Justice for DJ Astroid: When the Music Stopped but the Lies Got Louder
There is pain in death. That is unavoidable.
But when a young person dies, the pain doesn’t just hurt—it lingers, interrogates you, and refuses to make sense.
This is the story of Vincent Nyaga Nthiga, popularly known as DJ Astroid – The Hype Kid. A story so heartbreaking, so poorly handled, and so suspiciously delayed that it feels less like a tragedy and more like a case study in justice postponed indefinitely.
I first met Astroid back in campus. As a certified ravehead, our paths were destined to cross. Astroid quickly became more than just a DJ I admired—he was a friend. Friendly, humble, full of life, and notably, a man with zero tolerance for violence. Which is why the news of his death didn’t just shock us; it confused us.
Now, let’s be clear.
If this had been a natural death, grief would have been enough. Painful, yes—but understandable.
But no.
Astroid was brutally murdered. And as if that wasn’t tragic enough, what followed was even more disturbing:
the crime scene was “sanitised,” truths were buried, and silence was served hot.
We are now being asked to believe a version of events so fake it deserves quotation marks and a warning label.
Let’s start from the beginning.
On Christmas Day, DJ Astroid was attacked by “unknown individuals.”
Unknown—yes, in quotes. Because if seriousness were applied the way statements are issued, those “unknown” individuals would have names, faces, and addresses by now.
But here we are.
The most controversial chapter in this story is Club Q-West—the very premises where Astroid lost his life.
According to the club’s management, Astroid was merely a guest DJ on that fateful night. Just visiting. Just vibes. No responsibility.
Except that’s not true.
A Christmas Eve poster seen by Meru Daily clearly shows that DJ Astroid was not a guest—he was the host DJ. This single contradiction has left tongues wagging and eyebrows permanently raised. Because when facts start changing, one has to ask: what exactly is being hidden?
Word on the street is that money may have changed hands, vision may have blurred, and suddenly—miraculously—CCTV footage became unavailable. Not lost. Not damaged. Just… unavailable.
One would think cameras also take Christmas holidays.
Even more curious, during Astroid’s final send-off, no one from the club showed up. Not a representative. Not a condolence message. Not even a courtesy wreath. Silence again—expensive silence.
But rest assured, we are not sleeping.
And neither is this story.
DJ Astroid was popular. Very popular.
His burial in Naari Village, Buuri Sub-County, Meru County brought life to a standstill. Local celebrities arrived in numbers. Villagers came out in full force. The entire Meru entertainment industry showed up. Enemies and friends stood side by side.
Even in death, the DJ played his last tune—uniting people who hadn’t spoken in years.
Women at the graveside whispered what everyone was thinking:
“This is not normal.”
And that statement echoed through the entire service louder than any speaker Astroid ever hyped.
Some mourners felt the burial should not have proceeded until justice was served. Others argued that while the system is broken, grief does not wait for institutions to work.
Dj Astroid’s Parents lays wreath to his grave. Photo/Felix Kinyua.
Unlike the usual Gen-Z celebrity burial chaos, this one was different. Disciplined. Quiet. Heavy. The youth mourned peacefully, carrying anger in their hearts and questions in their minds.
From candlelight vigils in Nairobi to Meru—Kwa Fe, Checkmate, and every place Astroid ever made people dance, he was celebrated. A young soul lost far too soon.
His mother was inconsolable. A pain so raw that even the strongest hearts broke at the sight. Tears flowed freely—no filters, no edits.
Davie Devonte, his close friend and look-alike, eulogized him with trembling strength, choosing memories over bitterness.
MC Edu B, a popular entertainer at Meru BVB Club, broke down as he recalled how Astroid introduced him to the Meru entertainment scene.
“The industry feels different without him,” he said—and he was right.
DJ Edu B and Beth give tribute to Dj Astroid. Photo/Felix Kinyua.
Even Dennis Ndegwa, popularly known as Mahu wa Boda, the Makutano boda boda association chairman, remembered Astroid as peaceful, friendly, and genuine—a true friend and loyal customer.
On that day, Makutano and Meru Town went silent. Clubs dimmed their lights. Music volumes went down.
Ironically, it took Astroid’s death for the noise to stop.
DJ Astroid is gone.
But the truth is still missing.
And until justice speaks, the lies will keep getting louder.
Forever in our hearts.
But not forgotten.
Not silenced.
For those who were not there, I leave you with images.
About the Author
Felix Kinyua is a Kenyan blogger and social commentator who uses storytelling, satire, and cultural commentary to spotlight truth, justice, and everyday realities. With a sharp eye for detail and a deep connection to community narratives, he writes to question silence, challenge contradictions, and give voice to stories that refuse to be buried.
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