I can't breastfeed my baby... I’m still a child myself: A Molo girl's cry for justice
A 13-year-old girl's world crumbled when a trusted family friend lured her with Sh200 at night and defiled her, forcing her to drop out of school and become a child mother.
What you need to know:
- A 13-year-old girl's world crumbled when a family friend lured her with Sh200 at night and defiled her, forcing her to drop out of school and become a child mother.
- Her quest for justice turned into a second nightmare as she faced humiliation in open court, where a magistrate asked her to choose her attacker's sentence.
- Now nursing a two-and-half-month-old baby she barely knows how to care for, she carries the weight of lost childhood while her poor father fights a seemingly rigged justice system that appears designed to protect everyone but the victim.
At just 13 years old, Lena* carries a burden no child should bear. Her tiny hands, which should be holding textbooks and pencils, now cradle a two-and-a-half-month-old baby – a daily reminder of the night that shattered not just her innocence, but the bonds of trust between two families.
The betrayal cuts deeper because of its source. Lena was best friends with the perpetrator's daughters, their laughter and play dates a regular feature in both households. Her parents never hesitated when she asked to spend nights at her friends' home – after all, she was among age-mates, under the care of a man they considered a trusted family friend.
"He told me to follow him and gave me Sh200," Lena recalls quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.
"Before I could ask him where we were going at night, he laid me down and repeatedly defiled me." That November night, as Lena slept over in the room she often shared with her friends, their father betrayed the trust of both his children and their playmate.
Charcoal burning
The aftermath of that night would spiral into a nightmare that continues to haunt not just Lena, but her entire family.
In their remote village in Molo, where her illiterate father ekes out a living from charcoal burning, the family's quest for justice has become a tale of systemic failure, corruption, and institutional apathy.
The first signs of trouble emerged at school, where teachers noticed changes in Lena's body before she eventually dropped out. The pregnancy, a consequence of the defilement, became visible months later, leading to questions from village women.
It was only then that Lena finally revealed her ordeal, shattering the friendship between the families and destroying the innocent world where children could safely play at neighbours’ homes.
The violations didn't end with the assault. In the courtroom where Lena sought refuge, she found herself facing another form of trauma. The proceedings, which should have been conducted with sensitivity and privacy, turned into what her parents describe as a public spectacle of humiliation.
"I was shocked when the magistrate openly asked my daughter how many years he should sentence her defiler," her father recalls, his voice heavy with dejection.
"I still don't understand why the magistrate asked my daughter that question. It was extremely humiliating and traumatic. I want my daughter to get justice."
Her mother, equally distressed, draws a stark parallel: "This trial is as bad as the defilement. I have not gone to law school, but in my small understanding, the law sets boundaries around what questions can be asked to a victim-survivor in court."
The pain in her voice is palpable as she continues, "We cannot afford a lawyer to intervene on questions asked to our daughter. The questions are misleading, confusing, annoying, harassing, intimidating, offensive, oppressive, humiliating and repetitive."
Legal experts confirm the family's concerns. According to Penina Mwangi of the Law Society of Kenya (LSK) Nakuru Chapter, such proceedings should never have taken place in an open court. "This is meant to protect the privacy and dignity of children," she explains, adding that defilement cases involving minors should be held behind closed doors, in the magistrate's chambers.
The family's pursuit of justice reads like a catalogue of systemic failures. At the first police station they visited, an officer demanded a bribe they couldn't afford.
"The police officer told us the case will not go anywhere if we refuse to bribe him," Lena's father remembers. Undeterred, they moved to another police station, where the suspect was finally arrested after six months in hiding.
But new obstacles emerged at every turn. The suspect's family attempted to buy their silence – first with Sh20,000, then with Sh100,000. Both times, Lena's parents stood firm in their quest for justice, despite their dire financial circumstances.
Dreams and inspirations
The most devastating blow came with the DNA test results. Before the samples were even sent to the Kenya Medical Research Institute (Kemri), a senior police officer had already predicted the outcome: negative. The results arrived exactly as foretold, though Lena's parents maintain that fresh tests should be conducted, suspecting manipulation of the process.
Through it all, Lena struggles with the basics of motherhood. At 13, she doesn't know how to care for her infant, and breastfeeding remains a challenge. Her education – once a pathway to dreams and aspirations – has been interrupted. The charcoal-burning trade that sustains her illiterate father barely provides for their needs in their remote village home.
The suspect, meanwhile, continues to walk free, wielding threats about using his money to derail the case that has languished in court for over a year.
"He threatened me with dire consequences if I told the court that he was responsible for the pregnancy and defilement," Lena reveals, her voice trembling.
Yet, amid these struggles, her father's resolve remains unshaken.
"I want the suspect to be behind bars, that's all I want. I will continue fighting for this case. I have gone through tough moments with police and court system that are painfully slow, but I will not give up until justice is delivered to my daughter."
In their remote village, where access to legal aid and human rights activists is virtually impossible, Lena and her family continue their lonely fight for justice. Their story represents countless other young girls whose voices have been silenced, whose justice remains elusive in a system that seems designed to protect everyone but them.
As each day passes, Lena grows older, her baby grows bigger, but the wheels of justice turn painfully slow – if they turn at all.
