‘You are no longer welcome’: Children banished after reporting sexual violence
In Busia County, efforts are underway to support survivors during and after they receive justice.
What you need to know:
- Two girls from Busia, Mercy and Nanjala, reported sexual abuse only to face rejection from those meant to protect them.
- Their families and communities punished them for pursuing justice, revealing the hidden cruelty survivors endure long after perpetrators are jailed.
The words came without warning.
Mercy* had spotted her father at the safe house gate as she made her way to the shopping centre. She approached him, expecting the usual handshake, the familiar warmth they had always shared. But this morning, just days after a court sentenced her half-brother to life imprisonment for defiling her, her father did not extend his hand. He declined an invitation to step inside, choosing instead to stand beneath a tree in the compound.
When Mercy walked up to him, he delivered the message he had come to give. "Your brother has been imprisoned. You are no longer welcome home anymore. Stay away from us," he said in a stern tone.
He then walked out of the compound, head bowed, never looking back. That was the last time the 12-year-old saw any member of her family.
Mercy's ordeal had begun in 2023. On that fateful evening, she had done what she always did—prepared supper and carried a plate to her 26-year-old half-brother’s hut. He rarely came to the kitchen, so she brought his meals to him. As she laid the food on his table, he closed the door behind her and ordered the then 11-year-old to undress.
“He forcibly undressed and defiled me. He warned that he would harm me if I shared what happened with anyone," Mercy recalls.
But she did not stay silent. She reported the incident to her father. The family sought medical treatment and reported the matter to police. Her half-brother was arrested and held in custody as the case proceeded at a Busia court.
What followed, however, was not the family rallying around their wounded child. It was her world unravelling. Her stepmother, protesting against her son's arrest, threatened to leave the marriage. She issued an ultimatum: the homestead could not contain both her and Mercy. One of them had to go. She wanted the matter resolved at the family level.
“I was temporarily moved to a safe space as the case proceeded,” says Mercy. “Over the following weeks, my family members kept drifting away. It felt like I was alone.”
Earlier this year, the court found her half-brother guilty of sexual assault and sentenced him to life imprisonment. The news did not bring her family closer. Instead, they severed ties completely—a sacrifice, it seemed, to save the marriage.
Even before the judgment, Mercy had sensed that returning home was impossible. “Going back felt scary knowing my stepmother was opposed to our decision to go to court. My mother separated from my father a couple of years ago. Since then, we had been living under the care of my stepmother,” she says.
Today, Mercy remains at the safe house, respecting her father's wishes but struggling to comprehend how her family could turn their backs on her after one of their own had violated her. “I do not regret reporting my brother for defiling me,” she says, fighting back tears. “What if I had kept quiet and he did the same to my younger sisters, or to other girls in the community? I hope my family will one day understand why he was imprisoned.”
Mercy's story is not unique. Across Kenya, child survivors of sexual violence face a cruel paradox: the pursuit of justice often triggers a second wave of punishment—stigma, blame and rejection from the people meant to protect them.
The 2022 Kenya Demographic Health Survey reveals that 13 per cent of women and girls have experienced sexual violence. Bungoma County tops the list with a prevalence of 30 per cent, followed by Murang'a at 24 per cent, Homa Bay at 23 per cent and Embu at 22 per cent. In Busia County, 14.7 per cent of women aged 15 to 49 have experienced sexual violence at least once.
Data from the national hotline in 2021 showed that the majority of incest cases are committed by fathers. Uncles ranked second, followed by stepfathers, cousins and grandfathers. Jean-Paul Murunga, a programmes officer at Equality Now, says that while Kenya has made strides in ensuring perpetrators are brought to book, survivors—particularly girls and women—often face stigma and exclusion from family members, whether the perpetrator is a relative or a stranger.
“In some cases, the community or family changes their perception of the survivor. There is a shift of blame,” he says. “They start asking: Why were you there? Why did you dress in a particular manner? They forget that the community needs to be safe for everyone.”
In a village in Busia, a teenager named Nanjala* knows this blame intimately. At 12, she would join other young girls to collect firewood for an elderly man, in his late 50s, who lived alone. One day, the old man handed her Sh10 and asked her to return the following day—alone.
Mother to the rescue
When she came back with firewood as instructed, he defiled her. He warned her to tell no one. He went on to assault her repeatedly. It was Nanjala's mother who eventually noticed something was wrong. Her daughter's walking style had changed. When she probed, the truth emerged.
“We took her to hospital and later reported the matter to the nearest police station, leading to the arrest of the perpetrator,” the mother recounts.
The community did not welcome the arrest. Villagers felt the man was too old to be imprisoned. Delegation after delegation approached the family, urging them to drop the case. They refused.
In 2023, a Busia court found the elderly man guilty and sentenced him to 20 years in prison. The judgment enraged the community. For two years now, Nanjala and her mother have endured relentless stigma. When they walk through the village, whispers follow. Some villagers brand them wajuaji—Swahili for “know-it-alls”.
“The village girls no longer want to associate with me,” says Nanjala. “I have been branded the girl who 'imprisons the elderly.' Some say I am a cursed child who should not associate with anyone. I have been told that if the old man dies, his blood will be on my head.”
Her mother, in her late 40s, has borne her own share of abuse. “Some villagers questioned why I was quick to arrest an old man. I have endured emotional assault from people who do not hesitate to insult me whenever we meet,” she says. “I was recently taken ill and villagers claimed the ancestors were punishing me for imprisoning a helpless man.”
She pauses, then adds, “My daughter's abuse was not the first. The old man had allegedly assaulted several young girls, but no one was brave enough to report him. If only those cases had been reported earlier, maybe my daughter would never have been defiled.”
Pamela Masakhwi, a senior specialist for global aftercare at the International Justice Mission, says sexual violence affects every aspect of a child's functioning—physical, mental and psychosocial. Survivors are exposed to sexually transmitted infections, genital injuries and, in some cases, hip dislocation. Within family settings, children are often coerced into keeping the abuse secret, which isolates them socially.
“The psychological and emotional impact is the deepest of all, leaving the child traumatised and withdrawn. The survivors no longer feel free to be children or interact with their peers,” she says.
Declining academic performance
Academic performance suffers too. “When handling trauma, the brain can no longer carry out normal functions like decision-making and problem-solving, leading to poor school performance,” Pamela explains.
The treatment Mercy and Nanjala have endured, she warns, is likely to deter other survivors from coming forward. “It makes survivors believe it was wrong to stand up for themselves. It is our role as society to make minors understand that being sexually assaulted was never their fault. The same applies to every survivor of sexual violence.”
In June, the UN expressed concern about how fear and cultural stigma prevent the majority of survivors of conflict-related sexual violence from reporting. Practitioners in the field estimate that for every assault reported in connection with conflict, 10 to 20 cases go undocumented.
Busia Law Courts Chief Magistrate Edna Nyaloti has witnessed this pattern from the bench. Survivors, she says, often face harassment from the moment they decide to report. “Some feel threatened and fail to show up in court. Others are brave enough to report the intimidation and seek witness protection,” she says.
The lack of safe shelters compounds the problem. “Some victims, once they testify in court, end up being treated as outcasts. I once handled a case where a survivor who testified against her father was told she is cursed and will never get married,” Edna recalls. “Imagine a little girl testifying against a close family member. The community tends to view her as one who betrayed them. The caregivers—especially women—are portrayed as people spoiling the family name.”
Justice alone, experts say, is not enough. Pamela notes that while holding a perpetrator accountable is a healing factor for survivors, it is only one of six steps towards holistic recovery. Trauma counselling is essential. “Counselling enables the survivor to process the experience. Without it, the child suppresses the trauma, only for it to resurface when triggered,” she says. “For young girls, future sexual interactions may always trigger memories of violence and affect their relationships.”
Other critical interventions include legal protection, awareness on identifying violence and where to report it, and compensation for survivors. “We have the Victim Protection Act of 2014, but it has yet to be fully operationalised,” Pamela says. “The Act calls for making amends to victims by providing payment or assistance.”
The Act provides for the protection of victims of crime, ensuring their rights, dignity and access to support services including compensation. It established the Victim Protection Board to oversee implementation and advise the government on victim protection matters.
Edna, who previously served as chief legal officer at the Witness Protection Agency, says compensation funds would cover future medical costs, counselling, education fees and economic empowerment for caregivers left in custody of survivors.
“Whenever a father who is the family breadwinner is imprisoned, the family is left destitute. The legal team walks away celebrating justice while the young girl drops out of school for lack of fees,” she says. “Sexual violence cases also tend to drag. For a caregiver who is not formally employed, coming to court means missing work and adding financial burden to the family.”
She adds: “As the government looks into compensating victims of public protests and demonstrations, it is also the right time to advocate for compensation of victims of offences.”
In Busia County, efforts are underway to support survivors during and after they receive justice. Edna says the courts are working with non-governmental organisations to link survivors with counsellors, safe spaces and legal service providers.
Murunga says his organisation has also partnered with community-based organisations to create awareness on sexual violence and establish safe spaces for survivors. Cases of young girls disowned by families after falling victim to sexual violence, he notes, remain common across the country. He calls for intensified awareness campaigns to curb the growing cases.
Pamela offers a final caution: “A community that does not care for its vulnerable members has lost direction. Violence against women and children should never be normalised.”
Back at the safe house, Mercy clings to a fragile hope. She has obeyed her father's command to stay away. But she has not stopped believing that one day, her family will understand. “I hope they will come to see why my brother was imprisoned,” she says.
Until then, she remains where she is—a 12-year-old who did the right thing, and lost her home because of it.
*Names changed to protect the privacy of the minors.
