This woman rescues Kenyan girls from sex traffickers

One morning in May, under an already-blazing sun, Elizabeth Kadzo strode purposefully through the hilly streets of Utange, a small township on the outskirts of Mombasa, in Kenya. 

Ms. Kadzo, a teacher at Utange Primary School, would typically be teaching at this time. Instead, she was heading to the local courthouse to inquire about a case that has dragged on for two years. 

“I told my principal that I cannot stay in school when children are [being] married,” said Ms. Kadzo. She was referring to an open secret – the disturbingly common practice of young girls being forced into sexual slavery.

Just a few miles from the world-class resorts and white-sand beaches that draw tens of thousands of tourists to Mombasa each year, towns like Utange endure a different reality. Amid rampant poverty, the coastal region is a human trafficking hotspot, leaving young girls vulnerable to sexual exploitation from both locals and foreign tourists.

Around a third of Kenyans live on less than $2 a day, and in Utange, families struggle to earn a living selling farm produce or doing odd jobs. Girls as young as 13 are sometimes forcibly “married” off – essentially sold – to older men to bring in a dowry. Other times, forcing girls into the sex industry is considered a rare job that feeds the family, while saving money that might be spent on education.

Spurred by the government’s slow rate of rescuing victims and prosecuting offenders, Ms. Kadzo has made it her mission to fight the abuse that blights her neighborhood. 

Using her own funds and occasional donations, she runs an organization called PACYA Kenya. The firebrand teacher’s self-appointed roles range from removing girls from brothels to seeking legal redress for escapees.

A high price for justice 

Ms. Kadzo walks into the court register’s office in Shanzu, a neighborhood a few miles from Utange, and asks for an update on the case of a teenager called Zimkita.

Zimkita was 13 years old when an older, wealthier neighbor married her.

Her case is not unique in this part of Kenya. The International Justice Mission (IJM), an international nonprofit with offices in Mombasa, estimates there are some 20,000 sex trafficking victims across Kenya at any one point, most clustered around the coastal region. Other organizations say the lack of reporting means the true number may be far higher. 

What is unusual, though, is that Zimkita’s ordeal has even made it into the legal system.

Under Kenyan law, sex and labor trafficking carry penalties ranging from 30 years imprisonment to life sentences. Still, only 46 people were successfully prosecuted for human trafficking between 2019 and 2020.

Ms. Kadzo has received threats from the perpetrators, who are often known to the community. “If you don’t drop the case,” she says one recently told her, “you [can’t] say I didn’t warn you.”

The clerk tells Ms. Kadzo that, after months of waiting, the case might get a mention the following month – meaning it would move to pretrial phase, with both the accused and the victim having to appear in court. But even that’s not certain, he warns.

“I come to this court almost every week for this and other cases,” Ms. Kadzo says, shaking her head in frustration. “It’s difficult to have these cases reach the trial phase. If you don’t have money, you can’t get justice.”

For families like Zimkita’s, the cost of justice is prohibitive. Just getting to the courts to follow up on the case costs around $10 – an amount the family simply doesn’t have to spare. Zimkita’s father is a palm wine tapper, who earns about $60 in a good month; her mother stays at home to look after their six children. 

Toward midday, the heat is sweltering as Ms. Kadzo arrives at the two-room, corrugated-iron-roofed hut where Zimkita and her family live. Sitting outside with her mother, the shy, slightly built teenager is nursing a 9-month-old baby; the child was born soon after her neighbor began abusing her.  

Zimkita doesn’t talk much to begin with, and says nothing when Ms. Kadzo breaks the news that the case hasn’t advanced. Eventually she speaks quietly.

She hopes to be able to return to school later this year, she says. “I want to be a lawyer – I want to help other people like me.”

Family, friends, tourists, and strangers

Campaigners struggle to untangle sex trafficking from entrenched poverty and accepted social ills.

A 2019 study from the International Justice Mission, which holds awareness-raising sessions with families in the region, found child sex trafficking in Mombasa “is facilitated by family, friends and community members, tourists as well as strangers, who act as recruiters, agents, pimps and transporters.” 

“At times,” Ms. Kadzo says, “there is an expectation that young girls should join the business if their mothers also happen to be sex workers.” 

But cases aren’t always clear-cut – and some families don’t even realize their children have been trafficked. 

Police in Mombasa tell the Monitor about a case that made it to court: In December last year, a family in Bungoma, a rural outpost some 560 miles from Mombasa, welcomed an old friend into their home. The family opened up to the woman about their struggle to pay for their daughter Emily’s secondary school fees that year, on top of feeding their large family.

When the friend offered to take young Emily to Mombasa, get her into school, and get her a cleaning job near where she lived, the family agreed. Such arrangements are not unheard of and are considered an opportunity to escape grinding rural poverty.

But, a police report later noted, on arrival in Mombasa, the so-called family friend forced Emily into sex work, the same trade she, herself, was in. Police said the woman did not allow Emily to talk directly to her parents whenever they called, and threatened her with violence if she spoke to any outsiders. 

Soon after arriving in Mombasa, one of the woman’s clients asked if he could “marry” Emily in exchange for a bride price. Back at his home, neighbors soon noticed the man was abusing her and called the police. Emily was rescued and taken to a women’s shelter.

Both of her alleged traffickers were arrested and are set to appear in court in the coming weeks – a rare example of the law reaching perpetrators.  

Meanwhile, as the sun sets in Utange, Ms. Kadzo continues her mission to visit yet another girl in the area, rescued in December. She lifts her African print dress slightly as she climbs a small hill, and is panting as she approaches the compound.

Her five-person organization of unpaid volunteers has been rescuing girls with the help of goodwill donations from organizations but hopes to create a fully fledged team and a shelter for the survivors who can’t return home. Most of the rescued girls want to learn a trade to support their families, but some return to sex work when they can’t find any other jobs.

“We do not have enough resources to help the families with lasting solutions,” says Ms. Kadzo, stopping in front of the gate. 

Then she turns to enter the house where a rescued girl is waiting. 

Editor’s note: Names have been changed to protect victims.