Many survivors of sexual violence live with scars that are invisible to the eye, permanently etched into their hearts and minds.
Even after physical wounds heal, painful memories and emotional trauma often resurface with every trigger.
For many survivors, the day the violence occurred changed their lives forever. While the world moves on, they are often left carrying the pain, trauma and consequences for the rest of their lives.
Mental health, a critical component of overall well-being, is frequently affected. This can influence quality of life, physical health, recovery from illness, educational attainment, work productivity and personal relationships.
Yet for many survivors of sexual violence, access to mental health and psychosocial support remains limited.
For Beatrice Karore, memories of the ordeal remain vivid years later. “It was around 2007 or 2008 when I received a distress call to help another victim of gender-based violence. It was in the evening,” she recalls.
As a human rights defender, Karore immediately set out for Kosovo, near Nairobi’s Mathare informal settlement, to assist a woman in distress. “I passed through a common footpath and, at a corner, someone grabbed me. There were three men. They dragged me away. I tried to scream for help, but there was no one to help me. They raped me,” she says tearfully.
“I was 34 years old then.”
What began as a mission to help another woman quickly became a fight to save herself. “I dragged myself away after they were done. I was in pain. I went home crying, but I told no one because I did not know who to tell. I never reported the incident or went to hospital.”
People often say healing is a journey, but for survivors of sexual violence, that journey can feel endless. “I have healed, but every time I talk about it, I get flashbacks and images of that day,” Karore says.
Milly Akinyi’s story is equally painful.
“It was during the post-election violence. My friends and I sneaked out and went to Jamhuri Showground for a disco. When the lights went off, we decided to seek refuge at a nearby police station,” she recalls.
A place she believed would offer protection turned out to be more dangerous.
“The police officers turned against us and gang-raped us. The following morning, they gave us fare and told us to go home,” she recounts.
“We could not tell our parents because we blamed ourselves for sneaking out. I was only 19 years old and had been raised in a religious family,” she adds.
The trauma did not end there. Months later, she discovered she was pregnant.
“I tried many ways to terminate the pregnancy, but none worked. I would faint every time. The last time I tried to end both my life and the baby’s, I fainted and was taken to Mukuru Police Station. The officers beat me and warned me not to try again.”
After giving birth, the emotional burden became overwhelming.
Unable to cope, she left her three-month-old baby with her parents and ran away. “When I came back home, I used to beat that child mercilessly. Every time I did, I would be taken to the police station.”
Looking at her daughter became a painful reminder of the worst day of her life. “The effects are still there. Even today, my child does not trust me,” she says.
Years later, Akinyi began working with organisations supporting survivors of sexual violence. However, when cases of gender-based violence surged in 2020, being among the first responders in her community reopened old wounds. “I was traumatised again. This time, depression completely threw me off the grid,” she recounts, adding; “I became scared of almost everything. That is when I was referred to a psychologist and later to a psychiatrist.”
The experiences of Karore and Akinyi reflect the reality faced by countless survivors of sexual violence across Kenya.
While medical care and justice are often prioritised after an assault, the psychological and emotional effects can last for years, and sometimes a lifetime. Yet access to mental health support remains a major challenge.
According to a report by Physicians for Human Rights (PHR), Kenya’s mental health treatment gap stands at 85 per cent, meaning five out of every six people who require mental healthcare are unable to access it.
The report cites a severe shortage of mental health professionals, with only about 115 psychiatrists and fewer than 500 registered psychiatric nurses nationwide. Most are concentrated in urban areas, leaving many communities underserved.
Other barriers include stigma, limited awareness, inadequate investment, weak service delivery systems and policy gaps.
These stories underscore an important reality: mental health and psychosocial support cannot be treated as a one-time intervention. Healing from sexual violence is often a lifelong process that requires continuous counselling, community support, accessible and affordable healthcare, and sustained investment.
Experts say survivors need long-term care that addresses not only immediate trauma, but also the lasting emotional, social and psychological consequences of violence.
As Kenya works to address its growing mental health crisis, stakeholders are calling for increased investment in long-term psychosocial support services for survivors of sexual violence.
