Smuggled to be cut — how cross-border networks keep female circumcision thriving in southwestern Kenya

Daily Maverick

26-06-2025

Kenya outlawed the practice of female genital mutilation in 2011, but a disturbing adaptation has emerged among borderland communities, which, for generations, have seen the practice as an important rite for girls towards becoming eligible for marriage.
For much of the year the dirt paths which criss-cross Kenya's southwestern border with Tanzania lie overgrown and forgotten. This all changes suddenly around November and into December, each year. That is when the 'cutting' season begins.
It is then that young men on motorcycles suddenly appear in their droves on the narrow trails. Buzzing through the bush in the pre-dawn, on prearranged days, they carry on the seats behind them girls, some no older than 10. The girls are taken from Kenya's Migori County to be circumcised in the hidden folds of the Tarime district in Tanzania. The ceremonies in the bush happen under the watchful eyes of elders from the girls' tribe, the Kuria, who have lived in this region on both sides of the border for generations.
Some of these girls are crudely disguised as boys — their clothes have been changed and their heads have been shaved. The deception on top of the secrecy is warranted. What is happening here is grossly illegal in Kenya, which outlaws female circumcision.
But, it is a crime that some conservative members of the Kuria community still believe they have a sacred right to commit. Many parents voluntarily give their daughters up for circumcision in the hope that they will become more attractive to prospective husbands.
When police officers tasked with stopping the cross-border transport of girls intervene, things can turn ugly.
'Last year alone, we rescued 387 girls seeking refuge,' said Dominic Korir, the police chief of Kehancha, a town close to the border.
'But our officers were also attacked with machetes and arrows. One was seriously injured.'
For every success they have in rescuing a girl, admits Korir, many others are slipping across the porous border — through to Tanzania for 'the cut' and then back to Kenya — without ever being known to the authorities.
Progress hampered by persistence of cross-border FGM
Kenya outlawed the practice of female genital mutilation (FGM) in 2011. Despite the country's celebrated progress, a disturbing adaptation has emerged among borderland communities like the Kuria, which, for generations, have seen the practice as an important rite for girls towards becoming eligible for marriage.
These communities, as the United Nations Population Fund (UNFPA) has warned, exploit porous borders and the often weak law enforcement in these areas to carry on circumcising girls beyond the confines of Kenya's legal jurisdiction. They have turned this rite of passage into a sophisticated, underground operation that not only evades the law but generates profits for those involved — especially for elders and circumcisers — and for those who provide services, such as motorcycle taxi operators.
While the persistence of cross-border FGM has long been flagged by activists and international observers, little is known about how these operations work.
Over the last few months, we travelled to Migori County on three occasions to find out firsthand how this trade continues to flourish in defiance of international condemnation and Kenya's ban. What we found was a well-oiled system of secrecy, bribes, and cultural entrenchment — one that is fuelled by poverty, tradition and a shadow economy that thrives in silence.
Our fixer and our first visit
In September 2024, we first travelled to Isibania — a town on Kenya's southwestern border with Tanzania and home to an important crossing point between the countries. These were the months before the start of the circumcision season, known locally as ' Esaaro ', when preparations among the Kuria slowly began. In Isibania, we were received by a young man whom we will call Musa, as he agreed to help us on condition of anonymity.
Musa is well-connected in the Kuria community, with family members who are elders overseeing the circumcision of young girls every year. But, he told us, he has grown disillusioned with the practice. When he was instructed some years ago to take his young sister for circumcision, he hid and protected her instead. Before returning home later that day, he told us, he smeared chicken blood on his sister's thighs to deceive his family. Yet, he feels unable to speak out about the practice publicly, because he risks ostracisation from his family and community if he does so.
Riding on motorcycles, known locally as ' boda bodas ', Musa guided us along the trails linking Kenyan villages like Nyagiti, Masongora and Nyamutiro to Tanzanian circumcision hotspots across the border: Gosebe, Borega and Kitagutiti.
'These roads don't look busy now,' he told us during our first tour, 'but wait until Esaaro. You'll see girls packed in between sacks on motorcycles, being rushed across before dawn.'
These are not official border crossings. There are no fences or guards. If there is any indication at all that one is crossing an international boundary, it is usually just a lonely white post marked KE on one side and TZ on the other.
Isibania town transformed
In the first weeks of the circumcision season, the ceremonial preparations in the Kuria region begin in earnest. On our second visit to the region, in November, we found Isibania transformed. There were groups of people on the roads singing and dancing to traditional songs. In the streets there were open processions of girls who had already undergone the cut. The crowds carried crude weapons — clubs, sticks and machetes — and among the revellers were young girls wearing shukas [traditional garments], which we could see were stained with blood.
The girls had on caps with banknotes pinned to them. People came up and pinned more money to their caps as they passed. It was all surprisingly public. But when we queried bystanders about the procession and the girls, some of them became withdrawn and shut down. In this border community there is an uneasy tension at these times: between age-old celebrations and the recent awareness that what the street processions represent are serious crimes in the eyes of Kenya's government.
Ceremony at Ngerengere — an open secret
One morning before dawn, on the day when another big cutting ceremony was planned, Musa led us through the bush again. This time the site he showed us to was anything but abandoned. We came to Ngerengere, in Tanzania's Morogoro district, which is one of the most important and busy Kuria circumcision sites.
The ritual site was surrounded by rocky outcrops that provided good vantage points for sentries posted to scan the bush below for signs of intruders or police.
At dawn we watched motorcycles offload girls with freshly shaved heads. Others walked into the ritual grounds barefoot, flanked by mothers and aunts. There were also boys who were to undergo circumcision as a rite of manhood. The boys entered the ritual area with bravado and noise. The girls, on the other hand, were strangely silent.
The boys and girls joined the same path in groups. A few hundred metres up ahead, the trail forked. As the girls took the way to the right, the boys went left. As they walked towards the site where the circumciser — an elderly woman — was waiting for them, each girl squatted to urinate. This was a ritual last act, said Musa, before the cut.
A cluster of elders gathered in an opening nearby and sat sipping traditional brew.
The cutting was done in silence, out of view. At around 8.30am, the first group of circumcised girls emerged, draped in shukas stained with fresh blood. Many struggled to walk. They were taken aside and given a herbal remedy to stop the bleeding. Then they joined a grand procession, leaving the site, escorted by cheering villagers. This was a victory parade.
The march continued all the way — about 3km — to the border post at Isibania. The celebrating crowd swelled all the way. There, border personnel did little but look on. Those manning the gate merely observed as the crowd crossed, allowing passage even for girls who had clearly undergone circumcision. It was an open secret.
'Authorities remain unable to intervene due to fears of pro-circumcision groups, who are often armed,' said Musa.
Interview with survivors
Back in Isibania, Musa helped us with the delicate arrangements needed to speak to a survivor. We were due to meet one, a 13-year-old girl, in our hotel room. However, our meeting was cancelled at the last minute when her older brother became suspicious and watchful. He feared that if she spoke to us, the police might use her story as cause to arrest their parents, we were told.
So, in the end, she recounted her experience via a secret phone call. To protect her and the others who spoke to us, we do not name them.
'On the day of circumcision, I woke up early, took a bath, and we left with a crowd of men and women to Tanzania,' said the girl.
'There were about 24 other girls at the circumcision ground. We formed a queue and underwent the cut. It was not a good experience; other girls were crying. When you cry, the crowd refuses to escort you, saying that you are shaming them. Many girls were in pain.'
Though educated on FGM's risks in school, she had no real choice, she said.
'My parents said I must undergo FGM because it is our culture and tradition, despite me knowing and learning about its dangers in school. So, I didn't have a choice. They also threatened me that they won't pay my school fees unless I undergo the cut,' she said.
Not all girls are forced. Some go voluntarily. Another initiate from an earlier season, now 18, said she chose to undergo the cut at 16.
'All the girls in my family did it. I didn't want to be left behind,' she said.
The cutting was done by a woman on the Tanzanian side of the border, she said.
'The Kenyan ones are scared of the police.'
Another woman agreed to speak with us. She was just 29 years old, but already a grandmother. She had undergone the cut, but wanted her daughter to break the cycle. Her daughter defied her wishes, she says.
'My daughter underwent the cut in Tanzania. I never wanted her to undergo the cut. She was, however, compelled against my wish because of being ridiculed by her peers,' she said.
She allowed her daughter to speak to us. This is what she said:
'They would refer to me as ' Saganaka ', which means a stupid woman that doesn't amount to anything. This really affected my self-esteem, and I chose to undergo the cut against my mother's wish.'
Circumcision is big business
In the Kuria region, female circumcision is not just a tradition, it is a business.
Each actor in the chain earns money, Musa told us. Circumcisers make about 1,000 Kenyan shillings (about $8) per girl. Community elders, as a collective, receive 200 Kenyan shillings (Ksh) per girl. Motorcycle drivers charge Ksh1,000 or more per trip.
An elder, who spoke to us on condition of anonymity, gave us a rough estimate of how many girls are circumcised per season. He said that he believed the number for the 2024 season was greater than 2,500 girls. The family of each one would have had to pay the fees.
Joseph Rioba, a 31-year-old boda boda (motorcycle taxi) rider, agreed to speak to us about his contribution to the trade. He admitted smuggling 10 girls across the border in 2024.
'They were disguised as boys. We smuggled them in pairs,' said Rioba.
'I charge Ksh2,000 for the round trip because it's a risky operation,' he said.
Despite the profitability of the work, he said that his 'absolute love' for the culture is what motivated him most. He added that his wife was training to become a circumciser.
The failure of enforcement
FGM has been outlawed in Kenya since 2011. The Prohibition of Female Genital Mutilation Act criminalises performing, aiding, or failing to report FGM. Tanzania has similar laws under its Sexual Offences Special Provisions Act. But enforcement remains patchy — especially in borderlands, and more specifically on the Tanzanian side of the border, we were told.
Korir, the police officer who spoke to us, said that controlling and policing the cross-border movement of girls was a difficult task. The season of 2024 was bigger than in the past, he said, suggesting that the police were losing ground in their enforcement efforts. There was also less external support from non-governmental organisations for his officers, he said.
'Unlike before, these organisations were unable to assist us in locating the perpetrators, he said.
'Previously, they provided assistance like fuel, enabling us to cover a wider area, but this time, we are operating with limited resources.'
Worse, there are allegations that some officers take bribes.
'The police have been arresting girls that have undergone the cut in order to lure their parents, who, when they get to the police station, their daughters are released, and the parents are arrested and only get released when they bribe the police,' said the 13-year-old victim we interviewed.
Korir denied this claim.
'Those are claims that are unsubstantiated because my officers adhere to the law,' he said.
Cultural and political complicity
For the Kuria, FGM is tied to identity, respect and womanhood. Rejecting it risks ostracism. While it is not easy, some women and activists working in the region show that breaking the cycle is possible.
Jane Boke, an outspoken survivor and activist, fled her marriage to protect her daughters.
'I made it clear that if the wellbeing of my daughters was the price for this marriage to survive, then it was better for the marriage to end. My children's protection was paramount,' she said, during an interview in Migori.
Her defiance has sparked change in her family, she says: none of her extended family's girls have been cut since. Today, she works to educate her community and to support other survivors and girls who also want to break the cycle in their families.
But these activists often work without the support of political leaders. They don't want to lose votes, we were told, so some secretly support FGM.
The Kuria community is not alone in setting up cross-border networks to continue the practice of FGM. UNFPA warns that cross-border FGM is spreading across east Africa. In 2018, the agency estimated that 800,000 girls in Kenya, Uganda and Tanzania could be at risk by 2030 if trends persist.
The Kenyan Anti-FGM Board now works with county governments to establish local steering committees in all 22 high-prevalence counties.
'Kenya has made major strides in the elimination of FGM,' said CEO Bernadette Loloju.
'But, a lot still needs to be done, especially in communities living along the borders, like the Kuria community, because of the influence from the border communities, which in some instances are family.' DM
This investigation was produced by the Southern Africa Accountability Journalism Project (SA | AJP), a project of the Henry Nxumalo Foundation funded by the European Union. The article does not necessarily reflect the views of the European Union.