Kenya: A 'house of hope' for women at risk of FGM
Although Kenya has strict laws against female genital mutilation, it remains widespread. Protection programs are designed to help affected women and girls, including against social pressure and stigmatization.
Female opposition
In the remote district of Narok in southwestern Kenya, a village elder claims that female genital mutilation is virtually non-existent here. To the women, this sounds like mockery. "Why do you say you've stopped when teenage girls regularly have to go to the hospital bleeding?" one of them exclaims. Circumcision is not a relic here, but part of everyday life.
Serious health consequences
Female genital mutilation, or FGM, has been banned in Kenya since 2011. But laws do not automatically end centuries-old rituals. In many villages in Narok, cutting is seen as a symbol of the transition from girlhood to womanhood, despite serious consequences such as bleeding, infections, and birth complications, which often require treatment in clinics.
Refuge behind fences
The House of Hope, founded by activist Patrick Ngigi, is secured like a fortress with fences, cameras, and panic buttons. Since 1997, his organization has rescued around 3,000 girls. With support from the UN Population Fund, Ngigi continues to defy all threats. "It's a dangerous job," says Ngigi. During a village meeting, women quietly ask him to take in six more girls.
Against their will
"I screamed and fought back," says an 18-year-old girl from the shelter. But it was in vain. At the age of 10, she was mutilated at home by two women, on her father's orders. Without a doctor, without anesthesia, under pressure from the community. Her story is not an isolated case: According to a nurse, up to 80% of girls and women in Narok are affected.
Poverty, mistrust, and a fatal tradition
The Maasai, who also live in Narok, are among the poorest ethnic groups in Kenya. First through colonialism and later through tourism, they lost large swathes of land, which has reinforced their distrust of outside interference. Some see anti-FGM campaigns as an attack on their identity. But many girls suffer from the ritual — physically, psychologically, and socially.
Education as a way out
Cecilia Nairuko celebrates her graduation at a shelter. Programs against FGM focus on education, awareness, and safe spaces. In Narok, only half the population can read and write. NGOs and governments support scholarships, schooling, and non-violent rituals. Studies show that longer schooling greatly lowers the risk of FGM.
Exuberant instead of fearful
Maasai girls who have been rescued from genital mutilation and child marriage laugh and play in the courtyard of the House of Hope. They enjoy protection here, but are often socially ostracized in their home villages. Without FGM, women are often considered unmarriageable, a disgrace to their families. Change, says activist Patrick Ngigi, can only come through education and constant dialogue.
Cursed by her father
One girl was only 11 when she fled to a shelter with her sister. Her father cursed her for it: "I thought I would die or be unable to have any more children," she says today. To lift the curse, she had to pay him a cow. Educational projects aim to counteract the widespread belief in curses. But even educated families continue to practice FGM out of fear.
Hope in a university gown
Cecilia Nairuko is celebrated at the shelter. At the age of 15, she also fled here to escape FGM and forced marriage. Now she is 24 and has a degree in psychology. Nairuko is still haunted by the fact that her father has not forgiven her for running away. "When I earn enough money," she hopes, "he will forgive me."