Three months ago Father Gabriel Dolan was to give a talk on civil rights at a remote Kenyan school. But when his group arrived nobody had turned up - except for 40 riot police who stood nearby, clicking their rifles and swinging their batons. They moved menacingly towards Dolan's group, which included some anti-government MPs.

The priest muttered an order: "All of you, down on your knees" - and then started to pray: "Our Father, Who art in heaven, let us pray for the police. They are our brothers, not our enemies. We know they are not going to beat us. They are poor and exploited like the government, like everybody else. . . And if they go ahead with their strike on December 6th, we will support them."

The police lowered their weapons and let them go.

Another day at the office for Dolan, an outspoken Irish cleric who has won a reputation as one of Kenya's most fearless human-rights campaigners and one of the biggest thorns in the government's side.

Preferring the fax machine to the pulpit, Dolan regularly makes headline news with his reports on violent policemen, corrupt administrators and manipulating politicians. His team of "justice and peace" activists tour rural villages, informing peasants about their most basic rights and giving a voice to the victims of abuse.

"In the past so many abuses were taking place in that area," says Wambui Kimathi of the Kenya Human Rights Commission. "But that is changing slowly because now people know Father Dolan will speak out."

It hasn't made him popular in government quarters. A powerful minister once organised a rally to call for his deportation. Another time he was denounced as an IRA terrorist. The police have followed him and his supporters have been beaten up.

And, when he wants to return home to Ireland - which is only once every two years - he sneaks across the border and catches a plane in a neighbouring country, fearing the authorities at Nairobi might never let him in again. "It's become a game of tricks," says the 46-year-old Fermanagh man. "We hold a meeting, the police break it up, then we run inside the church and keep going. Meanwhile, the police are fuming outside."

But prayer and politics can prove a lethal concoction in Kenya. Last August another outspoken missionary, Father John Kaiser, was found on the side of the road with a large bullet hole in his head. The government claims it was suicide; church activists say it was the government. Many are afraid Dolan is next in line. "We have a certain amount of fear," says his superior, Bishop Maurice Crowley of Kitale, "and I have told him to be careful. I wish he would teach people how to fight their own battles instead of doing it for them."

But Dolan, who speaks fluent Swahili, says it's too late for caution. "The important thing is that people are waking up to their rights. It's too late to stop us now."

LAST YEAR police detained bus conductor Peter Eregai (33) in jail for nine months on suspicion of robbery. "It was really awful," he said. "We were 69 in one room and police would regularly cane people for no reason. We got just half a litre of water to drink every day and they threw our food at us as if we were dogs."

When Justice and Peace co-ordinator David Pkosing intervened, the case collapsed. "It's a common occurrence," he says. "Other times the village chiefs are the offenders, extorting money or having people they don't like locked up. The problem is that people don't know their rights."

There are some signs of change. On a recent tour of the area, President Daniel arap Moi was shocked to be greeted by a crowd waving the two-fingered salute of the opposition. Such insolence was unheard of, particularly in such a government stronghold.

Dolan traces his sharp sense of injustice to a childhood spent in 1960s Northern Ireland. "Threats, harassment and police beatings were everyday events. I suppose we learned to challenge authority and not be afraid of it. We knew the price of apathy and silence."

Kenya is at its lowest ebb since independence. The economy is crumbling and political instability is rising in advance of elections next year. It could get rough, particularly if Moi tries to stand for election again, as he has recently hinted.

But Dolan says there's no pulling back now. "I'm sure some people would like to see me gone. And I'm no hero; I know when it's time to run. But that fear won't stop me doing what is right. I feel that this is my route in life and I have to follow it."