Police quell chaos when some members of the public attempted to disrupt Deputy President William Ruto’s political rally at Itibo, Bobasi in Kisii on December 8, 2021.
For decades, the image of a political goon in Kenya was easy to sketch. It was a male, young, angry, unemployed, clad in a cheap party T-shirt and clutching a stone. He would be seen at political rallies blocking roads and shouting down opponents before melting away as soon as the police arrived.
Women were there too, ululating, dancing and carrying placards. But they were rarely the ones to throw the first punch.
That script, however, is changing rapidly in Kisii, where women are increasingly becoming part of the political goons equation, a trend that should concern everyone.
From the 1992 ethnic clashes to the 2007 post-election violence, reports by human rights watchdogs painted the same picture of political violence was deeply gendered. Men fought while women fled for fear of their lives.
Kisii town residents protest after former Interior CS Fred Matiang'i presented himself at DCI headquarters for questioning on March 7, 2023.
The logic was as brutal as it was simple where politicians recruited young men because violence demanded physical force. A goon had to intimidate, assault rivals and at times, kill. For many years, society assumed women either could not or would not play such roles.
In Kisii, even the infamous Chinkororo and Amachuma gangs of the 1990s were exclusively male. When politicians wanted a rally disrupted or a market burnt, they sent the young men. Afterwards, women cooked for them.
Today, that distinction has blurred. In Kisii, a woman wrapped in a leso is now just as likely to spark a confrontation at a political rally as a man wearing a reflector jacket.
Groups such as Ebirongo in Nyaribari Chache illustrate this transformation.
In Ekegusii, Ebirongo means porcupines, a name that conjures an animal renowned for its defensive quills and fierce resilience when threatened.
The group began as a youth mobilisation outfit composed mainly of young men working for local politicians. Their assignment was to generate crowds and create political excitement. But after the 2022 General Election, Ebirongo introduced a women's wing.
On paper and officially, it was formed to promote women's empowerment. On the ground, however, members say its role evolved into something very different.
Chaos at Linda Mwananchi rally
Last Friday last week, the group allegedly attacked a Linda Mwananchi convoy in Keumbu, Nyaribari Chache Constituency, as it travelled to Keroka for its final stop.
As the Linda Mwananchi motorcade entered the bustling town, Ebirongo members allegedly pelted the convoy with stones while wielding batons and singing war songs.
The violence claimed one life and left several vehicles damaged, including that of former Chief Justice David Maraga, who had joined the Linda Mwananchi tour in Kisii led by Nairobi Senator Edwin Sifuna. Videos circulating online purport to show women carrying batons and chasing away supporters.
By Monday morning, six women and one man had been arrested. Summonses had also been issued to the Nyaribari Chache MP Zaheer Jhanda requiring him to appear before the Directorate of Criminal Investigations (DCI) in Kisii to record a statement after he was allegedly linked to the chaos.
Witnesses at recent political campaigns in Kisii Town describe a familiar pattern. Men blocked roads while women infiltrated rival camps, identified vocal supporters and initiated verbal confrontations. If a man retaliated against a woman, male members would quickly intervene to defend their Ebirongocounterparts.
Nyaribari Chache MP Zaheer Jhanda.
Like porcupines, they move together, bristling at perceived threats and becoming dangerous when cornered.
“Nilijiunga na Ebirongo Januari. Waliniambia ni kazi ya kusupport mheshimiwa. Lakini ukifika ground unaambiwa, 'Zuia huyu asiongee.' Ukikataa, kesho hupati chochote. Mimi nina familia. Elfu moja kwa siku ni pesa ( I joined Ebirongo in January. They told me the job was about supporting the honorable. But once you get to the ground, you are told, 'Stop this person from speaking'. If you refuse, you get nothing the next day. I have a family. Sh1,000 a day is good money,” says a 31-year-old widow from Gianchere, who requested anonymity because of the sensitivity of the matter.
The irony of Keumbu is striking. In Ekegusii, Keumbu literally means blessings. The name comes from ekeumbu, referring to places where wild mushrooms flourished after the rains, a symbol of fertility and good fortune.
The town is also renowned for its sugarcane and bananas sold along the Kisii-Keroka road. Today, with Ebirongo reportedly headquartered there, many residents fear that reputation has been tarnished.
Following Friday's alleged disruption, the backlash was swift. Some Kenyans on X threatened to boycott sugarcane and bananas from Keumbu, saying they would not buy produce from a place associated with political violence.
So, what is driving these women into such activities?
According to members of the group, desperation has become their greatest recruiter. The harsh realities of the economy have hit them just as hard as any other Kenyan.
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Unemployment in Kisii, as elsewhere across the country, has become gender-neutral. A 25-year-old woman holding a diploma but unable to find work is every bit as desperate as her male classmate. When a politician offers Sh1,000 to create disruption at a rival's rally, hunger does not ask whether one is male or female.
“Nilikuwa nimekaa nyumbani miezi sita bila kazi. Nilisoma hadi diploma ya catering. Siku moja mama mmoja akanipigia simu. Akasema kuna kazi ya kupiga kelele kwa mkutano. Sh1,500. Nilivaa leso, nikaenda. Sasa kila wiki mimi naitwa. Sio kwamba napenda. Lakini njaa haina aibu (I had stayed at home for six months without work. I studied up to diploma level in catering. One day, a woman called me and said there was a heckling job at a political rally for Sh1,500. I wrapped myself in a leso and went. Now I am called every week. It's not because I enjoy it. But hunger knows no shame),"says another Ebirongo member from Bobaracho.
Another reason members cite is what they describe as the camouflage advantage. They argue that both the police and the public still largely associate political goons with men.
A group of women dressed in lesos can walk into a rival rally singing, move close to the podium and trigger chaos before anyone becomes suspicious. Politicians noticed this. During the 2022 campaigns, several campaign managers in Nyaribari and Bonchari constituencies reportedly admitted off the record that women were less likely to be arrested quickly, prompting greater reliance on them.
"Askari hawatushiki haraka. Wanasema tunapigania mgombea wetu. Wanaume wakipigana wanapigwa teargas. Sisi tukiimba na kutukana, watu wanacheka tu hadi mambo yaharibike," says another 31-year-old Ebirongo member from Matibo village.
"Police do not arrest us quickly. They assume we are simply supporting our candidate. When men fight, they are tear-gassed. When we sing and hurl insults, people simply laugh until things spiral out of control."
Vincent Osiemo a.k.a Mapinduzi, a passionate young democracy advocate and cameraman, died from severe head injuries after falling from a speeding SUV that was trying to escape a organised hail of stones hurled by suspected hired political goons in Keumbu during the Linda Mwanachi rally.
The third factor, members say, is what they describe as the economy of insults. In Kisii culture, an insult delivered by a woman often carries greater weight. Abuse from a male goon is expected. But when a woman in her 40s publicly calls someone useless before their supporters, the humiliation cuts deeper.
Politicians, they argue, turned that cultural reality into a political weapon. Female mobilisers were trained not only to chant slogans but also to provoke, shame and trigger reactions. Once tempers flared, the male goons would move in to finish the job.
Women are often the social glue that binds chamas, churches and marketplaces together. When that same woman is seen in a video slapping a rival political agent, public trust begins to unravel.
Now even Keumbu's economy is feeling the strain.
Alice Kemunto, a trader in Keumbu, laments: "Jina letu lilikuwa baraka. Sasa limekuwa laana kwa biashara.""Our name was once a blessing. Now it has become a curse for business."
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