When 15-year-old Aisha* left Funyula in Busia County for Nairobi that fateful morning, she was filled with the wide-eyed excitement of a teenager eager to reunite with relatives in the capital.
She boarded the bus, escorted by her cousin, who handed her over to the driver. Reassured by his promise to contact their uncle upon arrival, Aisha settled in for the journey. But by the time the bus reached its destination, her world had changed in the most brutal way imaginable.
The bus pulled into Nairobi’s busy Railways Station just before 7am. The driver, a man she had trusted with her safety, asked her to wait as he went to park the vehicle. Moments later, he returned, carried her bag, and led her to another bus, saying he was taking her to meet her uncle.
But instead of heading toward family, he took her to his home. What followed was a nightmare. Once inside, he locked the door, pulled out a knife, and threatened to kill her if she dared make a noise. He put on a condom and forced himself on her, only to later remove it and rape her again when he noticed she was bleeding.
Aisha, terrified but resilient, seized her chance. She shoved him off balance, grabbed the keys, and bolted. Her screams echoed through the stairwell until a neighbour came to her rescue. By the time other neighbours stormed the driver’s house, he had vanished.
She was taken to Murera Police Post and later Gachororo Health Centre for medical treatment. Her fragile body carried evidence of assault; her spirit, however, carried the weight of a lifelong scar.
Aisha’s ordeal is not an isolated case. Defilement is one of the most reported sexual offenses in Kenya, and yet the figures available hardly capture the magnitude of the crisis.
Leading counties
The Kenya Demographic and Health Survey (KDHS 2022) reports that one in three Kenyan girls experiences sexual violence before the age of 18. Data from the Office of the Director of Public Prosecutions (ODPP) further shows that defilement consistently accounts for more than half of all sexual offences prosecuted annually.
Counties, such as Kisii, Nairobi, Bungoma, Kilifi, and Nakuru consistently rank high in reported cases. During the Covid-19 lockdowns, the problem escalated dramatically: The Ministry of Health recorded a 40 per cent rise in teenage pregnancies, many linked to defilement.
Chiefs in some regions admitted that nearly every village had a teenage girl either pregnant or raising a child born of abuse.
But even these shocking numbers underrepresent the crisis. Cases often go unreported due to stigma, fear of reprisal, and cultural practices that silence survivours.
For Pauline Juma, defilement is more than statistics — it is lived experience. A rape survivor herself, she endured years of trauma, abuse, and exploitation before turning her pain into advocacy.
She founded Rebirth of a Queen, a safe space for survivors of sexual violence. “Founding Rebirth of a Queen came from a deeply personal place,” she says.
“It was born out of my own journey of healing. Over the last six years, I haven’t just survived — I’ve grown. I’ve found healing, and I’ve also grown professionally in creating spaces where other survivors can reclaim their lives.”
Her transition from victim to advocate was anything but linear. It demanded intentionality, therapy, and community. “Building a community through Rebirth of a Queen opened doors for my own healing,” she explains.
Financial muscle
Pauline’s journey also exposed her to the brutal reality of Kenya’s justice system — a system that is supposed to protect, but often fails survivors. “Our justice system is exhausting. To pursue justice, you need significant financial resources, from transport to legal fees and therapy. And while our laws are clear, implementation is another story entirely. There’s no real follow-up, and that’s where survivors get lost,” she says.
Indeed, the Sexual Offences Act (2006) prescribes life imprisonment for defilement of children aged 11 and below, and between 15 years and life for older minors. Yet convictions remain painfully rare. Court backlogs drag cases for years, and missing case files often mean justice evaporates into thin air.
“Case files going missing — how does that even happen?” Pauline asks, visibly frustrated. “It’s always a red flag that the case is going nowhere. Survivors get worn down by delays and obstacles until they just give up. Yes, gender desks at police stations are a step in the right direction, but we still have a long way to go in making these services truly survivor-centred.”
In rural and low-income communities, financial strain and cultural pressure push families to settle defilement cases informally. Families exchange goats or cash, or worse, force survivors into marriages with perpetrators. “When children are the victims, there should be no negotiations,” Pauline insists.
“These cases must go through the justice system. Settling such matters at home denies the survivor justice in the name of ‘forgiveness,’ and that’s not acceptable.”
Lawyer Essendi Kenneth echoes her frustration arguing out-of-court settlements in sexual offences have been declared unconstitutional because they infringe upon the rights and fundamental freedoms under Articles 27, 28, and 29(c) of the Constitution of Kenya.
“Such settlements also violate binding international human rights instruments. There must be no space for Alternative Dispute Resolution mechanisms in sexual offence cases, as these are highly traumatizing and the perpetrators deserve stringent criminal penalties,” he notes.
Even when families choose the legal route, financial barriers remain insurmountable. “The current cost of acquiring the P3 form imposes a significant barrier to offenders’ prosecution and victims’ access to justice. This financial burden compromises transitional justice processes and should be reviewed and reduced to facilitate reporting and case processing,” Essendi points out adding the P3 costs between Sh1,500 and Sh5,000.
A police officer handling defilement cases confirmed to The Nairobian that many pending cases lack proper merit, citing weak evidence and poor coordination between investigative bodies and courts.
Shattered childhood
“The psychological scars run deep. Survivors often battle depression, anxiety, and PTSD. Without counseling, some turn to substance abuse or self-harm. The stigma makes healing even harder,” says consultant psychologist Dr Molly Muiga.
“The trauma of sexual violence at such a tender age is profound. For the child, the experience can disrupt normal development, leading to anxiety, trust issues, and post-traumatic stress that may last a lifetime. Early, consistent counseling is critical if the survivor is to have any chance of healthy recovery,” she adds.
She adds that the impact goes beyond the immediate victim. “The mother and siblings who witnessed or learned of the attack will also carry psychological scars. Families in such situations often struggle with guilt, anger, and shame. Without psycho social support, these feelings can tear families apart.”
Dr Muiga says such cases reinforce the need for a trauma-informed response system, one that ensures survivors receive medical care, therapy, and safe spaces alongside the pursuit of justice.
Education is often the first casualty. In 2023, the Ministry of Education reported that more than 13,000 girls dropped out of school due to pregnancies linked to defilement. Few return, trapping them in cycles of poverty.
Despite grim realities, efforts to fight defilement continue
The Children’s Act 2022 strengthened child protection frameworks, while gender desks in police stations have been designed to handle cases with more sensitivity. NGOs like Equality Now, and Usikimye provide survivors with legal aid, psychosocial support, and shelter.
Landmark court victories have also sent a clear message.
A few months ago, a Kericho court has sentenced 46-year-old Justus Kipsigei Cheruiyot, a father of eight, to life imprisonment for defiling his 17-month-old niece at Chesingoro village, Bureti sub-County on May 1, 2025.
Kericho Senior Resident Magistrate Japhet Bii found Cheruiyot guilty after six witnesses, including the child’s mother, gave consistent testimony. The toddler was discovered unconscious, naked, and bleeding after the accused — her maternal uncle — dropped her while fleeing.
She was rushed to hospital, underwent surgery, and was admitted for 12 days. The court ruled that the prosecution had proved its case beyond reasonable doubt, sentencing Cheruiyot to life under the Sexual Offences Act.
In 2018, a court in Busia sentenced a teacher to 40 years for defiling a 12-year-old pupil, setting precedent that authority figures cannot exploit children. In 2021, the Court of Appeal upheld a life sentence for a Nairobi man who repeatedly defiled a minor, reaffirming zero tolerance.
The wins
Yet, these wins remain exceptions rather than the rule.
Kenya’s crisis reflects a global epidemic. According to United Nations Children’s Fund (Unicef), more than 370 million girls and women alive today — one in eight — experienced rape or sexual assault before age 18.
The 2019 Violence Against Children Survey in Kenya revealed that 15.6 per cent of females experienced sexual violence in childhood, with more than 60 per cent of them assaulted multiple times. Alarmingly, 19 per cent said the first perpetrators were their own schoolmates. “Defilement is not just a legal issue; it is a public health crisis,” Dr Muiga emphasises. “We need trauma-informed schools and accessible counseling.”
The statistics are heavy. The stories are painful. But amid the darkness, survivors like Pauline remind us of resilience.
For her, healing and advocacy go hand in hand. “The Act is clear, yes — but we need reforms, especially around the inclusion of safe houses and protection services for victims. Survivors need more than a law; they need a system that works for them,” says Pauline.
She continues to walk with fellow survivors, holding space for their pain and pushing for a Kenya where justice is not an illusion. “The road is long, but we are not powerless,” she says. “Survivors must know they are not alone. Our pain can become a powerful force for change.”
From Aisha’s narrow escape to Pauline’s rebirth, Kenya’s battle against defilement is a story of broken systems, cultural silences, and legal hurdles. But it is also a story of voices rising, of communities slowly awakening, of survivors daring to reclaim their lives.
The road to justice may be long and treacherous, but every voice that refuses to be silenced moves the country one step closer to rewriting this painful narrative — from victims crushed in shame to survivors standing tall in courage.