From child marriage to PhD dreams: The girls breaking traditional marriage barriers
Young women. Cultural traditions that equate menstruation with readiness for marriage are trapping young girls across rural communities.
What you need to know:
- In North-Eastern counties, girls as young as 13 are being forced into marriage through traditions that view menstruation as readiness for wedding.
- Families trade daughters for cattle during droughts and corrupt officials provide fake IDs to enable illegal unions.
- Some brave young women are fighting back, rejecting multiple marriage proposals to pursue university education.
The mathematics lesson was in full swing when the hired vehicle pulled into the school compound. For Halima Dubow*, what seemed like an ordinary morning in Form Three was about to become the day that would define the rest of her life.
It was about 10am when another student came to their class and informed her of her father's presence in the school compound. She excused herself and went out, her mind racing with possibilities—none of them preparing her for what was to come.
Her father alighted from the car and walked with her to the farthest point of the school compound. He did not bother to report his arrival and his mission to the school administration, and all this happened without the teachers' knowledge. The school administration was not even bothered with the arrival of the car in the compound.
"It was at this corner of our school compound that he dropped the bombshell," recalls Halima, who was born in 1999. "He said a man had approached him and he had agreed to marry me off."
The words hung in the air like a death sentence to her dreams.
"It shocked me. I told him off on his face without caring about fatherhood," she says, her voice still carrying the defiance that saved her future that day.
Her father was shocked but was so determined to have her drop out of school and get married. The plan was to have her married over the school holidays that were a week away.
"I could not understand why he chose to come to school instead of waiting for me to get home for holidays," Halima reflects. According to her father, the man was from America and they had agreed that he would pay her school fees.
"I wondered how a married woman could continue with my studies uninterrupted. Marriage was not on my mind at that time."
With quick thinking, Halima deployed her only weapon. "I threatened to report him to the school principal, and this statement helped me win the war. He quickly rushed to the car and signalled the driver to speed off."
Pattern of resistance
Halima's story might have ended there, but in communities where tradition runs deep, one victory rarely means permanent freedom. There was another attempt in 2019 to marry her off, which she rejected.
"I had joined university when a man came wanting to marry me. I rejected again. My father gave up on me but went ahead and married off my sisters," she says.
In 2021, Halima rejected a proposed marriage again to a man, a father of nine back in her village in Ijara.
"I never allowed my father to decide my fate. I wanted to study and attain a PhD. I am now doing my degree in ICT at Garissa University," she says with quiet pride.
Today, the tables have turned. Halima, now employed, sends her father at least Sh10,000 every month for his own use.
"He is proud of me now. He always regrets forcing my sisters out of school to get married. They are divorced and staying with him at home."
Maka Kassim during an interview on July 1, 2025. She says the complex interplay of cultural, social and economic factors to contribute to child marriage menace in Garissa.
Not every girl has Halima's fortune—or her fierce determination. Zamzam* says she was forced out of school by her father while in Class Three.
"My father said he wanted me to look after our goats, yet his plan was to prepare me for marriage when he forced me out of school," she explains.
One evening, she was taken by her auntie to Biliko area in Isiolo from her Habaswein area, only to be left in the hands of an old man.
"That man was much older than my own father. I realised I was married after my aunt left me and that man asked me to sleep in his room."
The marriage was a prison, but Zamzam refused to accept it as her fate. After some time of enduring the hardship and battering by her "husband," she decided to leave the marriage and trekked to Isiolo town.
"I met a woman there who cared to hear my story and offered me a place to sleep. I stayed in Isiolo under the care of a non-governmental organisation until I finished school."
At 13 years old, Bishara* was set for marriage planned by her uncle. Her uncle planned the marriage in exchange for some cows after their family livestock was wiped by the drought.
"I was told we are visiting Garissa town over the school holiday and that my brother was getting married," recalls Bishara. "I was excited. I had a new dress. My aunt took me to a salon for henna painting on my hands. I was just overjoyed."
Together with a relative, she boarded a bus heading to Garissa town for her purported brother's wedding.
"While on the road, I overheard a phone conversation and I realised I was the bride and that there was nothing like my brother's wedding. I cried and felt betrayed."
The intended groom was a 70-year-old man she knew very well.
"The man I was to marry used to come to our home. We are from the same village and he owns livestock. He had given some cows to my father and uncle as the bride price."
Her brother helped her escape before she arrived in Garissa town for marriage.
System's blind spots
According to Benjamin Kinywa, a children's officer in Garissa, these stories represent cases of child marriage in the region that go unnoticed.
"We are dealing with a society that is holding onto culture and religion to suppress the girl-child. It is believed the moment a girl starts experiencing her monthly period then she is ready for marriage," he says.
The challenge is compounded by geography and corruption.
"Most cases happen in rural areas and men prefer getting young girls from these areas for marriage," he explains.
"Lack of knowledge on the rights of a girl-child and the existence of many unprofessional religious leaders are our main challenges. We are cancelling many marriage certificates officiated by religious leaders who conduct Nikah in the rural areas."
The issue of issuance of identification cards to underage girls in the region is among factors fuelling early marriages. "We have cases where underage girls have ID cards courtesy of politicians and when found married, the police have dismissed our cases based on the ID presented," Kinywa says.
The silence surrounding these marriages only breaks when things go wrong. "You will hear of early marriage cases when parties involved disagree on personal issues including dowry or when the couple starts fighting," he says.
On March 22, 2025, the stakes of this cultural battle became tragically clear. Gaala Aden Abdi, 17, a refugee from Dadaab Refugee Camp, was allegedly murdered by her husband as she protested forced marriage at Ademasajida Location in Wajir County.
She had endured 30 days of physical abuse from Mohamed Kassim Tifow, 55, her husband. Tifow and two other people have since been charged with the murder of Gaala at Garissa High Court.
In this landscape of entrenched tradition and systemic failure, women like Maka Kassim are building bridges to freedom. She is the proprietor of Kamuthe Women's Rights Network based in Garissa County with a membership of 2,558 women.
"Child marriage is a long-standing tradition and it is seen as a normal way of life. It is believed that if a girl is getting the first period then she is supposed to be in her own home. In some families, child marriage is a way to preserve family honour, protect girls from premarital relationships, and ensure their virginity," Maka explains.
The group has since started a safe house where victims of child marriage are kept, counselled and integrated back into society. "We have about 20 young girls at our safe house within Garissa where we offer counselling and a home for those rejected by their families."
Operating in a patriarchal society comes with its own challenges. "We are seen as impediments to what many see as family progress. We started this group to allow our girls an opportunity to continue with their education," she says.
Seeds of change
Despite the resistance, progress is measurable. Under Kamuthe Women's Rights Network, several girls rescued from child marriage are back in school across Garissa.
"We have several girls in different schools in Fafi where secondary education is free courtesy of the National Government Constituency Development Fund. Some are expecting whilst others are mothers already."
Sometimes, the solution requires creative family negotiations. "In some instances, the group approaches the girl's mother who accepts to care for her grandchild as the young girl continues with her studies."
The support network extends beyond local communities. "It is not that easy but we are getting support from the national government and non-governmental organisations including ActionAid," Maka notes.
The root of the problem
She cites limited access to education and opportunities, social and family pressures as the main catalysts for child marriage.
"We have cases where families may face social pressure to marry off their daughters at a young age, and girls are encouraged to marry early to avoid being seen as 'old' or 'unmarriageable,'" she explains.
The power imbalance runs deeper than individual families. Maka says power imbalance in society where men wield more decision-making power over women contributes to the practice.
"We are faced with a religious perspective which is always misinterpreted causing more harm to our girls in our region," she says.
*Girls' names changed to protect their identity
