Kakamega twins defiled by uncle, forced to give up babies demand for justice

They were inseparable—same uniform, same books, same dreams.

In Form Three, the twins sat side by side at the back of their classroom in rural Kakamega, whispering about exams and the lives they hoped to build after school.

Today, their desks are empty. Their dreams have been replaced by scars—surgical ones across their bellies—and invisible ones that refuse to heal.

The twins were impregnated by a man they trusted. A man who should have protected them: their paternal uncle.

What followed was a cascade of betrayal, forced silence, cultural taboos, and institutional failure that ended with two baby boys born via Caesarean section, taken to a children’s home before their mothers could even breastfeed them. “We didn’t hold them. We only heard them cry, then they were gone,” says Ann*, the other twin, her voice barely above a whisper.

Ann was just 16 when her body began to change in ways she did not understand. She recalls, “When I realised I was pregnant, shame drove me away. I ran because I felt I had messed up like my sister.”

She delivered her baby boy on August 29, 2024. She never raised him. “We are still children. We deserve another chance. We wish to go back to school; far from this village, perhaps it will help us recover,” she adds.

Fear has confined the family to their compound. “We don’t go far because people talk negatively. We lost friends. As if the loss was not enough, our uncle’s wife has been threatening us and our mother to remain silent. We live in fear,” says Ann.

Jane*, the other twin, was 16 when she discovered she was pregnant on November 23, 2024, during the Christmas holidays. “I went to Eshikhuyu dispensary because I was unwell. That is when I was told I was pregnant,” she recalls.

She was then a student at Eshibeye Secondary School, in Form Three.  Terrified, she ran to her aunt’s home, her mother’s sister, and broke down.

“I ran from home because I had no one to tell my ordeal except her sister. She asked who was responsible and I told her it was my uncle,” she recounts.

The aunt contacted her mother, and together they reported the matter to the assistant chief. By the time the news reached him, the alleged perpetrator had fled.

“When he heard the matter had been reported, he disappeared. My mother collapsed and risked high blood pressure,” Jane remembers.

No arrest followed. No charges were filed and their father, a casual worker in Nairobi, cut ties with us completely. “He said he doesn’t want to see us. He blocked our mother and everyone else. Life is difficult here, especially now that society sees us as outcasts. We at times sink into depression and memory loss,” says Jane.

The abandonment by their father left their mother alone to shoulder the shame, hospital bills and the grief of watching her daughters’ dreams shattered. “How do you comfort a child who gave birth but came home without a baby?” she poses, tears rolling down her cheeks. “I feel pain every day. I watch children of the people who hurt us go to school. Mine are at home.

Delivery without babies

Jane delivered her baby boy via Caesarean section on November 7, 2024—the same day her father cut all ties with the family. “My mother reached out to him and told him that we developed a complication and were going for an operation. He also briefed him that the grandchildren will be taken away, but he said he doesn’t want to see us because we brought him shame and that he disowns us,” she says quietly.

 She only saw her child twice, on the day he was born and the following day when officials came to take him to a children’s home. “I was told to talk to the child and wish him well. I cried. You can imagine being on a sickbed and someone tells you to say goodbye to your baby forever. Mothers can understand my pain,” she said as she fought back her tears.

She didn’t get the chance to breastfeed her baby. Nature and culture overtook everything. Her grandmother warned that keeping the child would invite death upon the family.

“She told me the child is a taboo and can cause death in our generation,” she says. The belief has left scars that run deeper than the surgical wound.

“I feel I will never get married,” she says. “I live with trauma.”

According to her, doctors recommended a Caesarean section because of complications related to their age and trauma. The surgeries were successful. The aftermath was not.

Because of cultural prohibitions invoked by elders, prohibitions the family says were weaponised to silence the girls, the twins were barred from breastfeeding or keeping the children. Within days, the newborn boys were placed in a children’s home.

“We were told culture does not allow it. But nobody asked us what we wanted. We feel like dying sometimes,” says Ann, adding; “We live with scars, but not with our babies.”  

 According to Ann, what still shocks her is the fact that they were violated by the same man.

 “We were both defiled by one person, without knowing,” she says.

Her ordeal began in Shibuli, where she had gone to watch a football match. “He approached me there. Later he took me to a club. What happened after that, I don’t remember clearly. I suspect my soda was laced with drugs,” she recounts.

Victim blaming

Ann says the wife of the accused, who lives just across a fence from their home, has issued repeated threats.  “She says she will kill us or poison us,” she says.

She believes she may have been intoxicated.

She delivered a baby boy on August 29, 2024. She, too, never raised her child. “We are still children. We deserve another chance. We wish to go back to school; far from this village, perhaps it will help us recover,’ she added. 

The intimidation by their uncle’s wife has deepened their isolation. With the alleged perpetrator at large and no justice forthcoming, the family says reporting feels risky.

Despite reporting the matter to local authorities, the case stalled. Evidence grew cold. The girls say no officer followed up the matter.

“He just ran away. Nothing happened to him. He at times visits his family. My grandmother is the only one trying to fight for us, but since she was threatened, everything stopped,” Ann laments.

Their mother says she wakes up before dawn to look for casual work. In the evenings, she sits with her daughters, to console them. 

“I wish I could be given a chance to raise my grandchildren,” says the woman who has kept the hospital discharge notes folded inside a Bible, proof that what happened was real, that it was not gossip or a curse.

According to the survey done by the Kenya National Bureau of Statistics (KNBS) over the past two years, Kakamega County was among counties contributing to high teenage pregnancy rates, measured by adolescents presenting with pregnancy at their first antenatal care visit.

In the 2024 survey, Nairobi, Bungoma and Kakamega led with a contributing range from 4.2 per cent to 6.2 per cent, followed by Narok. During the period under review, the number of adolescents (aged 10 to 19 years) presenting with pregnancy at the first ANC visit declined by 1.9 per cent to 253,300.

Those aged 10 to 14 years saw a sharp drop of 9.5 per cent to 11,831. For adolescents aged 15-19 years, the numbers declined by 1.5 per cent to 241,483.

The 2025 survey showed further improvement in the number of adolescents aged 10-19 years presenting with pregnancy at their first ANC visit decreasing by 4.8 per cent to 241,228 in 2024.

More than anything, the twins want to return to school

“We want our books. We want to sit exams like our friends. What matters now is education more than the children because if we get education, we will fight for justice someday,” says Jane.

Area assistant chief Mary Okalo acknowledges the scale of the problem.

“Teenage pregnancy is very high in this area; we see many cases linked to abuse within families. We need stronger reporting and support systems from the victim’s family because many suffer the cost of silence,” she says.

According to the administrator, prosecuting these cases is not easy since many parents are reluctant to report, let alone testify in court.

“There is a lot of interference with witnesses; in most instances, the witnesses are moved to protect the family ties by shielding perpetrators. Some suspects do not show up in court once they are released on bond, causing such cases to collapse,” explains Okalo.

Children’s rights advocates say such outcomes are common in incest cases, where perpetrators exploit family power dynamics and community silence.

“Incest thrives where shame is placed on victims and not offenders,” says Kakamega-based child protection officer Innocent Ondieki.

When survivors are minors, the state has a duty to act quickly and decisively.

Mental health workers warn that forced separation after childbirth can intensify depression and post-traumatic stress disorder, particularly for teenage survivours of incest.

Advocate William Onyonje emphasises that under Kenya’s Sexual Offences Act (2006), incest is a serious criminal offence punishable by life imprisonment if the victim is a minor.

Right to protection

The law places responsibility squarely on investigators and prosecutors, not families, to pursue suspects once a complaint is made. 

“The Children Act (2022) further guarantees every child the right to protection from abuse, dignity, parental care and psychosocial support. Survivors of sexual violence, the Act states, are entitled to state protection and rehabilitation,” he states.

Article 53 of the Constitution of Kenya guarantees every child the right to parental care and protection. It also states that a child’s best interests are of paramount importance in every matter concerning the minor.

“Culture is often invoked selectively. It protects perpetrators while punishing survivors. Section 4(1) of the Children Act provides that every child shall have an inherent right to life and shall be the responsibility of the government and the family to ensure the survival and development of the child,” observes Onyonje.

Further, the Act protects the child from harmful cultural rites, customs, or traditional practices that are likely to negatively affect their life, dignity, or physical and psychological development.

Among the Luhya community, it is widely believed that babies born out of incest are a bad omen and are usually regarded as outcasts. 

“Traditionally, we don’t take those children. In the olden days the children were not allowed anywhere around their mothers’ breasts because that would amount to accepting a curse in the home where they were born. Even when my grandchildren were born, we didn’t allow them to breastfeed,” says Jane’s grandmother.

Isaac Misikote, an elder, says that children born out of incest were thrown away in bushes or rivers as a way of exorcising them from society.

“Issues touching on incestuous sex were handled discreetly in the past to restore the reputation of those involved. Only clan elders were informed, and handle the matter whenever such cases arose,” he adds.