In 2015, a photo showing Lilian Kimemia in a non-pleated dress sparked backlash. Lilian, popularly known as Karima, was in her late 20s then.
Church leaders summoned her, her friends and their parents. They apologised for breaking the Akorino dress code rules, but the experience left her disillusioned.
Growing up, just like the many Akorino women and girls, Lilian wore long-pleated dresses and headscarves. But when she was questioned for dropping the long-pleated dress, resentment kicked in.
“It made me resent the faith,” she says, citing hypocrisy and harsh judgment.
Lilian resolved never to force her children to wear a turban. She got married in 2018 and welcomed her first child in 2020. Her career as an emcee grew steadily, eventually landing her work on the radio.
In 2022, she reached a turning point.
“I was tired,” she says. “The attention, the constant judgement, it became too much.”
After testing reactions with jokes, she made her decision.
Lilian Kimemia, who is popularly known as Karima.
On April 30, 2025, she told her mother she would stop wearing the turban. Her mother replied that what mattered most was salvation.
On May 1, 2025, Lilian took off her turban and braided her hair. Though she felt exposed at first, the feeling soon gave way to freedom.
From a young age, the 32-year-old and the third-born in a family of five, says all the children followed the faith’s rules without question.
At Parklands Primary School, which accommodated children from diverse religious backgrounds, she blended in effortlessly.
However, when she transferred to Ndurarua Primary School in Class Six, her turban became a defining marker of difference.
“On our first day, students climbed onto desks and chairs just to look at us,” she says.
At the time, Akorino followers were often stereotyped as unkempt, yet Lilian and her siblings were always neat. Though the attention felt strange, she remembers laughing about it later with her parents.
As she grew older, Lilian began questioning her identity within the faith, particularly because of its many unspoken restrictions.
“We weren’t given a list of rules,” she says. “We just knew we couldn’t pierce our ears, start dating, wear nail polish or clothes without pleats.”
Lilian Kimemia, popularly known as Karima, with a turban.
Photo credit: Pool
One moment stayed with her. While walking to church, her brothers asked her to tell their mother that they would remove their turbans when they grew up. Her mother replied calmly that it was their choice, though it would make her sad. Lilian was weighed down by guilt.
It was not until Lilian joined secondary school that the reality of being different truly settled in. Growing up in a close-knit Akorino community, she had never felt isolated before.
“I didn’t understand why no one wanted to talk to me,” she says. “But there was this feeling that if you talked to me, I’d only talk about church.”
Honest conversation with God
At school, the turban continued to shape her social experiences. Throughout high school, Lilian bonded easily with girls but used humour and exaggeration to protect her boundaries. She told classmates that touching her hair could cause blindness or twisted fingers.
She only realised how effective the stories were when she once needed help combing her hair—everyone refused. Eventually, one girl agreed, and they did it secretly in the dark.
Visits to the salon were rare and always discreet. Lilian was deeply uncomfortable without her turban and constantly feared it slipping off in public.
After high school, Lilian joined a travelling drama group performing set books. Some roles required her to remove the turban or wear trousers, which shocked audiences and raised questions about her faith.
Lilian Kimemia, popularly known as Karima, after she stopped wearing a turban.
Photo credit: Pool
In 2012, she and her siblings formed a dance group that performed on television and at major events. While they gained visibility, they also faced criticism from church members who viewed dancing—especially alongside men—as inappropriate.
Before joining university, Lilian and her sister asked their mother if they could stop wearing pleated dresses. She agreed, provided they bought their own clothes. Still, university life was isolating.
“I avoided interactions,” Lilian recalls. “I would sit alone in the mess [dining hall], not talking to anyone.”
That same year, she began dating a family friend but kept the relationship secret out of fear. When her mother eventually found out, she accepted it calmly.
“I don’t think I’d want to go back,” she says.
Her faith, she insists, remains intact.
While some still judge her, Lilian has made peace with the change.
“People were attached to the turban, but those who truly love you stay.”
To others struggling with similar choices, her advice is simple: “Have an honest conversation with God. When you understand who you are and what you are called to do, the decision becomes clear.”
