Femicide is rarely an isolated act of violence; it is often the final outcome of a pattern of coercion, control, and abuse that begins long before a woman's life is taken. Through the story of "Salama" and the voices of thousands of Kenyans who marched against femicide, this blog explores the intimate partner violence that remains hidden behind closed doors, the systemic failures that allow it to persist, and the urgent need for stronger laws, survivor-centred support, and collective action. Ending femicide requires more than mourning victims; it demands that we recognize the warning signs, hold perpetrators accountable, and build a society where every woman can live free from fear.
Confronting intimate partner violence before it becomes femicide
On June 1, 2026, the streets of Nairobi fell silent except for the rhythmic pounding of thousands of feet. At the head of the procession, young women bore an empty coffin on their shoulders, a coffin similar to the one hundreds of murdered women were buried in.
On Madaraka Day, instead of marching in remembrance of Kenya’s freedom, thousands of Kenyans marched shoulder to shoulder. Not in protest, but in mourning, searching for healing. A haunting procession.
That empty coffin, symbolic of countless untold stories, warning signs that were overlooked, pleas that were drowned out by indifference, and who, even in death, became the subject of whispered blame: “What did they do?” We failed them, not just in their last moments, but every day that led to their murders.
Each life lost to femicide is a soon-forgotten alarm, a manifestation of a society that has deafened its ear to the cries of women, a justice system arriving too late, if at all. An undeniable failure to protect women when their voices trembled with fear and screamed for help.
Before a woman’s name is etched into grim statistics, her story unfolds quietly, hidden in the margins. Violence starts even before the first slap lands. Violence is hidden beneath the sweet-smelling roses: the overwhelming affection, the grand gestures, the subtle barbs disguised as jokes, the gentle nudges pushing back on her boundaries, and the creeping guilt that seeps in like a slow tide, making her feel like she is the one on the wrong.
Salama* (not her real name), a 22-year-old woman weaving through the narrow alleys of Mathare, Nairobi. She carries the invisible and visible scars of abuse. Marks left on her body by the very hands that once promised to protect her.
Salama first noticed the change when he began checking her phone at 3 a.m. When she objected, he called her 'paranoid.' When she wanted to visit her mother, he asked, 'Who are you really going to see?'
All this was excused for love. When the first blow landed, he had already made her believe that her voice was the problem.
Salama’s world became dark, her prison built itself, brick by brick, through tiny compromises she was convinced were necessary. A slap was excused as an act of love, a kick as a fleeting mistake, her cries for boundaries dismissed as overreactions. Little by little, her walls closed in.
Intimate partner violence thrives in coercion, fear, societal pressure and silence. Salama no longer sleeps through the night as she used to. When darkness falls, so do her tears, and with them the painful flashbacks of her ‘’peaceful’’ life. Peace that depended on her silence, and that silence is what thousands of women across Kenya are fighting to break.
Salama's is not an outlier. Her experience is repeated in thousands of homes across the country in rural villages and urban estates, behind closed doors where screams are muffled by shame. The data merely confirms what survivors have always known: violence against women is Kenya's hidden pandemic.
Behind the protests are more stories like Salama's.
According to the Silencing Women project by Odipo Dev and Africa Uncensored, 2024 was the deadliest year on record for Kenyan women, with 167 documented femicide cases. Data from this report show that 1,069 women were killed between 2016 and 2025 despite growing awareness, media attention, and legal intervention. The Report of the Technical Working Group on Gender Based Violence confirmed what survivors have always known. Most of these murders are committed by a close person to the woman, an intimate partner or even a relative. Women aged 18 to 35 account for 59% of femicide cases nationally, with many victims having previously reported abuse before they were killed.
Many times, reporting these cases becomes its own punishment. Anti-femicide campaigners and families of gender-based violence (GBV) victims have criticised sensational and insensitive media coverage. The Media Council of Kenya, in their report ‘’ Analytical overview of femicide,’’ showed a consistent pattern where women who speak up face stigma from their communities, retaliation from their partners and often a law enforcement system that neglects their reports. The National Police Service reported that only 42% of femicide cases in 2024 resulted in arrests, with just 18% proceeding to conviction. Meaning, for every woman killed, there are at least two perpetrators walking free. Survivors like Salama face a 67% probability of re-victimisation when abusers face no consequences, according to the Kenya Women's Rights Organisation.
While the Protection Against Domestic Violence Act allows for court-issued Protection Orders, only 8% of eligible cases result in such orders. Of those, 43% are violated within 30 days, and only 12% of violations result in any enforcement action. This legislative promise remains hollow without implementation. The culture of victim blaming is supported by retrogressive gender norms, religious and community systems that support silence and by a law enforcement framework that does not recognise femicide as a distinct crime. Without that recognition, these killings are minimised as domestic disputes. Despite Kenya’s Constitution (2010), Sexual Offences Act (2006), the Protection Against Domestic Violence Act (2015), having very specific clauses on the protection and prevention of all Kenyans against acts of violence, for victims like Salama, legislation without enforcement acts as a monument to inaction.
The World Bank estimates that violence against women costs Kenya approximately 4.5% of its GDP annually, equivalent to over KSh 450 billion (approximately $3.5 billion), through lost productivity, healthcare costs, legal expenses, and intergenerational trauma that perpetuates poverty cycles. The Kenya National Bureau of Statistics indicates that women in the lowest income quintile are 4.7 times more likely to experience intimate partner violence than those in the highest quintile.
Policy Recommendation
The Government of Kenya has been implored several times by various feminist actors to enact a Femicide Prevention Act, establishing femicide as a distinct criminal offence with mandatory minimum sentences of up to 25 years to life imprisonment. This legislation calls for the creation of specialised Femicide Courts in every county.
Prevention must begin in schools and communities, with comprehensive GBV education integrated into the national curriculum for students aged 10-18, covering healthy relationships, consent, and early warning signs of abuse. A fully-funded 24/7 National GBV Helpline with the capacity to dispatch social workers and law enforcement simultaneously must replace the current under-resourced 1195 service.
Finally, Kenya must establish a National Femicide Observatory to track and publish real-time data, monitor institutional failures, and provide quarterly testimonies to Parliament, ensuring accountability rather than another task force report gathering dust. Community Dialogue Programmes, modelled on the Femrise Project, must operate in all 47 counties to publicly challenge retrogressive norms, while a KSh 2 billion annual Male Engagement Strategy works with men and boys to transform toxic masculinity. The silence must end. Not with another report or task force, but with legislation, funding, enforcement, and the unwavering commitment that every woman deserves to always walk home safely.
