For nearly two years, Kenyans have known him simply as "Mr Speaker Sir."

The young man who stood inside Parliament during the historic Occupy Parliament protests of June 25, 2024, shouting defiant words that would become part of Kenya's political folklore, became one of the most recognizable faces of the Gen Z movement.

But after that moment, he disappeared.

Now, speaking publicly for the first time in an emotional interview on Obinna TV, Ezekiel has broken his silence, offering an intimate account of the day that changed his life, the months he spent away from public view, and why he believes Kenya's youth still have unfinished business.

His story begins not inside Parliament but in Kitengela.

Like thousands of young Kenyans angered by the controversial Finance Bill 2024, Ezekiel had followed the growing online conversations questioning the government's taxation proposals. A student of Business Economics at Kenyatta University, he says his academic background made him curious about the potential impact of the bill on ordinary citizens.

"I wanted to understand how it would affect wananchi," he explained.

As demonstrations intensified across the country, Ezekiel found himself joining fellow protesters in Nairobi. What started as occasional participation soon became a commitment.

By the fourth round of demonstrations, he had already made up his mind.

The night before the now-famous protest, he printed a T-shirt bearing a simple but powerful message: "Occupy Parliament."

Unlike many protesters carrying signs calling for the rejection of the Finance Bill, Ezekiel says he wanted his message to reflect a specific objective.

For him and many others, Parliament had become the symbol of a political system that was no longer listening.

On the morning of June 25, he left Kitengela with his brother Josh and headed into Nairobi before sunrise, navigating roadblocks that had been established around the city.

By 9 a.m., thousands of demonstrators had already gathered.

The atmosphere was tense.

Teargas canisters exploded near crowds. Water cannons rolled through the streets. Yet the demonstrators continued advancing.

At one point, Josh decided to return home.

Ezekiel chose to stay.

"I had already decided that if that was the day, then it was the day," he recalled.

What followed would become one of the most dramatic moments in Kenya's recent political history.

As crowds converged around Parliament, protesters eventually breached security barriers and entered the parliamentary precincts.

Inside, Ezekiel says, there was no grand plan beyond symbolic occupation.

The intention, he insists, was not destruction but a statement.

"We wanted to occupy that place because those people had failed us," he said.

The image of him standing confidently in Parliament chambers, addressing "Mr Speaker Sir" while declaring that young Kenyans would not leave, quickly spread across social media platforms.

Almost overnight, he became the face of a generation demanding accountability.

But the experience inside Parliament was not what many imagined.

Ezekiel describes moments of confusion, tension and even humanity.

One of the stories he shared involved helping a nominated Member of Parliament who uses a wheelchair leave the building safely after many lawmakers had already fled.

According to Ezekiel, protesters ensured the legislator exited unharmed despite the chaotic circumstances.

For him, it was evidence that the demonstrators were not the violent criminals some later portrayed them to be.

"We helped him get out safely," he said.

As security forces responded and the military was deployed, the atmosphere changed dramatically.

Reports of deaths, injuries and arrests began emerging from different parts of Nairobi.

Friends and fellow protesters disappeared.

Some were arrested.

Others were reportedly abducted.

The reality of what had happened started to sink in.

Still, Ezekiel remained in the city until evening before beginning a difficult journey back to Kitengela.

What he encountered there shocked him.

Protests had spread beyond Nairobi's city centre.

Roads were blocked. Fires burned in some areas. Gunshots echoed in the distance.

Reaching home required navigating back routes, railway corridors and informal footpaths.

By the time he arrived, he discovered something unexpected.

He had become famous.

A two-minute video recorded inside Parliament had gone viral.

His social media following had exploded.

Friends informed him he was the number one trending topic in the country.

Yet fame quickly gave way to fear.

As stories circulated about arrests and alleged abductions of activists, Ezekiel decided to disappear.

He switched off his phone.

Soon afterwards, he says, warnings reached him that he could be targeted.

Within days, he left home.

Then he vanished.

For almost a year, he remained out of public view.

He cut communication channels, discarded his SIM card and moved between locations.

The period became one of reflection and reinvention.

Rather than retreating entirely, he spent much of his time studying, taking online courses and developing new skills.

"It was a needed break," he reflected.

Yet the decision came at a personal cost.

Relationships suffered.

Friends lost contact with him.

Even those closest to him often did not know where he was.

His eventual return, he says, was driven by a simple realization.

"You should not be a slave in your own country."

When he finally emerged publicly again, it was alongside Nairobi Governor Johnson Sakaja's political rival and former presidential candidate Babu Owino, a leader Ezekiel openly admires and says inspired his interest in politics.

Today, the once anonymous student has ambitions that extend beyond activism.

He speaks openly about leadership and his desire to help transform Kenya.

His concerns remain largely the same as those that drove him onto the streets in 2024: government accountability, prudent use of taxes, youth unemployment, education and healthcare.

For Ezekiel, the Occupy Parliament movement was never just about a finance bill.

It was about demanding a government that listens.

Two years later, he remains convinced that the sacrifices made by young Kenyans have not been adequately recognized.

He remembers those who died.

He remembers those who disappeared.

And he believes their stories should not be forgotten.

Whether history ultimately views him as a protester, activist or future politician remains to be seen.

But one thing is certain.

The young man who once stood inside Parliament shouting "Mr Speaker Sir" is no longer simply a viral internet sensation.

He has become a symbol of a generation determined to claim its place in Kenya's future.