Inside the painful world of childless women and the bill that could end their pain
A childless woman. Such women's struggle has found a voice in Parliament through MP Millie Odhiambo, who is pushing for the Assisted Reproductive Technology Bill 2022 to help women access fertility treatments.
What you need to know:
Many childless women face intense stigma and discrimination from their families and communities, with some sharing heart-wrenching stories of isolation, pressure for their husbands to marry second wives, and cruel accusations from neighbours.
The struggle has found a voice in Parliament through Suba North MP Millie Odhiambo, who has openly shared her own experience of childlessness while pushing for the Assisted Reproductive Technology Bill 2022 to help women access fertility treatments.
The chatter of women and children fills the compound as another family gathering begins at the homestead in Kochia, Rangwe. Velma* takes her usual place on a wooden stool in the corner of her mother-in-law's house, away from the bustle of activity.
At 34, these holiday reunions have become a source of quiet torment. Each time she makes the journey from her house in Shauri Yako in Homa Bay Town to be with the extended family, she feels the familiar knot of anxiety tightening in her stomach.
From her corner, she watches as relatives gather in small groups under the shade of mango trees, their voices dropping whenever they glance her way. The aroma of cooking fires mingles with the dust of the compound, where children chase each other in endless games.
"I am barren, and it is something that bothers me a lot", she says, her voice barely above a whisper.
"When at home, my relatives would introduce their children to the family. I, on the other hand, would just sit in a corner with no one by my side".
Every burst of children's laughter from the compound becomes a reminder of what she cannot have.
Velma's story echoes the silent struggles of countless women across Kenya who find themselves caught between modern medical realities and deeply rooted cultural expectations. The sterile corridors of countless medical facilities have become all too familiar.
"I have conducted tests in a bid to identify the root cause of my problem. No one seems to understand what ails me", she explains, watching as young mothers nearby tend to their children.
The pressure has begun to tear at the fabric of her marriage, creating deep fissures in what was once a solid relationship. Her husband, feeling the weight of family expectations, speaks with resignation: "I cannot put pressure on my wife to have children when it is something she cannot do", he says.
"I will just have to look for another woman to ease the burden on her".
In the village of Kanyaluo, Rachuonyo North, 35-year-old Mary's* story unfolds with similar anguish. For 12 years of marriage, she has walked the corridors of various hospitals, seeking answers from different gynaecologists. The journey has been long and costly, draining both her hopes and resources.
A childhood illness, she believes, may have affected her reproductive system. The daily routine of taking prescribed medications has become a ritual of hope and disappointment.
"Most of the drugs seem not to work, and I have spent a lot of money to purchase them", Mary says, her voice heavy with the weight of 12 years of trying.
"My husband and I have tried to have children, but it is becoming impossible".
In her small community, where news travels faster than the evening breeze, the stigma she faces has taken a cruel turn. Neighbours’ whispers follow her as she walks the village paths.
Some claim I am a prostitute and decided to go for a medical procedure that locked me from conceiving", she reveals, pain etching her features.
The whispers have even come from her own family members, spreading false narratives about her condition through the village.
The burden weighs heavily on her marriage, threatening to unravel the bonds of 12 years.
"My husband is contemplating on marrying a second wife if I cannot give birth. He says he is also under pressure from his parents", Mary explains.
At her age, she says, she should have been having at least two children by now.
Yet, she refuses to give up hope. Following recent surgery, she continues with her prescribed medication, each day bringing either fresh hope or renewed disappointment.
"I have not thought of adopting a child. But it can be an option if my condition does not improve", she says thoughtfully, adding that she might explore technological solutions with her husband.
In many African communities, particularly among the Luo, childbearing remains an integral part of marriage. Women who cannot conceive often find themselves isolated, subjected to whispers and judgment at every community gathering, from funerals to weddings.
Magai Jonyo, a member of the Luo Council of Elders in Karachuonyo, explains how traditionally, communities had various ways of addressing childlessness. His words carry the weight of generations of cultural practice: "If the man was impotent, his wife would be asked to go to bed with one of her in-laws and conceive. This ensured families have children", he explains, describing practices that have largely fallen away in modern times.
He adds that women who could not conceive after marriage were sometimes asked to let their sisters be married as their co-wives, meaning a woman would live together with her sister and share one man. The sister would be responsible for childbearing.
"This ensured families have children", Jonyo says, though such traditions are increasingly forgotten in contemporary society.
A legislative battle
The struggle of childless women has found an unexpected champion in Parliament - Suba North MP Millie Odhiambo, who has publicly shared her own experience of not having biological children. If she were an ordinary woman in the village in Homa Bay, her life would have probably been different as she would have most likely faced rejection from her in-laws.
Her proposed Assisted Reproductive Technology Bill 2022, aims to provide hope for women struggling with infertility, but the path to legislation has been marked by frustration and conflict.
During a heated parliamentary session on December 4, last year, Millie's frustration boiled over. "The bill is only meant to help a segment of the society like me who do not have children. It is not for everybody", she declared, her voice thick with emotion.
She accused her colleagues of deliberately delaying the bill's progress, leading to a public confrontation with Homa Bay Town MP Peter Kaluma. The tension spilled onto social media when Millie posted what she claimed were Kaluma's words: "Who stopped you from having children?" Her response was poignant: "Hon Kaluma, it is the same God who gave you children that stopped me from having them".
Kaluma, referring to Millie as his niece, defended himself: "My niece Millie Mabona, it is wrong for you to portray me as someone so insensitive as to celebrate your situation. It is also wrong to post lies on social media with edited videos against a relative and a fellow leader".
The bill, if passed, would establish comprehensive guidelines for surrogacy and assisted reproductive technology, including procedures like in vitro fertilisation (IVF) and intracytoplasmic sperm injection. For Millie, the fight is deeply personal and urgent.
"It takes a lot for me as a woman who is in her 50s to stand before Parliament, to tell you I am childless, which in Luo is referred to as 'lur'. Nobody talks about 'lur' publicly", she admitted, breaking a cultural taboo to advocate for change. Her voice carries the hopes of countless women across the country who share her struggle.
As the legislative battle continues, women like Velma and Mary remain caught between tradition and modernity, their stories representing countless others who suffer in silence. Their experiences underscore the urgent need for both medical solutions and societal change in addressing the challenges faced by childless women in Kenya.
In villages and towns across Kenya, as evening falls and families gather in their compounds, women like Velma and Mary continue their silent struggles. But perhaps, with voices like Millie's rising in Parliament and more women sharing their stories, the weight of judgment will eventually lift, making way for understanding and acceptance in these close-knit communities.
*Name has been changed to protect the medical privacy of the speaker.
