It began just after sunrise.
Donald Matiri, a young graphic artist known for his outspoken views online, woke up to a knock on the door-and stayed inside.
What followed was a standoff. Several men, some in plain clothes, others in jungle fatigues, stood outside his Rongai flat. They claimed to be police officers. But Matiri, wary and filming from behind his locked door, wasn’t convinced.
“Tell me what you want so I may help you,” he said through the door, phone camera rolling. “What’s your name? Show your identification so the camera can record it.”
The man on the other side, draped in a Maasai shuka, gave only a first name-Collins. He flashed an ID card at the peephole but offered no warrant.
“Fungua kwanza,” the man urged.
“Hio haiwezekani,” Matiri shot back. That’s not happening.
Over the next few hours, the tension grew. A second officer, face pressed against the doorframe, also tried reasoning with him. Still, no one produced a court order.
“For me to open my door, I need a court order,” Matiri insisted. “What is the reason for coming to my house?”
The answer never came.
Instead, the officer sighed: “It’s very simple. Just tell us, ‘I’m not opening the door.’”
“That’s fine,” Matiri replied. “I’m not opening the door!”
From inside, Matiri turned to X (formerly Twitter), where he posted videos of the standoff. “Guys, there are officers outside my house!” he wrote. “This is not a drill.”
His tweets quickly caught fire. Concerned Kenyans, activists, and public figures rallied online.
“Police officers are outside Donald Matiri’s house trying to arrest him!!” tweeted Hanifa Adan, a prominent voice among Kenya’s Gen Z protest movement. “What do you even want with someone at 6am!! If anything happens to Donald, @NPSOfficial_KE you will pay!”
She later added: “Please do not open the door!”
By midday, the reason for the raid was still unclear. Police had yet to make a formal statement, and no arrest had been made.
The timing of the incident has raised eyebrows. It comes just one day before 25 June-a date that now holds powerful symbolism in Kenya’s recent political memory. On that day last year, thousands of protesters stormed parliament in anger over unpopular finance laws. Scores died. The country is still reckoning with what happened.
Some see the visit to Matiri’s home as an attempt at intimidation. Others say the facts remain murky and are calling for calm.
But for now, one thing is clear: a young man with a smartphone, locked inside his house, has sparked a national conversation about power, fear, and freedom.
And the door remains shut.
