Turkana Woman Rep: The MP who once worked for food instead of wages
Turkana Woman Representative Cecilia Asinyen Ishuu. She rose from working for food as a child labourer in Turkana to becoming the county's Woman Representative.
What you need to know:
- Cecilia Ishuu defies convention by funding struggling students, empowering women’s groups with tools, and delivering community projects.
- Her approach prioritises forgotten demographics over tokenistic, short-term gestures.
The bursary list reads like a rebellion against convention. While other politicians chase students with straight As, Cecilia Asinyen Ishuu deliberately hunts for those with D+ and C- grades – the forgotten ones that the education system has written off.
“I picked 68 students, enrolled them in colleges, and paid their full fees," she tells the Nation. “Many have since graduated with diplomas, with the last group set to finish in March 2026.”
It's an approach that perfectly captures the paradox of representing Turkana County as Woman Representative. In a constituency that sprawls across 77,000 square kilometres – larger than Rwanda – every decision becomes a study in impossible mathematics. How do you distribute limited resources across a territory so vast that helicopters are needed to deliver election materials to some parts?
"Some woman reps elsewhere represent areas the size of one constituency," Ishuu notes. "Even with such little funds, you cannot cover everyone. But at least you must touch lives where you can."
Her solution has been deliberately unconventional. Rather than spreading resources thin, she's concentrated her efforts on forgotten demographics and innovative interventions. Those 68 students – enrolled at Turkana College, First College and Eldoret Technical – were pushed beyond certificate courses towards diplomas. "I knew job opportunities for certificates no longer existed, so I encouraged them to pursue diplomas," she explains.
The strategy extends beyond education. When Ishuu heard of women killed by bandits while carrying maize to distant markets for grinding, she didn't organise security patrols. Instead, she purchased more than 20 posho mills, both diesel and electric, placing them strategically in vulnerable villages.
"You can imagine a woman carrying six kilos of maize to grind, only to be ambushed. I decided to place mills in such villages," she says. The mills went to groups, not individuals, ensuring collective income generation and shared responsibility.
Her empowerment fund has supported more than 150 self-help groups, distributing sewing machines, salon equipment, welding and car wash machines, motorbikes, tents and chairs. She's bought 10,000-litre tanks and generator pumps for farmers, water tanks for schools, and supported ex-prisoners to start tailoring shops. Sanitary towels, mattresses, blankets and foodstuffs have found their way to vulnerable households.
The group-based approach isn't accidental – it's deliberate policy born from hard experience."I insist on this because it ensures accountability and long-term impact," she says.
Yet her methods divide opinion sharply. Resident John Emoru acknowledges the distribution of equipment but claims bias, accusing her of rewarding cronies. He questions the bursary programme: "Unless the names are read out publicly or printed out for all to see, it may just be politics."
Emmanuel Amon offers a contrasting view, praising her delivery and citing a Lodwar empowerment event where groups received motorbikes, salon equipment and sewing machines. He commends her collaboration with the governor's office to ensure students with arrears aren't sent home. "She has delivered," he insists.
Mixed reaction
Ishuu takes both praise and criticism in her stride, but she's fierce about defending the Woman Representative position itself. Critics dismiss it as redundant tokenism, but she calls it constitutional necessity. "Even with Woman Reps, Parliament has never achieved the two-thirds gender rule. Removing them would take us backwards," she argues. "If the (Woman Rep) seat was open to men, my people would elect a man. My role is to break that ceiling, so the girl child sees that women can lead."
Her views are shaped by global history and personal frustration. She cites the Beijing Declaration of 1995, which championed women's participation across politics and society. "Progress has been slow, but at least the journey has begun. Women must believe in themselves, support one another, and be ceiling-breakers. Otherwise, we will remain behind."
Recent incidents where women politicians were paraded have left her furious. "That was the lowest moment for Kenyan women. A woman leader should be respected like any other leader, not treated as a flower girl or sex object," she says. "Such behaviour doesn't just shame individuals but entire communities."
The path to this parliamentary seat wasn't straightforward. Leadership had always shadowed her steps – from prefect in primary school to head girl in secondary school, and later chair of the Turkana University Students Association. She helped establish the wider Turkana University Students Association, which now brings together students across Kenya. In women's table banking groups, she was consistently elected chair or secretary.
She campaigned for others too, serving as county coordinator first under United Republican Party (URP), later under Jubilee and UDA. When her mentor and friend Joyce Emanikor, then Woman Representative, opted to contest another seat, Ishuu stepped forward in 2022.
It wasn't an easy race. Turkana leaned heavily on ODM, while UDA, her party, was viewed with suspicion as a project of outgoing Governor Josphat Nanok. "I told my people: don't see me as a project, see me as Cecilia. Parties are just vehicles, leaders are the journey," she recalls.
Against the odds, Turkana voters split their choices, electing an ODM governor, a Jubilee Senator, and Ishuu as Woman Rep on a UDA ticket. It was remarkable affirmation that her story and credibility mattered more than party colours. That story begins with struggle that would have broken many.
Born in Loima Constituency in Turkana to a father who worked briefly as an agricultural extension officer at Kenya Wildlife Services and a mother who had never stepped into a classroom, Ishuu's childhood was marked by poverty, separation and resilience. When her parents disagreed and her father walked away, the family was left under the care of a mother with no education and no income. Life became a daily battle for survival.
As the firstborn of seven, Ishuu quickly found herself thrust into responsibility. She worked in people's homes, not for pay but for food. Many times, household chores threatened to take her away from school, yet she stubbornly clung to her education.
"Even when I was late, I always went back to class, because I knew school was my only way out," she recalls. When her mother eventually found work as a school cook, she was paid not in cash but in maize, beans and flour – enough to guarantee a single meal in the evening. “We could deliberately skip lunch but be sure of supper," Ishuu remembers. At times, she collected firewood to sell, or burnt charcoal to survive. Relatives would host her during school holidays, sometimes only to give her fare back to Turkana.
"If the world had been as cruel as today, my siblings and I would have been victims of rape or early marriages," she says candidly. "But God protected us."
Her break came through Catholic missionaries who, after her uncle, a priest, pleaded her case, sponsored her secondary education at Turkana Girls Secondary School. She thrived, becoming head girl in her final year.
Moi University, where she pursued Communication and Public Relations, was no easier. She struggled with lack of fees and the shame of going without basics. “Even affording food or clothes was difficult,” she says.
Yet she soldiered on, graduating after years of sacrifice. Later, she undertook a Master of Business Administration at Mount Kenya University. Marriage opened a new chapter. Together with her husband, they started a small business supplying foods and goods. The breakthrough came with oil exploration in Turkana.
Oil investment
When Tullow Oil subcontracted Chinese firms for seismic surveys, the couple secured a contract to supply fuel, food and perishables. The profits changed their lives. Together, they invested in Lodwar's first hotel, Ceamo Prestige Lodge – a name drawn from Ce for Cecilia and Amo for Amoni (her husband). "It was divine timing," she reflects.
The lodge became not only a business landmark but also the foundation of her philanthropy. From its proceeds, she supported her siblings and began sponsoring needy Turkana children to secondary school and university. "I took in some who weren't even relatives," she says proudly. "Some of them are now graduates and working. I'm happy I started giving back even before I became a politician."
As for her own future, Ishuu is pragmatic. While some push her towards the governor's seat, she insists the time isn't yet right. "Leadership is a journey. I must first prove myself, consolidate this seat, then maybe in ten years, they can entrust me with another position," she explains. For 2027, she intends to defend her current seat.
The challenges remain immense: poverty so deep it reduces politics to survival; insecurity from bandits and cross-border raids with Uganda, South Sudan and Ethiopia; and cultural conservatism that still consigns girls to early marriage.
Her dream for Turkana remains simple but profound: "A Turkana where no child drops out of school for lack of fees. A Turkana where no family sleeps hungry. A Turkana where our people no longer die of curable diseases, and where peace replaces conflict.
"If I succeed, the next girl will not be doubted," she says softly.
