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.
