The brutal face of economic violence in Kenya's conservancies
Grace Mwachuga, director at Kasigau Conservancy during the interview at Kasigau Shopping Centre on November 22, 2024.
What you need to know:
- Economic GBV thrives in Kenya's wildlife conservancies, where women who create wealth through livestock management and traditional crafts have no say over financial resources
- Cultural practices like early marriage and FGM perpetuate this cycle of financial exclusion, leaving many women trapped in poverty despite their contribution to household wealth.
- While recent changes in conservancy leadership structures offer hope, with four women now sitting on the Kasigau Conservancy board, the journey to economic freedom remains long and challenging for most women in these communities.
The rhythmic clicking of beads fills the air as Naipanoi's weathered hands weave intricate patterns, each movement telling a story of survival, resilience, and hope. Her eyes, bearing witness to years of economic exclusion and cultural constraints, remain fixed on her work – a craft that represents both her traditional heritage and her path to potential freedom.
We exchange greetings – Habari (How are you?) we say, and she responds with a soft mzuri (fine). Through a translator who bridges the gap between Kiswahili and Maasai, Naipanoi reveals a life marked by denied education, forced marriage, and economic disenfranchisement.
"I was cut and married off when I was merely 12," she says, her voice barely rising above a whisper. "When I arrived at my husband's home, I found myself alone with him – an orphan. My parents had warned me never to return home."
The morning sun catches the tears welling in her eyes as she continues to thread her beads, each one representing a small step toward financial independence.
Economic exclusion
Here in Amboseli National Park, where 35 community conservancies dot the landscape, women like Naipanoi live in the shadow of traditional practices that continue to deny them economic rights. The acrid smoke from nearby cooking fires mingles with the earthy scent of cattle, a reminder of the wealth they help create but cannot control.
"I tend to the calves from their first breath," Naipanoi explains, her calloused hands gesturing towards the family's herd. "I oversee their healthcare, their vaccinations, everything until they mature. But when it comes time to sell them, I have no say. I'm told wealth belongs to men, despite my role in creating it."
The story of economic exclusion runs deep in these communities. When a cow that provides essential milk for her family disappears, sold without her knowledge or consent, Naipanoi can only remain silent. "I cannot question," she says, her words heavy with resignation. "Our culture demands that I respect my husband by only listening and doing what he says."
A few homesteads away, Nashipai's story echoes similar tones of economic exclusion. The taste of bitter memories lingers as she recalls the celebration before her marriage at age 17 – the aroma of roasted goat meat wafting through the air while her dreams of higher education evaporated like morning dew.
"I used to watch high school students in their uniforms with such longing," she says, smoothing her traditional cloth with hands that speak of years of manual labour. "Education was affordable then, but only our brothers were allowed to pursue it. I am the firstborn in our family, and when my parents found someone to marry their daughter, they sat at home anxiously waiting for their wealth to be given."
The journey to her new life painted a stark picture of the poverty that awaited her. With only a box of clothes and cups packed by her mother, she walked 30kms through bush paths, accompanied by two strangers, constantly aware of the lurking danger from wild animals. The physical journey mirrors the emotional distance she's travelled from her dreams of education to her current reality of economic dependency.
"We always disagree with my husband over money issues," Nashipai shares. "Even when he has just sold an animal, he claims to have no money when I ask. My anger changes nothing."
Joyce Pesho, gender officer from Kenya Wildlife Conservancies Association, provides context to these personal struggles. "When you undergo the cut, most girls don't advance their education. This is part of sexual gender-based violence in terms of FGM, but it also trickles down to economic gender-based violence," she explains. "Women's financial muscle is key, but that can only be achieved by involving them in empowerment programs."
The sound of jingling beads fills the community centre where both women recently participated in a week-long training program. The workshop, organised by professional beaders from Kajiado County, represents a small step toward economic empowerment. Yet the challenges remain steep.
"Every woman who attended the training created marketable products for exhibition," explains Purity Mwende, assistant project officer at Amboseli Ecosystem Trust. The pride in her voice is tempered by concern as she adds, "The majority of pastoral women within Amboseli rely on beadwork as a source of income. However, they lack market access, and that increases their poverty and vulnerability levels. Time is changing, and these women cannot only rely on traditional beadwork."
As an umbrella body of 35 conservancies and seven group ranches, Amboseli Ecosystem Trust faces its own challenges. "Despite each of the 35 conservancies having its board, none of them has a female chairperson," Purity notes. The organisation plans to implement a gender equity and women empowerment strategy, though sustainable funding remains a challenge.
For Naipanoi and Nashipai, the beadwork groups offer more than economic opportunity – they provide a platform for change. "Because we are over a 100 women in our group, I am now more confident to approach my networks within our villages to support my campaign for an elective seat at our village conservancy," Naipanoi says, hope threading through her words like the beads in her hands.
The story of economic violence extends beyond Amboseli to Taita Taveta County, where Catherine Kitiro's experience highlights the barriers women face in conservation leadership. The mother of three has twice attempted to secure a board position, facing unique challenges each time.
"In 2021 when I vied, I was the only woman among two other men not on the board," Catherine recalls. "After months of campaigning, on election day, the majority of members said they wanted to retain the current board members. Voting didn't even take place."
Decision making
In the basket-weaving communities, where 600 women's fingers dance with sisal fibres, their economic potential remains largely untapped.
"We have only one bulk buyer," explains Hilda Mbuwa, chairlady of the Taita Taveta Association Basket Weavers. "We want women on the board of directors to fight for women's groups like us basket weavers so that we get a better market because we have our group shares in the conservancies."
Catherine's persistence, supported by her role as a community data collector and her husband's encouragement, speaks to the changing dynamics within these communities. Yet success remains elusive. "This year, I conducted my campaigns in a nearby market," she shares. "I targeted about 3,000 registered voters but couldn't reach them all due to limited financial resources. During the annual general meeting, I was shocked when I didn't win."
Joyce Pesho emphasises the importance of women's representation on conservation boards. "Women on the board will raise questions on measures that can support women's needs like basket weaving and beadwork. It will also help in making decisions around issues safeguarding harassment in the communities and conservancies," she explains.
Maurine Nduati, gender officer at the Taita Taveta Wildlife Conservancies Association, highlights the systemic nature of the problem.
"Kasigau is a patriarchal society where women are told their work is at home and the men are the ones who go to work. But sometimes you hear the women complaining because even when the men go to work, it is not enough to provide for the family. So, it becomes a source of conflict between the man and the woman and causes tension in the household."
The struggle for women's inclusion in conservation leadership reflects a broader pattern across Kenya's wildlife conservancies. According to the Kenya Wildlife Conservancies Association, most conservancies still operate under constitutions that aren't gender-inclusive, effectively barring women from leadership positions. Kasigau Conservancy, for instance, had been using a 1976 constitution until 2023, when the association introduced them to CARE International's Social Action and Analysis tool.
Maurine Nduati, Gender Officer at Taita Taveta Wildlife Conservancies Association during an interview at her office on November 21, 2024.
The impact of this intervention was immediate and significant. Through a series of self-reflection sessions and policy reforms, the conservancy established new frameworks to ensure inclusion, equality, and gender responsiveness across its five villages. The result was historic – four women elected to the nine-member board of directors.
"Supporting women's economic activities like beadwork and basket weaving amplifies their voices when they participate in leadership and governance opportunities," Maureen explains. "As they contribute to conservation efforts in the conservancies, this reduces the chances of gender-based violence."
Grace Mwachuga, one of the newly-elected women directors, shares her journey: "I worked in Nairobi for 20 years as a secretary before the company closed. When I came back home, I learned of a director position within the conservancy. I lost my first attempt, but this year, I campaigned based on the gender card after our training, and I won."
Her personal investment in the conservancy began seven years ago. "When I saw my husband receiving dividends, I felt there were benefits I wasn't getting. So I enrolled as a member by paying Sh100, equivalent to five shares. Each share is Sh20, and I continued until I reached almost 30 shares. Since then, I've been receiving dividends annually," she explains.
When examining women's leadership in conservation across Kenya, the numbers tell a stark story. Out of 211 conservancies, both community and private, only three have female chairpersons.
Flora Kala, chairperson at Lumo Community Wildlife Conservancy, speaks to Nation.Africa outside their offices in Taita Taveta County on November 21, 2024. She is the only female conservancy chairperson in the county.
Flora Kala is among this select group, serving as the only female conservancy chairperson in Taita Taveta County.
Her journey to leadership faced its own unique challenges. "Each ranch was required to give three members in the Lumo board, and I was one of the three from my ranch," Flora explains. "We were two women and seven men, and it was mandated that there must be gender representation in the executive. That's how I became vice chair. Before my term ended, the chair fell ill and passed on. The board then confirmed me as the chair."
Flora's two terms as board executive came at a pivotal time, as gender strategies were already being implemented within Lumo conservancy. This timing, she notes, has made her work with board members more effective and purposeful.
Joyce Pesho emphasises that having women on the board enables gender-responsive budgeting. "Women will raise questions on measures that can support women's needs like basket weaving and beadwork. It will also help in making decisions around issues safeguarding harassment in the communities and conservancies," she notes.
Mary Mngola, sub-county gender officer in Mwatate Municipal, Taita Taveta County, sees both progress and persistent challenges. "In Taita Taveta, women don't own land, we use our husbands' names. Even in the political arena, we only elected one lady out of 20 wards. When it comes to decision-making, most women's needs like water projects are not covered, and some women get raped when they walk long distances looking for water."
As the sun sets over the conservancies, Naipanoi and countless other women continue their daily work – tending livestock, weaving beads, and dreaming of a future where their economic rights are as vast as the African sky above them. Their stories echo across the landscape, a testament to their resilience and a call for change in the face of economic gender-based violence. Each bead threaded, each basket woven, each small step toward economic independence writes a new chapter in their ongoing struggle for equality.
