The lake is silent, but the questions are screaming. Exactly one year after fisherman Brian Odhiambo vanished into the murky custody of Kenya Wildlife Service (KWS) officers at Lake Nakuru National Park, his family remains trapped in a suffocating limbo, oscillating between hope and grief.

On January 18, 2025, Brian Odhiambo, a 33-year-old fisherman, was allegedly intercepted by KWS rangers while on a fishing expedition. Witnesses claim he was detained for trespassing into the protected park waters. That was the last time anyone saw him alive. For 365 days, his mother, Elizabeth Auma, has stared at her phone, waiting for a call that never comes.

"They Dragged Him Away"

"I just want to know if my son is dead or alive," Auma told the press, her eyes hollowed by a year of sleepless nights. "If he is dead, give me his body so I can bury him. If he is in jail, tell me which one."

Investigations by the Directorate of Criminal Investigations (DCI) paint a disturbing picture. Detectives established that Odhiambo was indeed apprehended by KWS officers. Yet, there is no booking record at any police station in Nakuru. No court appearance. No file. He was simply erased. The official KWS stance has been a wall of silence, a tactic that has fueled speculation of extrajudicial action in the park’s restricted zones.

A Pattern of Disappearance?

Brian’s case is not an isolated incident. Fishing communities around Lake Nakuru and Lake Naivasha have long complained of the "militarization" of conservation. While poaching is a serious crime, the mandate of rangers is to arrest and prosecute, not to disappear suspects.

• The Legal Black Hole: Human rights groups in Nakuru argue that the lack of a paper trail suggests a cover-up. "You cannot arrest a man in broad daylight and then claim he vanished into thin air," said a local activist. "The park has gates. It has logs. Where is Brian?"
• The Mother's Burden: For Elizabeth Auma, the anniversary is not a milestone but a fresh wound. She has visited every mortuary from Nakuru to Gilgil, turning over bodies of unknown men, praying that none of them is her son, yet terrifyingly wishing for closure.

As the family marks this grim anniversary, the silence from the Ministry of Tourism and Wildlife is deafening. Brian Odhiambo may have been a simple fisherman to the state, but to his community, he is a son, a friend, and a citizen whose constitutional right to life—or at least a trial—was stripped away in the shadows of a national park.