Disclaimer:

This post has been written to describe in detail the events and emotions that arose from the terror attack at Dusit D2 hotel in Nairobi, Kenya in January 15th, 2019. All events in this post are from my point of view.

I have changed names and remained somewhat vague for the privacy of those involved. I do not comply to any publication of this story, or the events described in this story.

Should there be a desire or need to learn more please comment on the post with your contact information.

January 15, 2019.

At 15:50 on Tuesday, January 15th I received a message from a friend in the US Embassy that read:

THIS IS NOT A DRILL. There are reports of gunfire and explosions in the vicinity of the Dusit II Hotel (14 Riverside Drive). Avoid the area and move to or remain in known safe areas until further notice. THIS IS NOT A DRILL.

In a lazy disbelief, my mind slowly wandered to the people I knew who worked closer, who may be more affected.

At 15:59 I sent the same message to three people working in one of the office buildings:

Are you okay? What’s going on? I’ve heard there are explosions and gunshots. Can you check in when you get a chance?

I then dove into a barrage of messages across our Nairobi WhatsApp groups with links to live feed, pictures, and short snippets of information. My heart sunk. This was beginning to feel real.

Now paralyzed by fear and insufficient information I started actively pulling up YouTube, Twitter, and local live streams to understand what was going on. I watched live as security forces in front of the Dusit, down the road from my office we’re aggressively evacuating buildings. People fled the hotel in a hurried manner. My eyes were glued to the screen looking for faces I might know. I sent messages to everyone and anyone who may know something. For almost two hours I received nothing.

At 17:38 my boss offered to caravan home with me to make sure I reached safely. The Dusit hotel is less than one mile from my office. Adrenaline high, I got on my motorcycle to ride home. We took the long route home, roads now full of cars and traffic police directing terrified citizens through the city to alternate paths. I talked to myself,

Focus, focus, focus.

As I made the turn into the edge of my neighborhood i decided to stop by Jason’s apartment. Upon parking looked at my phone. I’d received hundreds of messages in just 35 minutes. I received confirmation that my other two friends had been safely accounted for. Priscilla was not in the country, and Adrian had just been evacuated from the building. I entered the compound, and threw my helmet on the ground.

At this time, 18:15, the attack was still live with smoke, special forces, and rapid fire gun shots. You could hear it within a 1-mile radius. I ran to Jason’s apartment and found a note from another friend requesting the reader make contact. I called. Stacey picked up the phone and told me we would be reporting Jason as missing to the US Embassy. My body turned to mush covered in goosebumps, and then with all my strength, I felt a renewed surge of determination to continue searching.

I finally reached home at 18:49. what would normally take me 5 minutes, took 1 hour with frantic traffic. As I arrived I called Adrian to make sure she had left the site and was on her way home. She was. I bought a pack of cigarettes and began chain smoking. Waiting for news, waiting for Adrian, waiting for Jason.

Adrian arrived and rehashed her experience in the building. I almost couldn’t listen. The threat was ongoing. We could hear shots and explosions from our balcony. Adrian and I started reviewing all significant details and information about Jason. I called friends from the embassy, the government, and anyone I could think of sharing photos of Jason.

At 20:20 I received a link and a question from Alan.

Is that a surface book?

I replied,

Why? Fuck.

Jason owned a Surface Pro. The link lead to an article displaying an inappropriate picture of the aftermath of an explosion within the Dusit D2 hotel at the Secret Garden Cafe. It showed clearly two deceased victims, still and slumped, over their belongings. The victim closest to the camera had a Microsoft Surface Pro, a wallet, and a phone.

I showed the photo to Adrian, a friend and colleague of Jason – someone who had spent his last known and accounted for moments with him. Without breathing I asked her,

Is it him?

Her voice was soundless and her face went white. She gasped, and nodded a confirmation. She quickly turned to catch me as my mind and body went into complete shock. I lost the ability to hold myself up. I collapsed over the kitchen counter in a heap of sobs, I almost vomited. When I tried to collect myself my heart felt as though it may break through my chest.

The next hours were spent in fierce denial. Priscilla called from the US sharing that Jason had checked in with the Police. I couldn’t shake my confidence that it was Jason in the image I had seen. I couldn’t believe any information until it came from someone I knew, someone who knew Jason. We debated each physical detail of the photo stubbornly attesting that it could be Jason. I prayed, for the first time in 10 years.

Adrian and I, failing to be patient, started touring all the hospitals in Nairobi. We called an UBER and went emergency room to emergency room with several pictures of Jason. We snuck by security and walked into patients rooms to try and identify him. Then we arrived at Aga Khan University Hospital, where Jason’s best friend, Fallon, has been admitted separately before the attack. We moved through security and walked towards the elevator. Just then, Adrian received a call from Priscilla.

January 16, 2019

At 12:31 I stood motionless as I read the expression on Adrian’s face go from rushed hope to depressed acceptance. An exhale of defeat. When she hung up the phone, she looked at me and said,

Jason’s dad just received a call from the US Embassy confirming that Jason’s body has been identified.

I immediately went numb. Adrian and i slowly and intentionally moved into an empty hug that felt like it lasted forever. There just wasn’t any humanly way to describe what went through our minds and bodies. I gave Adrian a grave look and knew in that moment we’d have to tell Fallon.

We got in the elevator and reached room 242. When we entered, Fallon was pacing. He was in good spirits, adamantly denying that Jason could be hurt. Stating fact after fact that the person in the photo was not him.

After he finished, I lowered my voice, asked him to sit down, and dictated the message we had received from Priscilla. Without hesitation he said,

I know what you’ve heard, Geoff told me too. But it’s simply not him. It’s just not him.

His confidence gave me a completely false sense of security. As though everyone in the world was a complete moron, and we knew better. It felt good, it felt powerful. But it also felt completely unsubstantiated.

I reached out to Mack, a friend of mine who was volunteering for the Red Cross at the scene. We had been messaging back and forth most of the night trying to share information and locate Jason. He had known Jason personally and was tirelessly searching for him among body bags while still evacuating hysterical hostages.

At 1:22 he called me over WhatsApp. I answered hopeful. And then he told me he’d been to the morgue. I put him on speaker:

It’s him, it’s definitely him.

As if it were the first time I’d received the news, I fell apart all over again. I guided Fallon to the bed, as he collapsed sobbing. This time, it was real.

At 1:28 the remaining friends who had been tracking Jason, entered Fallon’s room in the hospital. We cried, we screamed, we held each other. We sobbed in disbelief.