When Kenyans voted for a new Constitution in August 2010 overwhelmingly, the air was thick with hope.
The document promised a new political order: devolved government, greater accountability, and a Bill of Rights that recognised equality not as a slogan, but as a binding principle.
Among the offices born of that moment was one that did not exist in Kenya’s political vocabulary — that of Woman Representative.
The seat was conceived as an answer to a stubborn reality. For decades, women’s representation in Parliament had been abysmally low, hovering at just over seven per cent before 2010.
The new Constitution’s architects, aware of the entrenched barriers women faced in elections, wrote into law a radical corrective: every county would elect a Woman Representative to the National Assembly. It was a way of ensuring that at least 47 women, one from each county, would have a place at the national table.
“The idea was to guarantee that every county had at least one woman in Parliament. It was a constitutional lever to correct a systemic imbalance,” Prof Karuti Kanyinga of the Institute for Development Studies at the University of Nairobi, has previously noted.
Article 97(1)(b) of the Constitution enshrined the position, alongside the broader two-thirds gender rule in Article 27(8), which requires that no more than two-thirds of the members of any elective or appointive body be of the same gender.
The first election under the new dispensation, in 2013, saw the share of women in the National Assembly jump to over 19 per cent.
Yet from its inception, the position has been viewed through lenses of constitutional idealism and political scepticism. Its holders are full Members of Parliament, empowered to debate and vote on legislation, bring motions, and sit on committees. But the public perception has often been narrower.
Many voters see them as champions only for “women’s issues” or as politicians without a serious development budget, a view reinforced by the fact that, unlike MPs with constituencies, Woman Representatives do not control the National Government Constituency Development Fund.
They can tap into the Affirmative Action Social Development Fund, which is far smaller in size.
Former Deputy Chief Justice Nancy Baraza, who also served on the Committee of Experts that drafted the Constitution, asserts that, “the seat was never meant to be decorative but is a full legislative position.”
National Assembly Speaker Moses Wetang’ula thinks Kenya missed a chance to review the position and especially the place of the sunset clause of 20 years.
“During the (2005 Constitution making) Bomas process, the 47 women affirmative seats were meant to last 20 years because affirmative action is never forever, it’s a period where you pick a disadvantaged group or individual give them an opportunity to a level where they can now fight on their own,” Mr Wetang’ula said.
“Somewhere when the Bill went for printing, somebody edited the Constitution and mischievously removed the sunset clause on the affirmative action seats. But now we are here and it is indefinite,” he added.
In Vihiga County, a secondary school teacher recently confessed that she is not sure who her Woman Representative is.
“I don’t even know who my Woman Representative is, or what she does,” the teacher said.
A fellow resident, a security officer, was more forgiving but equally blunt: “I know my Woman Representative is Beatrice Adagala, but I can hardly pinpoint what her impact has been.”
In Kiambu, Jane Njoki, a shop owner, admitted that she thought the Woman Representative was “like an MP but with less money.
In Mombasa, a women’s group leader had nothing but praise for the county MP: “Zamam Mohammed is passionate about girl child empowerment.”
On the other hand, Nyandarua Woman Representative Wanjiku Muhia is credited for pushing for mandatory sign language interpretation on Kenyan television.
In Homa Bay, Dr Joyce Atieno Bensuda has a 10-point agenda. She is passionate about environmental conservation and tree planting.
In Nakuru, a youth activist said that “if our Woman Representative isn’t visible, we assume she’s not making a difference,” though he quickly added that when they do show up with bursaries, mentorship, or advocacy “the impact is real.”
In Mombasa County, a women’s group leader had nothing but praise: “Zamam Mohammed is passionate about girl child empowerment.
She has worked tirelessly through the corridors of courts fighting Gender Based Violence, forced marriages, rape cases and many vices against girl child and even established a Gender Based Violence Centre in Mombasa to rescue both male and female victims.”
Those contrasting views reflect a deeper truth. The office has been what each holder makes of it. Some have been content to occupy space; others have built legacies.
In Nyeri, Rahab Mukami’s “Maendeleo Mashinani” programme has channeled bursaries to needy students, provided toolkits for women and youth groups, and supported housing for vulnerable families.
Nyeri Jubilee Party County Woman Representative candidate Ms Rahab Mukami at a past event. She has challenged fellow politicians to uplift the living standards of the youth by investing in income generating projects. PHOTO | JOSEPH KANYI | NATION MEDIA GROUP
In Busia, Catherine Omanyo’s work spans a tuition-free school she founded years before entering politics to a county-wide sanitary pad distribution fund worth Sh10 million.
Former Nyandarua Woman Representative Wanjiku Muhia successfully pushed for mandatory sign language interpretation on Kenyan television, a legislative change benefiting millions of deaf viewers.
Grace Kiptui, Baringo’s first Woman Representative, became a national voice against female genital mutilation while running anti-jigger campaigns in her county.
These examples highlight the unevenness of the Woman Representative Position and the difficulty of sustaining county-wide visibility with a limited budget. It is a structural weakness the role has carried since birth.
The Affirmative Action Fund, under the Public Finance Management Act, is spread thin, financing women and youth groups, bursaries, and social development initiatives. Many women representatives rely on partnerships, lobbying ministries, and creatively pooling resources to make things happen.
Two of the current officeholders illustrate both the potential and the limitations. In Kirinyaga County, Njeri Maina has become known for her Tupange Kesho initiative, which offers scholarships, mental health support, mentorship, and economic empowerment to hundreds of young people.
She bristles at the notion that women representatives are lesser legislators. “Under the Constitution, I’m just an MP,” she says. “I can bring bills, motions, and oversight from any portfolio. It’s not a ‘women’s seat’.”
In Homa Bay, Dr Joyce Atieno Bensuda, known by her Luo nickname Opug Nyasungu, the “English tortoise,” for her steady, deliberate style, had a ten-point agenda ready before she even took office.
Homa Bay Woman Representative Joyce Atieno Bensuda Osogo. She is serving her first term in Parliament.
Photo credit: Photo I Pool
Her programmes have ranged from environmental conservation, with tree planting in every public school, to reviving boreholes and distributing large-capacity water tanks, to her Mama County Back to School Programme for vulnerable students.
“I consciously ran county-wide, not just a constituency,” she says. “My role is vision-driven, not a consolation prize.”
Despite notable achievements, the calls for abolition of the position have grown louder in some quarters.
Critics argue that the seat has outlived its purpose, that women should compete for open seats on equal terms, and that the funds allocated to Woman Representatives would be better spent strengthening devolution at the ward or constituency level.
Supporters counter that Kenya has yet to meet the two-thirds gender threshold in any elected house, and that scrapping the position now would undo much of the progress made since 2010.
Across Africa, countries that have adopted gender quotas have faced similar tensions: how to balance affirmative action with the principle of electoral competition, and how to ensure that quota seats are not restricted into political irrelevance.
“In Kenya’s case, the answer may lie not in abolishing the Woman Representative seat, but in evolving it: increasing its budget, clarifying its mandate to the public, and strengthening civic education so that voters know what to expect,” the Kirinyaga Woman Representatives says.
