The Silence of the Slums: Why Justice is Not for Sale

Does a grievous crime against a woman or girl in an informal settlement carry a price tag? Do perpetrators believe they can buy their freedom, and their silence, with a wad of notes, walking away unburdened while the soul of the victim remains in chains? The question of what exactly it is like to walk along in the sprawling informal settlements of Nairobi, has been answered with a devastating ‘yes."

Its powerful silence has long remained hidden the horrific story of horrific sexual violence, defilement and intimate partner abuse. This is in the public eye, those who commit such crimes are free to walk freely among victims, and the women and girls who have been affected by the worst acts of violence remain silent, forever silent, and healing, forever delayed.

The cycle of impunity, sustained by economic desperation and community hostility, has made these areas fertile ground for gender-based violence (GBV) to thrive.

The fight to shatter this silence begins with the sheer, unyielding bravery of survivors like Jane (name changed to protect her identity), and the guardian who refused to bend. Jane, a sexually assaulted victim at age 17, endured a trauma that made her "scared to open the school" for fear of judgment and stigmatization. Her family's pursuit of justice began the painful, five-year legal journey against a perpetrator who was a close family member. 

Her guardian remembers the immense pressure that the perpetrator’s family had, noting they immediately tried to bargain for a settlement. After years of long delays, including a trial in which police were “reluctant to arrest him” and the man on bail was released, justice was finally delivered: the Perpetrator was sentenced to 15 years. 

The Frontline of Justice

The reality of these incidents is felt daily on the front lines by law enforcement officers like police constable Irene Kanzika, attached to the Gender Office at Mukuru Kwa Njenga police post. "The most common violence reported here at our station are physical abuse, that is, assault. Defilement cases, rape cases, and incest," she states. Kanzika points out a heartbreaking trend: "A lot of cases of violence among students are normally reported one week before when children are about to go to school." This is because parents, busy with the daily hustle, only discover their children have been defiled when they are preparing them to return to school after a holiday spent idle and vulnerable.

Kanzika’s team, though dedicated, faces immense challenges. "We find hostility in the communities whenever we are pursuing the cases of the victims," she explains, noting the difficult task of finding a safe place for survivors. Yet, their persistence, supported by partner organizations, yields results, transforming Jane’s victory into a common goal. She proudly recounts successes: “We have had many cases where we walk through them, and the perpetrators have been punished or locked in prison to defend the sentences that they deserve.” This is key to the wall of silence. This conviction for 11 years in incest and another for 15 years in defilement are landmark convictions in the wall of silence.

Escaping the Cycle

While Jane’s battle was external, for others, the terror resides within the home. Irene Mbalilwa, a mother of two girls, is a survivor of intimate partner violence. Her abuse was not just physical, but mental and emotional.

Mbalilwa admits that the fear of community judgment, the very same silence that shields perpetrators, kept her trapped. "Such sentiments make people stick to abusive relationships or marriage because they feel like whenever they get out, they'll be judged." She fought for her marriage, involving family and friends, but the cycle only intensified until her husband brought another woman to live in the same house. Mbalilwa finally left, needing "my own sanity and peace of mind," and eventually sought psychological help from the Centre for Rights Education and Awareness (CREAW Kenya). The organization not only provided counselling for her mental breakdown but also intervened in a legal matter, compelling her baby’s father, who had refused to help with child support, to come to the table. After being summoned multiple times, he finally agreed to mediation, ensuring her children’s well-being.

Community and Economic Roots

“For the GBV cycle to be able to break up, it must go beyond the courtroom and into the community.” Benson Matini, the Assistant Chief of Chang’ombe sub-location, believes this will help to reach those suffering in silence. Even so, Matini adds that violence is very prevalent, from a man to woman perspective and It’s been also the case for men who have been victims of this gender-based violence. “It's only that men fear coming out, exposing that there have been violently attacked by their spouses." He suggests creating a dedicated gender desk where if a man has been abused, they go to the other desk where they are attended to by a fellow man.

Matini, who relies on Nyumba Kumi elders and youth groups for early warnings, traces the root cause of domestic violence back to one place: the absence of work. "We have a lot of cases that are now resulting from people not having commercial help to support their family," he argues. "I would argue that we should create a lot of jobs so that people can be employed and in turn have something that can take back home to cater for their families." He sees the presence of organizations like CREAW as vital, not just for justice, but for fostering economic stability that lessens domestic tension.

From Crisis to Empowerment

This holistic approach, which links legal aid and counselling to economic resilience, is the cornerstone of the work led by Grace Sela Onjala, Programme Lead for ending violence against women and girls at CREAW Kenya. Onjala highlights the scale of the crisis: “GBV is a high proportion in Nairobi, particularly in informal settlements. So many cases are mostly reported in Kibera and Mukuru informal settlements.”

“The numbers are stark: During a recent funding cycle, CREAW’s satellite offices in Kibera and Mukuru recorded and handled close to 5,000 cases of GBV.” Onjala explains that while legal proceedings and psychosocial support are paramount, the project recognized the economic trap that leads many survivors back into abusive situations or prevents them from seeking justice in the first place.

"We have been able to train about 204 women on financial literacy who are also the survivors of GBV," Onjala says. Most importantly, the project provided a mechanism for true independence: "We've been able to disperse cash transfers to 80 women that have built their businesses and changed their lives, such that they're no longer in the cycle of violence." These grants were meant to survive and support their businesses, showing that justice does not end when a survivor is financially stable and stable enough to walk on her own feet. This life of women has changed and the impact on society, such that most of them left the cycle of violence.

Onjala expressed CREAW Kenya's deepest gratitude to the Italian Agency of Development Cooperation and the UN Women for making the funding for this critical work possible. She noted that their support allowed them to reach thousands of survivors.

The silence is being broken, not just by courageous women who choose to speak, but by a coordinated, holistic effort that proves that justice for women and girls in the slums is non-negotiable, and certainly, not for sale.