A court-ordered destruction of Sh8.2 billion worth of methamphetamine seized off Mombasa has been delayed for weeks. Don Sami Live asks the questions Kenyans deserve answers to.
In May, the Shanzu Law Courts handed down a ruling that should have closed one of Kenya's biggest drug cases with a clean, public ending. Chief Magistrate Anthony Mwicigi ordered the destruction, within 30 days, of over a tonne of methamphetamine seized aboard the Iranian vessel MV Mashallah — narcotics valued at roughly Sh8.2 billion, the second-largest drug haul in Kenya's history.
The court didn't mince words about why the destruction had to happen fast. It found that the sheer value of the consignment created what it called real and proportionate risk: theft, corruption, substitution, or outright disappearance of the exhibits. The ruling specifically flagged the danger that officers guarding the drugs could face inducements compromising their integrity, their welfare, and their professional standing. The destruction was scheduled for June 11, with the process to be carried out at Bamburi Cement and documented through certificates, video, and photographs.
June 11 came and went. The drugs were not destroyed.
Why the Delay?
Instead of compliance, the State went back to court asking for more time. The Anti-Narcotics Unit, through an officer's affidavit, told the court that the destruction of an "unusually large quantity" of methamphetamine required extensive planning, coordination, and logistical arrangements involving multiple agencies — among them the Office of the Director of Public Prosecutions, the Kenya Navy, the National Environment Management Authority, the Asset Recovery Agency, the Government Chemist, and Bamburi Cement.
On paper, that sounds reasonable. Destroying over a tonne of synthetic drugs safely and lawfully is not a simple bonfire. But here's the uncomfortable part: this is exactly the kind of delay the court warned against when it ordered swift destruction in the first place. The longer the consignment sits at the Kenya Navy base in Mtongwe, the longer the exact risks the court tried to eliminate — theft, substitution, cartel interference — remain live.
This Isn't the First Time Part of This Haul Has Gone Missing
Kenyans shouldn't need reminding, but it's worth repeating: part of this same consignment has already been at the center of a separate court case. Former Kenya Defence Forces soldiers and civilians were charged after an alleged internal breach during the original high-seas seizure, with investigators saying officers tasked with securing the haul allegedly diverted a portion before it was formally booked as evidence. Some of those charges involve drug quantities worth tens of millions of shillings, allegedly traced back to this very dhow.
So this is not a haul with a clean chain of custody from the start. It's a haul that has already shown signs of leakage once. That history makes the current delay harder to write off as routine bureaucracy.
The Question Nobody Has Answered
Don Sami Live isn't accusing the Anti-Narcotics Unit, the Kenya Navy, or any individual of wrongdoing. There may be a perfectly mundane explanation — genuine logistical complexity in destroying a tonne of crystalline narcotics safely, with the right environmental and forensic safeguards in place.
But Kenya has a track record that makes silence on this kind of question dangerous. Billions have disappeared from public custody before, often through exactly the kind of "extensive planning" delays that sound technical on paper but create room for something else entirely.
So the question stands, plainly: can anyone independently verify, today, that the full quantity seized back in October is still intact at Mtongwe? Or has the delay in carrying out a court order specifically designed to prevent interference become the very cover under which interference has already happened?
Until that question gets a transparent answer — verified weighing, independent observers, a public account of where things stand — Kenyans are right to keep asking it.