role they could achieve. This was a step towards Africanisation, but planners still baulked at the prospect of African officers.

Twenty-one men became effendis in the first group to complete their training on 1 October 1956.³⁷ Among the effendis were many who would go on to command Kenya’s future military, including Joseph Ndolo, Jackson Mulinge, Joseph Nzioka, and Mahamoud Mohamed. The effendis were selected from ‘Serving Askaris between the ages of 25 and 35 years’ who had reached the highest level of the KAR education programme. Before being promoted to the rank of effendi they would go through six months of additional training. After three years there was the potential for further promotion to ‘Effendi (Class II)’.³⁸ The effendi role was not intended as a stopgap measure in preparation for Africanising the officer corps, but as the top rank available to Africans.

However, officials did make a decision that, in theory at least, could lead to African officers. At the time, the only way to receive a commission was to undertake two years of training at Sandhurst in Britain, the main training school for British officer cadets. In 1956, officials agreed that anyone who completed Sandhurst training would receive a Queen’s Commission, ‘regardless of race’.³⁹ But the prospects of being able to attend Sandhurst differed greatly. The educational qualifications required were high, including fluent English.⁴⁰ The low rate of education for Africans made it easier to find European and Asian candidates who met these requirements.⁴¹ The English language requirement was also a barrier to Askaris in the KAR, which operated in Swahili.⁴² The colonial government ‘hoped that the first cadets will be selected, trained and sent to Sandhurst during 1958’.⁴³ On schedule, a cadet went to Sandhurst in 1958, with another two sent to Mons Officer Cadet School for six-month training before going on to Sandhurst.⁴⁴ But these were European and Asian soldiers. Colonial policies of multiracialism meant that localisation rather than Africanisation was the aim: Europeans and Asians would also have key positions. A 1959 meeting of colonial officials about the Kenyan civil service agreed that ‘“Africanisation” was not a correct term in Kenya; their local Service must include a European and Asian as well as African staff’.⁴⁵ This sentiment was replicated in military planning. These ideas about Kenya’s multiracial future meant that colonial officials expected Africans to make up only a section of Kenya’s leadership.

Africans were not expected to attend Sandhurst soon. The effendis were not considered viable candidates. In November 1958, General Dimoline considered them ‘an outstanding success … But the fact was that none of the present effendis were capable of passing into Sandhurst; they were too old and set in their ways’.⁴⁶ Although the effendis were valuable, they were not considered Sandhurst – and therefore officer – material. A further step towards eventual African officers was the creation of a Junior Leader’s Company, ‘a primary school for askaris’ sons’, stationed at the Kahawa Barracks in Nairobi.⁴⁷ This had ‘the object of providing a nucleus of suitable Africans with powers of leadership to be absorbed into the K.A.R. as N.C.O.s … and possibly – even as Queen’s Commissioned Officers’.⁴⁸ As boys would join the Company aged fourteen, this was a long-term plan with Sandhurst-trained African officers only as a possible end-goal. However, the Junior Leader’s Company was closed in 1963 after boys at the school went on strike.⁴⁹ The political leanings of the school were not accepted and this route to creating future officers was closed.

In late 1960, once politicians in Britain had finally acknowledged that Kenya would become independent under majority rule, and with independence in Tanganyika and Uganda likely soon, the need to create an African officer corps was increasingly pressing. For British officials, making plans that would ensure stability and British-friendly institutions became a greater concern, although pressure from Kenyan nationalists regarding the army was not yet strong.⁵⁰ Military planners now had to accept that African officers were necessary, and that the effendis were the most obvious pool from which to draw them. New plans suggested granting ‘selected Effendis’ commissions at the rate of three per year with either Queen’s Commissions or the ‘inferior’ Governor’s Commissions. One official, who preferred the former option, thought it ‘a very grave mistake to miss this opportunity of producing African officers. It is shocking that there are still no African officers in the KAR’. As he rightly noted, the ‘proposal was no panic measure for a rush of commissions’ and the rate of three per year was extremely slow.⁵¹ Officials accepted that some effendis should be commissioned and adopted Governor’s Commissions, meaning these officers would remain distinct from British officers and those in West Africa. They would receive short service commissions for three years. The first twelve were commissioned in July 1961 (eight Kenyan) of a total 152 officers. The aim was for twenty-eight African officers in the KAR by the end of 1963.⁵² Although a step forward, this was a tiny number for three colonies approaching independence.

It is also notable that in July 1961 candidates of all races were admitted for the first time to the Kenya Regiment, which had previously been exclusively for Europeans. Those making this decision were ‘extremely anxious to get a few high-class Asians and Africans on to this course because we believe this to be an important sociological experiment’.⁵³ As this language suggests, the decision was not reflective of a substantive reassessment of Africans and Asians, but an ‘experiment’ which could help secure the Regiment’s future. Eight Africans and seven Asians joined the first intake they were eligible for.⁵⁴ The Commander reported ‘no friction and the Africans and Asians have so far managed to keep up with the work’, revealing his continuing paternalism.⁵⁵ The first commissioned effendis received similarly paternalistic treatment. Prior to commissioning, they took a course run by the KAR ‘particularly designed to teach them officer duties, social and mess behaviour, pay and allowances etc.’.⁵⁶ This was dubbed ‘a “knife and fork” course’.⁵⁷ After this, they ‘were required to live in the Officers Mess for a period of months so that they could understand how Officers behaved’.⁵⁸ Clearly it was not just their skills as soldiers that were a concern, but what the British considered suitable officer behaviour.

It was only in September 1961, just months before Tanganyika’s independence, that a step change to plans was proposed by the General Officer Commanding (GOC), East Africa Command. Rather than twenty-eight African officers by the end of 1963, the GOC’s new proposal called for seventy by mid-1962. Of these, twenty-two would be Tanganyikan, twelve Ugandan and thirty-six Kenyan.⁵⁹ The GOC acknowledged that current plans were ‘too slow and are out of step with the present tempo of political development’ and recognised the need to ‘speed up the present arrangements’.⁶⁰ He argued that the KAR must dramatically increase the number of African officers. These new officers would be promoted via two distinct routes: immediate commissioning for effendis; for others – commissioning after training at Sandhurst and Mons. The first route was already open, and the GOC argued that more effendis should now be promoted despite that they were less educated than British officer recruits. The second route would be open to selected NCOs and young men joining the KAR as officer cadets after finishing secondary school. The GOC believed that educated recruits trained at Sandhurst would ‘provide the best officers’ but the process would be ‘very gradual’, with the first Kenyan African officer trained at Sandhurst projected to return only in 1964 or 1965. Mons, where the course lasted only five months, would therefore be the key institution offering the fastest way to increase the number of officers. Despite their lack of secondary school education, NCOs would have to be sent to Mons as well.

The GOC’s arguments for increasing the rate of commissioning emphasised the benefits Britain would gain by controlling the process of Africanisation. Providing training in Britain would be a way to prevent newly independent governments from turning to other countries, especially communist ones, for military training. Moreover, accelerating the pace of Africanisation would allow British military leaders to choose Kenya’s officers, selecting those they deemed most appropriate. These African officers were more likely to stay loyal to Britain even if British officers were expelled after independence. By training and selecting future Kenyan officers the British hoped to instil in them the ideal of an apolitical and professional army, which was part of a wider agenda of transferring British military models to their African colonies.⁶¹ For British planners, the costs involved in training officers in Britain seemed worth paying to enable the friendly post-independence relationship they hoped for.

The proposed change in policy was momentous. Suddenly, those involved noticed that commissioning African officers was ‘urgent’ and accelerated the timetable.⁶² This was the moment at which the pace of Africanisation dramatically increased. The issue of race was also re-evaluated. Rather than having their opportunities limited, Africans would now be prioritised for advancement. In October 1961, the East African Defence Committee agreed that ‘while the policy should remain in principle on a multi-racial basis, in practice African candidates should be selected where they were of a satisfactory standard’.⁶³ The racial policies which had guided earlier plans were recast as Africans became favoured for promotion rather than excluded. Asian candidates were also reconsidered, with ‘doubt as to whether Asian Officers would be completely acceptable in the Units of the future’.⁶⁴ The later policies that targeted and disadvantaged East African Asians were already becoming apparent.⁶⁵ The shift in policy from multiracialism to majority rule meant that Europeans and Asians would be at most a minority in the officer corps.

Even so, progress did not go as quickly as planned. In January 1962, the KAR’s leaders acknowledged that the intended seventy officers by mid-1962 would not be achieved until the end of the year.⁶⁶ They explained this by difficulties in finding enough candidates at the educational level required for training at Mons or Sandhurst: ‘suitable officer material [was] not available’.⁶⁷ In mid-1962, the KAR’s leaders also decided to abolish the effendi rank. Most of the effendis would be commissioned that year, meaning it would be embarrassing for a few to remain at their current level. Thus, military planners argued that all effendis should be commissioned.⁶⁸ Their earlier objections that effendis were not equipped to be officers had been overtaken by the necessity of rapidly forming an African officer corps, and the desire to return to the usual ranks of the British military. Aware that they needed to move quickly, KAR commanders acted before they received financial approval from Britain. This was not well-received in London.⁶⁹ This episode suggested a tension between those British officers at the top of the KAR who now wanted to progress Africanisation as quickly as possible, and those in the British government who focused on costs. In May 1963, officials also made plans to move beyond the short service commissions of three years, which had been granted to date, to regular commissions.⁷⁰ This would allow for a long-term career structure and so create a stable officer corps for an independent state.

Officers and commissions

In the lead up to Kenyan independence in December 1963, Africanisation of the officer corps increased following plans laid out in previous years. This section analyses what kind of people became Kenya’s first officers. No such analysis has previously been attempted, probably due to an apparent lack of evidence. This analysis rests on a detailed list produced by the KAR of the eighty-one African officers commissioned by August 1963 and recently released in the migrated archives, coupled with information from Sandhurst and The Kenya Gazette.⁷¹ The material gives substantive and pertinent information about these officers, which for the first time allows us to answer questions about their age, experience, training, ethnicity, and promotion.

As discussed above, there were several routes to commissioning: from the ranks of effendis, or through training at Sandhurst or Mons. This created diversity among the officers. Firstly, they were of different ages at the time of commissioning. Nine were under twenty-six, but the majority were older: thirty-eight were aged between thirty-one and forty, and the oldest was forty-eight (Table 1).⁷² This was extremely late to be receiving a first commission, with most in the British army (the model for British officials), receiving a first commission in their early twenties. Secondly, there were differences in experience. Two had less than a year’s experience before being commissioned, but forty-three (53%) had more than ten years’ experience in the KAR before they were commissioned. Two had been recruited into the KAR in the late 1930s, thirty-five had joined in the 1940s and thirty-eight in the 1950s. This makes it likely that the older soldiers had at least some combat experience in the Second World War and/or the Mau Mau counter-insurgency campaign. In general, many of Kenya’s first officers had significant experience in the KAR below officer level.

Table 1. Age and experience of first African officers.

Estimated age at commission
21–25	26–30	31–35	36–40	41–45	46–50
9	26	18	20	7	1
Years before commission
<1	1–5	6–10	11–15	16–20	21+	unknown
2	8	25	20	20	3	3
Joined KAR
1930s	1940s	1950s	1960s	unknown
2	35	38	3	3

The data also offers evidence about the varying levels of the officers’ education. This is especially significant as a lack of education had been an excuse for not commissioning Africans earlier. Askaris typically had little education. However, as Parsons has shown, the KAR became one of the ‘largest and most influential educational institution[s] in colonial East Africa’.⁷³ Many Askaris gained some education in the KAR, which was necessary for promotion to NCO level. The KAR awarded First, Second, and Third Class education certificates.⁷⁴ First Class qualifications were needed to progress to effendi level, but because NCOs were commissioned directly and skipped the effendi rank, not all officers had such qualifications. Forty-two had First Class qualifications, twenty-six Second Class, and five Third Class, (others are unknown). This makes clear that educational requirements were relaxed because of the need to rapidly promote officers. This was especially true for older, experienced NCOs ‘if they had obvious leadership potential and intelligence’ but lacked much formal education.⁷⁵ Some British officers who served in the KAR were sceptical, with one arguing that ‘By and large they were barely literate’.⁷⁶ Indeed, the Third Class certificates were basic, confirming knowledge of simple maths, the KAR’s history, and Swahili literacy.⁷⁷ The younger officers tended to be better educated: of those aged twenty-one to thirty, 71% had First Class certificates, compared to 37% of those who were older. The KAR’s leaders hoped for young, well-educated recruits to join officer training directly, but the numbers doing this were more limited than the number of officers required, as educated men had multiple options for well-paid, skilled professions as all sectors looked to Africanise.⁷⁸ Therefore, the education of many of the first officers was relatively limited; an outcome of the late start of the Africanisation programme. Independent Kenya had a significant number of officers who advanced from NCOs with little education and only five months’ officer training in Britain.

Kenya’s officer corps was thus composed of men with diverse backgrounds: older, experienced effendis who had worked their way up to the top; NCOs who had not become effendis but were now sent to Mons to become officers; and younger, more educated men who joined the KAR’s officer training programme directly. The latter group would spend their whole careers as officers, while those who were older served for years without a commission. It is unclear whether there was animosity between those for whom commissioning had been unavailable in their youth and those who took a much easier and quicker route. The memoirs of one young officer (commissioned in May 1964) describe three junior officers in his company, two of whom were young and one much older. The senior officer ‘was cognisant of our age differences. He would regularly send the younger officers on patrols sparing [the older junior officer]’.⁷⁹ The author ‘considered it a blessing in disguise’ as it allowed him and other younger officers ‘to learn new ropes of soldiering through regular deployments’ in the Shifta conflict.⁸⁰ However, it seems that the older officer had less chance to distinguish himself and hence be promoted further.

Another crucial issue when considering the first group of Kenyan officers is ethnicity.⁸¹ In the recruitment of Askaris, the British had clear ethnic preferences in favour of the Kamba and (to a lesser extent) Kalenjin, and the ethnic mix in the KAR did not represent the population. In 1957, the Kamba made up 41% of Askaris and around 11% of the population.⁸² For new officers, however, there were no ethnic quotas. The GOC was unequivocal that ‘There has been no tribal structure laid down for the officer posts of the Army. Only the best applicants, irrespective of tribe or race are considered’.⁸³ While this policy could be followed so long as British officers were in command, they were increasingly dependent upon the decisions and demands of Kenya’s new ministers. The list of eighty-one officers as of August 1963 that is used throughout this section was compiled in response to complaints from Kenya’s ministers about the ethnic make-up of the army.⁸⁴ Prime Minister Kenyatta ‘said that Army recruitment should be adjusted with the aim of the Army truly reflecting the tribal composition of the population as soon as possible’. Minister for Home Affairs Oginga Odinga complained specifically about the officers: ‘he had been told that the African Officers were also nearly all Kamba and Kalenjin and that there were very few Kikuyu and Luo’ (the ethnicities, respectively, of Kenyatta and himself).⁸⁵ Colonial and military officials argued in reply that ‘the only material available for immediate Commissions or Officer training was in the ranks of the K.A.R. … there were virtually no Kikuyu or Luo serving in the ranks, hence the preponderance of Kamba and Kalenjin’.⁸⁶

Given that the first officers were drawn from the existing army, it is unsurprising that the ethnic balance of the officers reflected that of the Askaris. Of the first eighty-one officers, thirty-one were Kamba (Table 2). This was a significant bias. The Kalenjin were also well-represented, with seventeen Kalenjin officers.⁸⁷ Recruitment into the KAR had been significantly affected by the Mau Mau Emergency with a ban on Kikuyu, Embu, and Meru recruitment. Nonetheless, the Kikuyu proportion of officers was higher than their proportion in the rank-and-file, where the recruitment ban had a longer impact.⁸⁸ By August 1963, there were seven Kikuyu officers, as well as eight Luo. Yet, of the seven who were being considered for promotion to Captain, six were Kamba, one Somali. This made it highly likely that the first commander of Kenya’s army would be a Kamba, as would those at many of its highest ranks. As Kenyatta and Odinga’s complaints reveal, the incoming government perceived this as a problem. The Kikuyu and Luo were the largest two ethnic groups in Kenya, and the key supporters of the ruling Kenya African National Union (KANU) party, but were not well represented in the officer corps. This posed a potential challenge to Kenyatta’s power, especially as the leading Kamba politician, Paul Ngei, had a significant ethnic following in the military. This threat abated only when Ngei abolished the African Peoples Party, the political party he had founded in 1962, to re-join KANU in October 1963.⁸⁹ The ethnic make-up of the military was a political issue, and the promotion of many Kamba officers created a potential powerbase that could rival Kenyatta’s. While the KAR claimed to appoint officers only on merit, ethnicity mattered, and would become only more important in the post-independence military as Kenyatta reshaped the officer corps with significant Kikuyuisation.

Table 2. Ethnicity of first African officers.

Kamba	Kalenjin	Luo	Kikuyu	Luhya	Somali	Teita	Boran	Kakamega	Samburu
31	17	8	7	5	4	3	2	2	2

Another crucial issue for the incoming government was who would occupy the higher military ranks. Receiving a commission to become Second Lieutenant was only the first step in an officer’s career. There were a significant number of further ranks to climb now that these were open to Africans. While colonial rule lasted, there was little promotion beyond the next rank of Lieutenant. In November 1963, one month before independence, KAR officials planned to promote three African Majors by the end of the year. Kenyatta did not think it was enough and wanted ‘one African officer … promoted to a policy making appointment at Independence’.⁹⁰ It was important for him to show that Africanisation was progressing. Officials responded with a plan to promote one Lieutenant-Colonel and five Majors by the end of 1963.⁹¹ Even so, almost all the African officers at independence were at a lower rank.

After independence, the rate of promotion increased, encouraged by the January 1964 mutiny. Mutiny began in Tanganyika and moved to Uganda and Kenya. In Kenya, it took place at Lanet barracks only. Mutinying soldiers demanded higher pay, more Africanisation, and the removal of British officers.⁹² Many of those involved were NCOs. At a time when some NCOs had been promoted to officers, those who remained NCOs had so far not reaped the expected benefits of military decolonisation. This was part of a crisis of expectations around independence, as many Kenyans expected to gain immediate benefits from independence and were frustrated when they did not. The mutiny showed the need for an increase in Africanisation to minimise discontent and ensure the loyalty of the army at all levels. Indeed, Parsons suggests that if there had been ‘a more public show of planning the Africanization of the military, the unrest of January 1964 would probably have been averted’.⁹³ All three governments called on British forces to restore order, and Britain willingly complied. Following the mutiny, Kenyatta raised pay for Askaris and sped up Africanisation, while keeping British military leadership. At the same time, court-martials punished the leaders, with forty-three tried.⁹⁴

During the mutiny, all African officers remained loyal, aligning themselves with the British officers rather than the mutineers.⁹⁵ The African officers’ upward career trajectories meant that they likely did not share concerns around pay and that they were already benefitting from Africanisation. They shared the officers’ mess with the British and were clearly separated from both the NCOs and the rank-and-file. Thus, the African officers’ political loyalties diverged from the mutinying Askaris.

In response to the mutiny, the Kenyan government sped up Africanisation. With more than eighty commissioned between 1961 and 1963, another fifty-eight were commissioned by the end of 1964, a significant increase in pace. On 12 December 1964, when Kenya became a republic, a group of African officers were promoted, resulting in: one Colonel, six Lieutenant-Colonels, twenty-one Majors, forty-eight Captains, thirty Lieutenants, and twenty Second Lieutenants.⁹⁶ The Colonel, Joseph Ndolo, was the former effendi and Kamba who would become the first Kenyan Army Commander. The Lieutenant-Colonels were all former effendis, with the youngest being Lucas Matu, aged thirty-two and a Kikuyu, who had joined the KAR in 1952. Thus, by the end of 1964, ‘Africans held all of the executive positions in frontline units’ even though the Army Commander was still British.⁹⁷ This was a significant step forward compared to a year before. However, although promotions increased in 1964, none had the spectacular rise of Mrisho Sarakikya in Tanganyika who moved ‘from a captain to a major-general’ during 1964.⁹⁸ As this suggests, Kenyatta’s response to the mutiny was more cautious than that of the neighbouring presidents.

Nonetheless, given the lack of high-level officers, many were promoted at a younger age than would usually have been the case. In 1961, before there were any African officers, KAR information noted a typical rate of promotion to Lieutenant after two years’ commissioned service, Captain after six, Major after thirteen, and Lieutenant-Colonel ‘by selection’.⁹⁹ These typical trajectories were not followed. Of the sixty-four Mons graduates by the end of 1964, forty-one were promoted to Lieutenant on the same day as their promotion to Second Lieutenant, which was generally the day following the completion of their course.¹⁰⁰ As this shows, progress was rapid, with many leaping over the lowest rank of commissioned officer to an immediate higher level. Their promotion was far quicker than they could have managed in the colonial KAR, or at any later period in the Kenyan army. To illustrate this further, ten men became Majors aged twenty-seven to thirty-two; while eight became Captains aged twenty-three to twenty-five. One newly-recruited Mons-graduate became a Captain after less than three years of military service. These men still had long professional lives ahead of them, and they would define the Kenyan military for decades.

Kenya’s independent army

The army that Kenya inherited at independence had been designed to defend the colonial state. Although renamed from the King’s African Rifles to the Kenya Rifles at independence, it did not otherwise significantly change. Kenyatta thus faced a choice: whether to substantially refashion the army or to retain its structures. Unwilling to risk instability, he chose the latter. This went hand-in-hand with his decision, encouraged by the mutiny, to keep working closely with the British military.¹⁰¹ At the same time as Africanisation and promotion increased, Kenyatta limited it by keeping British officers at the top of Kenya’s military. In November 1964, Kenyatta asked for another British commander to lead the Kenyan Army, while appointing Ndolo as deputy. British officials reported that ‘Kenyatta said he was determined against Africanisation for Africanisation’s sake’.¹⁰² Kenyatta’s attitude towards Africanisation in the army was ambiguous: while he did promote Africanisation, his concern about the potential threat to his position from a Kamba-led military or another mutiny made his position more moderate.

By keeping British officers in command positions, Kenyatta could guarantee that they – and thus the army – would stay loyal to him as the British-backed elected president. Kenyatta’s rivals in the Kenyan elite actively pursued alternatives to British military ties, and Odinga organised sending military trainees to communist countries.¹⁰³ Kenyatta’s ultimate rejection of these trainees was a way for him to assert his control both over the military and over Kenya’s factional politics. It was also a clear symbol of Kenya’s alignment in the Cold War.¹⁰⁴ Moreover, having British officers in the top ranks of the army would allow Kenyatta to Kikuyuise the lower officer ranks and avoid a Kamba-led military.¹⁰⁵ At the same time, Kenyatta limited the power of the army by setting up a counterweight organisation in the General Service Unit, staffed by Kikuyu.¹⁰⁶

Furthermore, by continuing to work with the British, Kenyatta accepted the Western model of an apolitical, professional military. This contrasts with Tanzania, where the military was politicised and British ‘standards’ for promotion were revised.¹⁰⁷ In Kenya, the question of what kind of officer an independent Kenya needed – what qualities should be developed and skills prioritised – was not seriously posed. Rather, the officer class formed in the years before independence dominated the Kenyan military for years to come. It is well known that in Kenya’s political and business elite, those who were prominent in the years around independence remained so for a long time. Daniel Branch has shown that ‘The elections in Kenya of 1957 and 1958 brought to the fore a generation of politicians who dominated the postcolonial landscape’.¹⁰⁸ The most obvious representatives of this are Presidents Kenyatta, Daniel arap Moi, and Mwai Kibaki, who between them held the presidency until 2013. It is less known that the Kenyan military followed the same pattern, as the officer class commissioned in the final years of British rule remained at the top of the military for decades.

Former effendis initially dominated. In 1971, only one of ten senior army appointments was held by a Mons graduate, the others were all former effendis. In Defence Headquarters, six of the eight senior staff were former effendis.¹⁰⁹ In 1974, of the top twenty-two posts, fourteen were former effendis, and only two had been commissioned after independence; one of them was Kenya’s first African Sandhurst graduate.¹¹⁰ As time passed and former effendis left the military, a larger proportion of Mons and Sandhurst graduates took on the top positions; but these too were largely commissioned before independence. By 1986, three of five Army Generals and three of twelve Brigadiers had been commissioned before December 1963. Another six Brigadiers had been commissioned after training at Sandhurst begun prior to independence.¹¹¹ For decades, the top ranks of the military continued to be staffed by men who had been chosen for commission by British KAR officers before independence.

The highest positions in Kenya’s military were Chief of General Staff and Army Commander. These positions were also held by men who had been commissioned before independence, and mostly former effendis, until the turn of the century (Table 3). The first three Kenyan Army Commanders (Joseph Ndolo, Jackson Mulinge and Joseph Nzioka) had been effendis and among the first Kenyans to be commissioned on 15 July 1961. Between them, these three men would hold the role of Army Commander until 1979 and Chief of General Staff until 1986. They had all joined the KAR between 1940 and 1942 and had nineteen or twenty years’ experience before commissioning. All three were Kamba. These were men formed in the colonial state, rising from the ranks of the Askari and effendi and only being commissioned after long colonial experience. They were among the first and most dramatic beneficiaries of Africanisation in the KAR.

Table 3. Army commanders and chiefs of general staff with commissioning dates.

Name	Ethnicity	Date of commission	Army Commander	Chief of General Staff
Joseph Ndolo	Kamba	15/07/1961	1966–1969	1969–1971
Jackson Mulinge	Kamba	15/07/1961	1969–1978	1978–1986
Joseph Nzioka	Kamba	15/07/1961	1978–1979
John Sawe	Kalenjin	26/03/1965	1979–1981; 1981–1986
Mahamoud Mohamed	Somali	22/02/1962	1981	1986–1996
James Lengees	Samburu	02/11/1962	1986–1993
Daudi Tonje	Kalenjin	25/01/1963	1993–1994	1996–2000

The fourth commander was an exception. John Sawe became Army Commander in 1979 and had been commissioned in March 1965. Sawe’s promotion was clearly linked to Moi’s ascension to the presidency and their shared Kalenjin ethnicity. Sawe was thus quickly promoted over the heads of other officers.¹¹² The fifth Army Commander fit the old pattern. Mahamoud Mohamed was a former effendi who had been commissioned on 22 February 1962 after eight years’ experience. The next two Army Commanders, James Lengees and Daudi Tonje, had been commissioned in November 1962 and January 1963 respectively after training at Mons. Lengees had ten years’ prior experience and was promoted from the NCO ranks, while Tonje joined the KAR as an officer recruit and was commissioned aged 22 (Tonje was mentioned earlier as the Mons-graduate promoted to Captain after less than three years’ military service). Sawe and Tonje were thus the only two of the first seven Army Commanders not to have long experience as Askaris in the KAR, and Sawe was the only one to have been commissioned after independence. The first four Kenyan Chiefs of General Staff – Ndolo, Mulinge, Mohamed, and Tonje – had all been commissioned before independence, with Tonje the first non-effendi to hold the role.

As this shows, decolonisation offered these men significant advantages. This was a beneficial time for those who had worked their way up through the ranks of the colonial KAR; and a beneficial time for educated young men to join the army as officer cadets. As one Asian officer who joined the KAR in 1962 later wrote, ‘Opportunities were opening up to join the army and Africanization became a buzzword, with junior ranks rising fast’.¹¹³ Everyone had promotion opportunities as British officers left and there were few Africans ahead of them. The first officers were thus able to progress more quickly than at any other time as the demand for African officers increased with the transition to an independent army. These men enjoyed the benefits offered by decolonisation and Africanisation for decades.

Conclusion

Military decolonisation was an essential part of the process of gaining independence. Although less well studied than other areas, it is crucial when exploring who benefitted from decolonisation – and who, like the mutinying NCOs, lost out. There were three types of officers commissioned, or three groups of beneficiaries from military decolonisation: former effendis, with years of experience in the KAR; those who had been NCOs but had not been promoted to effendi level and may not have met the educational requirements for promotion; and young school-leavers who were recruited to the KAR directly to become officers. The latter group of young, well-educated men had a variety of options for careers, as Africanisation opened a range of possibilities, but the KAR also offered significant opportunities for older men with long service who could not previously have anticipated such careers. The miliary was also one area where Kamba and other ethnic groups not well-represented in KANU could gain leading roles. Unlike in other African militaries where differences in training could be divisive,¹¹⁴ this does not seem to have been the case in Kenya. Instead, several distinct groups benefitted from the new opportunities of decolonisation and Africanisation. The benefits they gained lasted for decades as these men took over the leadership of Kenya’s independent military.

Military decolonisation is also revealing of how newly-independent leaders sought to exert their control over a colonial institution which had been set up to repress rather than support African nationalism. After independence, leaders in many former British colonies, including KAR members Tanganyika and Uganda, worked to limit British influence by expelling British officers and rapidly Africanising military leadership. By contrast, Kenyatta kept the structures of the colonial KAR in place and retained British commanders as he sought to ensure the military would not challenge his position. Thus, the British late colonial aim of passing on their military structures appeared to have been achieved in Kenya. Yet this was not because of their careful planning – as shown above, their planning was anything but carefully thought-through – but rather because Kenyatta saw these continued structures as useful.

Acknowledgements

My thanks to Timothy Parsons, Justin Willis, and the anonymous reviewers for their comments on earlier versions of the text, as well as the editors as JEAS.

Disclosure statement

No potential conflict of interest was reported by the author(s).

Notes

1 The Kenya Gazette, 4 June 1963, 614–615.

2 Wyss, Postcolonial Security, 187–188.

3 Whitaker, “‘New Model’ Armies,” 77.

4 Ibid., 77.

5 Cullen, Kenya and Britain.

6 Stockwell, British Empire, 63–73; Parsons, Army Mutinies, 50–64.

7 Brooks, “British Colonial Armies,” 82.

8 Stockwell, British Empire; Mawby, End of Empire.

9 See for example Hutchful, “Army Officer Corps,” 164.

10 Lieutenant-Colonel Charles W. Ivey, response to Aide Memoire, Bodleian Library, Oxford (henceforth BL), MSS.Afr.s.1715 (146) (Box 6).

11 See Osborne, “Paul Ngei,” 196–210.

12 Cullen, Kenya and Britain, 124–125.

13 Mawby, End of Empire, 52–63; Ejiogu, “Colonial Army Recruitment,” 117–119; Thomas, “Tanzanian People’s Defense Force,” 5–6. On Kenyan officers in potential coups see Hornsby, Kenya, 227–229.

14 See Page, King’s African Rifles; Moyse-Bartlett, King’s African Rifles; Parsons, African Rank-and-File.

15 More relevant exceptions are unpublished: Brooks, “British Colonial Armies”; Whitaker, “‘New Model’ Armies”.

16 See Parsons, African Rank-and-File; Brands, “Wartime Recruiting,” 103–125.

17 Parsons, Army Mutinies; Mazrui and Rothchild, “Soldier and State,” 82–96; Parsons, “Lanet Incident,” 51–70.

18 Osborne, Ethnicity and Empire.

19 Parsons, “Wakamba Warriors,” 671–701.

20 Osborne, Ethnicity and Empire, 237.

21 Initially, Nyasaland was also included, but not by the period discussed here.

22 Clayton and Killingray, Khaki and Blue, 247. There were some Sudanese NCOs in the late nineteenth century precursor to the KAR, but this practice had been discontinued: Parsons, “Kibra Is Our Blood,” 88, 96.

23 Abdulrahman and Mang, “Nigerian Army,” 26.

24 Stockwell, British Empire, 245–246. On the comparison between East and West Africa, see Lee, African Armies, 38–43.

25 Hutchful, “Army Officer Corps,” 163; Wyss, Postcolonial Security, 152.

26 Stockwell, British Empire, 245–246.

27 See Osborne, “Kamba and Mau Mau,” 63–87.

28 Whitaker, “‘New Model’ Armies,” 47–48.

29 Kings African Rifles, Report by the Working Party on Terms of Service for Officers, 17 March 1954, The National Archives, Kew (henceforth, TNA) WO 32/15674/1B.

30 Governors Commissions in East African Forces, [1956], TNA WO 32/16565/5A.

31 Page, King’s African Rifles, 229.

32 Governors Commissions in East African Forces, [1956], TNA WO 32/16565/5A.

33 Brigadier Macnab to Brigadier Dalton, 16 July 1957, TNA CO 968/666/E1(a).

34 According to the Oxford English Dictionary, effendi (derived from Greek authentēs, meaning ‘master’) is a ‘Turkish title of respect, chiefly applied to government officials and to members of learned professions’. It was first used by the British as a Warrant Officer rank in the Anglo-Sudanese forces, and also used by the Germans in East Africa: Thomas, “Tanzanian People’s Defense Force,” 66.

35 Introduction in East Africa of the Senior Warrant Officer Rank of “Effendi”, DPA to DMT, 14 February 1956, TNA WO 32/16565. Those scholars who have discussed the effendi have generally not recognised either the racial underpinning of the rank’s creation, or the effendis’ long-term significance as set out later in this article.

36 Appendix ‘A’, Introduction of the Senior Warrant Officer Rank of Effendi, 14 February 1956, TNA WO 32/16565.

37 Commander-in-Chief, East Africa to Under-Secretary of State for War, 7 September 1956, TNA WO 32/16565/5A.

38 Appendix ‘A’, Introduction of the Senior Warrant Officer Rank of Effendi, 14 February 1956, TNA WO 32/16565.

39 Colonial Office Report on the Colony and Protectorate of Kenya for the year 1956 (London: HMSO, 1957).

40 Selection of Candidates for a Regular Commission in the General List King’s African Rifles, June 1961, KNA CE/12/1/4.

41 See Rothchild, “Kenya's Africanization,” 738. Those Africans who were most educated were the Kikuyu, who were excluded from joining the KAR due to Mau Mau.

42 Transcript of an interview with Brigadier Percy William Powatt Green by William Beaver, 25 October 1979, BL, MSS.Afr.s.1715(118) (Box 5).

43 Colonial Office Report on the Colony and Protectorate of Kenya for the year 1957 (London: HMSO, 1958). White Kenyans already attended Sandhurst for commissioning into the British Army.

44 Colonial Office Report on the Colony and Protectorate of Kenya for the year 1958 (London: HMSO, 1959).

45 Extract from notes of meeting with the Minister of State for Colonial Affairs in Government House, 10 April 1959, TNA CO 822/1650/7.

46 Minute to Major Majendie, 4 November 1958, TNA CO 968/666/13.

47 Brigadier Macnab to Brigadier Dalton, 16 July 1957, TNA CO 968/666/E1(a).

48 Defence Secretary Tanganyika to Permanent Secretary EALFO, 2 November 1957, TNA CO 968/600/37.

49 Parsons, Army Mutinies, 90–92.

50 Future of East African Land Forces, Memorandum by the Secretary of State for the Colonies, 15 January 1960, TNA CAB 129/100/4.

51 Minute, Sankey to Buist, Vile, 21 September 1960, TNA CO 968/911.

52 Memorandum by the General Officer Commanding East Africa Command, ‘African Officers in the KAR’, 27 September 1961, TNA CO 968/723/E/15.

53 Ellerton to Neil, 15 June 1961, KNA OP/1/802/6.

54 Colonial Office Report on the Colony and Protectorate of Kenya for the year 1961 (London: HMSO, 1963).

55 Lieutenant-Colonel Vernon to Neil, 31 August 1961, KNA OP/1/802.

56 3rd Bn The King’s African Rifles, Historical Report for the Period 1 April 1961–31 March 1962, TNA WO 276/495.

57 Lieutenant-Colonel Henry K.P. Chavasse, response to Aide Memoire, [1979], BL, MSS.Afr.s.1715(42) (Box 3).

58 Memorandum by Major W.H. Reeve, [1979], BL, MSS.Afr.s.1715(225) (Box 15).

59 Memorandum by General Officer Commanding East Africa Command, ‘African Officers in the KAR’, 27 September 1961, Annex ‘B’, TNA CO 968/723/E/15.

60 Ibid.

61 Clayton and Killingray, Khaki and Blue, 261.

62 Memorandum prepared by Minister for Security and External Relations, ‘Plan for training officers for 4th KAR’, 30 September 1961, TNA CO 968/723/E53.

63 Extract from minutes of 22nd meeting of East Africa Defence Committee, 21 October 1961, TNA CO 968/912/142.

64 Ibid.

65 See Sethi, Shaping Destiny, 216–218.

66 Telegram, Troopers to Force Nairobi, January 1962, TNA CO 968/723/E40(ii)

67 Telegram, Force Nairobi to Troopers, no date [January 1962], TNA CO 968/723/E40(i).

68 Major Troughton to Colonel Adler, 10 May 1962, TNA CO 968/723/59.

69 Minute, Derx to Armitage-Smith, 7 August 1962, TNA CO 968/723.

70 Extract from East Africa Defence Committee, minutes of the twenty-fifth meeting, 9 May 1963, TNA CO 968/791/3.

71 Information in this section comes from: Nominal Roll of Officers in the KAR units as at 26 August 1963, 9 September 1963, TNA FCO 141/7037/4/2; List of Sandhurst trained and Mons trained Kenyan soldiers provided by archivists at Sandhurst; The Kenya Gazette, 5 February 1963, 127; The Kenya Gazette, 4 June 1963, 614–615; The Kenya Gazette, 7 January 1964, 6; The Kenya Gazette, 11 August 1964, 871; The Kenya Gazette, 13 October 1964, 1148; The Kenya Gazette, 15 December 1964, 1418–1419; The Kenya Gazette, 22 March 1966, 305; The Kenya Gazette, 3 February 1967, 85. There were also two Europeans and one Asian who had been trained at Sandhurst and are not included in the analysis below.

72 Ages are calculated based on approximate ages recorded by British officials. As birth dates are not recorded, they may not be exact.

73 Parsons, “Dangerous Education,” 112.

74 Ibid., 127.

75 Chavasse, BL, MSS.Afr.s.1715(42) (Box 3).

76 Lieutenant-Colonel Henry N. Crawford, response to Aide Memoire, [1979], BL, MSS.Afr.s.1715 (55) (Box 3).

77 Parsons, “Dangerous Education,” 127.

78 Lee, African Armies, 36.

79 Opande, In Pursuit of Peace, 54.

80 Ibid., 54.

81 It should be noted that individuals could change how they thought about their ethnicity and the labels they used to identify themselves. The figures in this section are based on what they told British officials about their ethnicity. See Parsons, “Being Kikuyu,” 65–86.

82 Parsons, “Wakamba Warriors,” 693.

83 The Tribal Structure of The King’s African Rifles/Kenya Army, Memorandum by the General Officer Commanding, 9 September 1963, TNA FCO 141/7037/4/2.

84 Nominal Roll of Officers in the KAR units as at 26 August 1963, 9 September 1963, TNA FCO 141/7037/4/2; Cabinet Committee on Kenya’s Future Army, 21 August 1963, TNA FCO 141/7037/2.

85 Cabinet Committee on Kenya’s Future Army, 21 August 1963, TNA FCO 141/7037/2.

86 Ibid.

87 See Clayton and Killingray, Khaki and Blue, 224.

88 Brooks, “British Colonial Armies,” 114–115.

89 Osborne, “Paul Ngei,” 202–203.

90 The policy for promotion of African Officers in the Kenya Army, 18 November 1963, TNA FCO 141/6982/245.

91 Ibid.

92 See Major Abdi Rahaman, 11 Kenya Rifles, Lanet, KNA AG/16/343/1; 2nd Lieutenant Daudi Rerimoi Chepkong’a Tonje, 11 Kenya Rifles, KNA AG/16/343/4.

93 Parsons, Army Mutinies, 88.

94 Ibid., 149–151.

95 Exactly what they were loyal to can be questioned: certainly, to the army and their superior officers, but whether this translated into loyalty for Kenyatta himself, or his government, is perhaps more debatable. See Parsons, Army Mutinies, 84.

96 The Kenya Gazette, 3 February 1967, 85.

97 Parsons, “Lanet Incident,” 67.

98 Clayton and Killingray, Khaki and Blue, 265.

99 Terms and Conditions of Service for Officers of the General List King’s African Rifles Commissioned direct from the Royal Military Academy, Sandhurst and for Cadets Under Training as Potential Officers, June 1961, KNA CE/12/1/2.

100 See Kenya Gazette issues in note 71 above.

101 Parsons, Army Mutinies, 170–173.

102 Telegram from Nairobi to CRO, 17 November 1964, TNA DEFE 25/20/5.

103 Hornsby, Kenya, 144.

104 On Kenya and the Cold War see Cullen, “Cold War Politics,” 37–54.

105 Brooks, “British Colonial Armies,” 158.

106 Katumanga, “Mirror Images,” 137–138.

107 Parsons, Army Mutinies, 159.

108 Branch, “Loyalists,” 29.

109 Tayleur, Defence Adviser’s Quarterly Report, March 1971, TNA FCO 31/868/1.

110 Annual report on Kenya by Colonel Begbie, Defence Adviser Nairobi, 22 April 1974, TNA DEFE 71/135/2.

111 Colonel Southerst, Defence Adviser’s Annual Report on Kenya, 18 March 1987, TNA FCO 31/5169/3. There were also two Air Force and Navy Generals and three Air Force and Navy Brigadiers.

112 Hornsby, Kenya, 335–336.

113 Sethi, Shaping Destiny, 50. See also Opande, In Pursuit of Peace, 40–42.

114 See Abdulrahman and Mang, “Nigerian Army,” 26–27; Mawby, End of Empire, 58.