NAIROBI, KENYA — He's a preacher's son and part-time college student who idolizes Martin Luther King Jr. and aspires to escape Kenya's biggest slum.
But when this East African nation erupted in postelection chaos, an unfamiliar rage took over inside the boyish-looking 21-year-old.
"I felt like my life had been stolen," said Bernard, whose last name was withheld for his protection. "In my mind, I wanted to damage everything. I picked up a rungu [wooden club] and started to run."
Bernard has joined hundreds of other opposition supporters in looting shops of sugar, flour and cellphones. He doused businesses owned by rival tribes with gasoline and set them afire. During one fateful attack, he grabbed a machete and roamed the slums with a mob hellbent on finding someone to kill.
Angry young men such as Bernard are at the heart of Kenya's descent into violence and destruction. But just how a Bible-quoting fellow like Bernard can be transformed into a stone-throwing rioter has mystified many, both in and outside Kenya.
Twenty-something Kenyans are more educated, ethnically integrated and exposed to such democratic ideals as human rights and freedom than previous generations. Yet they've reacted more violently, tribally and defiantly than their parents could ever imagine doing.
Coming of age at a time when Kenya is in political and economic transition, young people here have one foot in a modern, Westernized ideal of what their country might become and another rooted in African traditions and history.
"It's harder for this generation," Bernard's father said. "They have so many more choices and decisions."
It's small wonder that Bernard can seem a jumble of moral contradictions. He laughs off looting as harmless "shopping," but shuns alcohol because he says it violates his religious ethics. He's of the opposition Luo tribe and dates a girl of the rival Kikuyu tribe, yet calls Kikuyus "thieves" and betrayed a former high school friend to Luo gangs, who later beat up the youth and burned his house.
His toughest choice came late last month when a gang of enraged youths from his neighborhood asked him to join their revenge squad to kill the first Kikuyu they found. Heart racing, Bernard hesitated for a moment.
"Part of me didn't want to go," he said. "I was afraid of what might happen. But I grabbed my panga [machete] and followed."
Minutes later he would learn just how deep this newfound anger ran.
Bernard's story is just one piece of the puzzle that might explain why Kenya has turned so quickly from an African role model into a cautionary tale. What began as frustration over the disputed Dec. 27 presidential election has uncorked long-standing tensions over ethnicity, poverty, and competition for land and power.
Tribal divisions
Much of the anger has been directed at President Mwai Kibaki's Kikuyu tribe, which has dominated Kenyan politics since independence and enjoyed the fruits of economic expansion. Luos accuse Kikuyus of hoarding money and power. They'd hoped the election of opposition leader Raila Odinga, a Luo, would bring them power, jobs and economic opportunity.
Those hopes collapsed when Kibaki was declared the winner, despite allegations of vote rigging and other election irregularities. Now Kenya's economy is in tatters, the nation's reputation for democratic progress stained.
Bernard's story begins in Kibera, a notorious Nairobi slum populated largely by Luos. Built along a colonial-era railroad line, the impoverished area of the capital counts nearly 1 million people crammed on hilly land.
His family is divided for economic reasons. He lives with his father, a pastor who works as a government clerk, and a sister. For more than a decade, his mother has lived in western Kenya, taking care of four other siblings in school there.
Bernard has enjoyed educational opportunities his parents never had. His father dropped out of high school to help support his family; Bernard attends college part time.
Yet life in the slum is dismal, he said. Lack of toilets means streams of sewage run through dirt trenches and fecal dust in the air causes frequent infections. Crime and muggings are common. Most people are unemployed.
Though Kenya's economy surged 7% last year, there's little evidence of prosperity in Kibera. Fueling ethnic resentment is the fact that most of the shops and homes are owned by Kikuyus.
"They grow up bitter here," said Pastor Andrew Ouma of the African Inland Church. "And a poor man usually thinks he's poor because of the rich man."
Bernard is studying to be a journalist, but remains pessimistic about his job prospects.
"People here have lost hope," he said. "But you can't survive without hope. I'd rather live without food than live without hope."
Much of Kibera's outburst can be attributed to rebellion against long-standing poverty and economic marginalization, experts say.
