Despite being banned in Kenya over a decade ago, female genital mutilation continues to scar the lives of countless young girls, particularly in isolated rural communities where traditions run deep. This heartbreaking reality persists, leaving many wondering why progress has been so slow. Imagine a ritual that's been passed down through generations, framed as a necessary step into womanhood, but which involves the removal of sensitive parts like the clitoris and inner labia. That's the grim essence of female genital mutilation (FGM), and in places like Narok county—about three hours' drive from the nearest paved road—it's still a common occurrence, even though it was outlawed back in 2011.
But here's where it gets controversial: local voices reveal the stark truth behind the ban's ineffectiveness. A dedicated nurse shared with AFP that roughly 80% of girls in the area are still subjected to this practice. During a community gathering in Entasekera village, where people came together to talk about the issue, one woman in the crowd challenged the notion that it's stopped: 'Why do you claim we've quit, when teenagers keep showing up at the hospital, marked by the cut?' The women nodded vigorously in agreement, while the men remained silent and expressionless. It's a clear sign of the divide this topic creates—women bearing the brunt, men often holding back.
FGM has outlasted waves of opposition, from British colonial efforts to modern Kenyan laws and international NGOs pushing for change. It's not just in rural southern Maasai territories; it thrives in Kenya's northeast, where Somali diaspora groups report rates exceeding 90%, and surprisingly, in some cities and even among educated circles. Here, campaigners point to the troubling rise of 'medicalized' FGM, where the procedure is performed in cleaner settings by healthcare professionals, supposedly making it safer but still invasive. To beginners puzzled by this, think of it like this: it's similar to how some cultural practices evolve but don't necessarily disappear, even when they're harmful.
And this is the part most people miss: the mixed sentiments within the communities themselves. Maasai elder Moses Letuati, aged 50, insisted to AFP that his group no longer performs the ritual because 'the culture has shifted.' Yet, he confessed that one of his four daughters had undergone it. Many Maasai men at the meeting urged an end to the practice, though one admitted it was only because 'an uncut woman is more enjoyable in bed.' Such statements highlight the complex blend of tradition, pleasure, and progress—sparking debates about whether these views perpetuate inequality.
Personal stories bring the horror to life. Martha, now 18, recounted her ordeal: 'I was yelling and fighting back,' she said, describing how, at age 10, two women pressured by their community performed the cut at her Narok East home, with her father's approval. She eventually escaped to a shelter operated by activist Patrick Ngigi. Ngigi's group, Mission with a Vision, has helped over 3,000 FGM survivors since 1997. Funded by the United Nations Population Fund, the shelter features CCTV cameras and panic buttons to shield the girls from angry fathers and elders opposing the rescues. 'It's risky work,' Ngigi admitted. 'You stir up a lot of hostility, but over time, you learn to handle it.' The demand never stops; at the village meeting, women quietly begged him to save six more girls from the same fate.
What keeps FGM alive? Deep-rooted beliefs that a girl must be 'prepared' before marriage, or risk social rejection. Ngigi emphasized that real transformation needs better education, open conversations, and tackling corruption. 'If the police show up, you just bribe them, and the practice goes on,' he explained. Police officer Raphael Maroa denied corruption claims but acknowledged FGM's deep roots, noting girls are often taken across the Tanzanian border for the procedure. He blamed poor education—Narok's literacy rate hovers around 50% according to 2022 data—but then revealed that he had his own two daughters cut to prevent family disputes.
The Maasai, one of Kenya's most impoverished groups, have endured land grabs by colonial settlers and now tourism, fostering distrust of outsiders meddling in their customs. A young Maasai man told AFP his peers still support FGM, but girls aren't cursed anymore—a traditional punishment elders used for control—if they refuse. Yet Cynthia Taruru, 23, tells a different story. Her father cursed her when her educated sister saved her from the cut at age 11. 'I felt like I was doomed, childless or worse, because I thought the curse was real,' she said. 'I even had to give my father a cow to break it.'
Health consequences are severe, with victims often facing fistulas (tears that cause incontinence) and difficult childbirths, worsened by the long treks to medical facilities. To avoid getting families arrested for allowing FGM, many opt for home births, increasing risks of complications or death—though exact figures are scarce due to underreporting. Nurse Loise Nashipa, 32, at Entasekera Health Centre, called FGM 'a monstrous act.' 'It leads to bleeding, agony, and infections,' she noted, pointing out that most procedures are done by older women in unhygienic homes. Official statistics show declining rates, according to Rhoda Orido, head nurse at Narok County Hospital, 'but I suspect it's because births happen at home instead.'
As evening approached at Ngigi's shelter, the girls rejoiced at Cecilia Nairuko's graduation. At 24, she fled FGM and an arranged marriage at 15 and earned a psychology degree. Dressed in a shared graduation gown, she danced joyfully around the center. But her smile faded when discussing her family: her father and three brothers haven't forgiven her. 'The only way back is if I make good money—he'll pardon me then,' she shared.
© 2025 AFP
Do you believe cultural practices like FGM should be protected even if they harm individuals? Is it fair for governments to enforce bans against community resistance? Or could education alone bridge the gap? What about the role of corruption—does it undermine all efforts? Share your opinions in the comments below; let's discuss this sensitive topic openly!
