Burnt in his sleep: Inside men's struggle in abusive relationships

Boiling water in a sufuria. [GettyImages]

Ishmael Oundo, 26, still struggles to sleep through the night.

Even when exhaustion finally overpowers the pain, he startles awake at the slightest sound, his body tensing instinctively, as if bracing for another attack. Sleep, once a refuge after long days of hustling as a matatu driver, has become an uneasy truce between memory and fear.

On a blue plastic chair outside a modest tiled building at Brimaxa Hospital, Oundo sits shirtless, his head bowed, his left arm resting limply on his lap.

His skin tells a story, his lips hesitate to speak, angry, uneven scars stretching across his face, chest and arms, the unmistakable marks of scalding water poured deliberately on human flesh.

This is the body of a man burnt with hot water in his sleep at home on January 14, 2026.

“I was deep asleep,” he says quietly after a long pause. “I didn’t even hear her approach. I just found myself outside screaming for help in the middle of the night, begging neighbours to rescue me.”

What makes the incident even more haunting is the date.

It was his daughter’s third birthday; a day they share.

“A day that was supposed to be joy, instead, became the day I almost died,” he said, shaking his head.

Earlier that day, Oundo had organised a small celebration at home. Children were invited, chicken was cooked, and a cake was cut. He says the house was lively and full of laughter.

“We woke up very jovial,” he recalls. “Since it was my child’s birthday, I even told her mother not to take her to school so that we could celebrate together.”

Family first 

He did not go to work that day. As a matatu driver, missing a day behind the wheel meant losing income, but he says family came first.

“I wanted us to have family time,” he says. “I didn’t know my life would take such a turn.”

Later in the evening, he stepped out briefly to watch football at a nearby joint, leaving the children enjoying themselves at home.

A disagreement had occurred earlier in the day. Oundo says it revolved around messages found on his phone, birthday wishes from a former schoolmate.

“We argued, yes, he says. But like any couple, I believed it would cool down.”

By midnight, he opted to sleep, hoping the tension would pass.

That decision nearly cost his life.

He remembers the pain waking him before he could even scream.

“It felt like fire sitting on my skin,” he says, lifting his injured arm slightly. “I jumped up confused. I didn’t understand what was happening.”

Burning and disoriented, his first instinct was to check on his child.

“I went back into the house calling out, checking under the bed. They were not there,” he says.

That moment, he says, marked the realisation that the attack had been deliberate.

Desperate and in agony, he knocked on a neighbour’s door while screaming for help. A woman came out and handed him cold water.

“When I poured it on myself, my skin started peeling,” he recalls. “She told me I had serious burns and needed to go to hospital immediately.”

Alone, with his phone off and no one to escort him, Oundo walked nearly 500 metres to the road, shouting for help. A passing boda boda rider eventually stopped and rushed him to the hospital.

“I looked mad. Even the nurses were scared when they saw me,” he added.

According to him, by the time he was admitted, large portions of his upper body had been badly scalded.

To him, the physical pain was overwhelming, but the emotional shock settled deeper.

“I kept thinking, how will I live with these scars? How will I work? Driving a matatu needs strength. My body is my livelihood,” Oundo asked.

When men are the victims

Oundo is the firstborn in a family of six and the breadwinner. Since the attack, he has been unable to work. His hospital bill has risen beyond what his family can afford.

“My mother is sickly. Now everything is on pause.”

But beyond the burns, the hardest struggle has been something far less visible, being believed.

Oundo says that after the incident, he encountered skepticisms rather than sympathy.

“When I tell people what happened, some laugh. Others say I’m faking. He pauses before adding: “If I were a woman, the reaction would be different.”

For him, the ordeal exposed a silence surrounding men who experience abuse in their own homes.

“As a man, you’re expected to be strong, but when you say you were hurt, they see weakness,” he says.

He worries about the future, how his scars will shape his identity, how he will one day explain them to his daughter.

“How will I tell her what happened to her father?” he asks quietly.

Oundo’s experience is not isolated.

Dan Muhandale still remembers what happened to him in 2022. While watching television at home, he was attacked by his wife and her sister-in-law.

“They beat me like a child. I am blind. I couldn’t defend myself.

The assault left him injured and traumatised. His children, then six and nine, witnessed the aftermath.

“They still carry bitterness. I have to talk to them every day,” he said.

Like Oundo, Muhandale says his suffering was minimised.

“Men’s cases are watered down. You are told to move on,” he says. This compounds the trauma; it’s not just the violence itself, it’s the question of legitimacy when they seek help.

Muhandale, a father of two, still bears the physical and emotional scars of abuse he suffered in the hands of his wife in 2022.

“As we speak, I never got justice. The case went nowhere, and the OCS at the station was simply transferred. One day, I will fight for justice,” he added.

Shame and powerlessness

In Kenya’s public discourse on gender-based violence (GBV), the focus, rightly, has been on the pervasive abuses suffered by women and girls.

Yet behind the headlines and the statistics lies an often overlooked reality: a significant number of men too endure violence in their own homes, and many suffer in silence, shrouded by stigma, disbelief and social expectations about masculinity.

Experts in gender studies and psychology note that entrenched norms about masculinity, which emphasize strength, stoicism and emotional self-reliance, make it doubly difficult for male survivors to speak up. A recent academic analysis found that male victims often face discrimination and scepticism from health workers, police and the public, which discourages reporting and access to support.

“One of the biggest barriers for men is shame,” says Martin Owino a psychologist specialising in trauma. “They worry that acknowledging abuse is a sign of weakness, and this perception can be devastating to mental health.”

Experts say stigma is the biggest barrier preventing men from speaking out.

Psychologist Hendricks Ademba explains that abuse strikes at the core of a man’s identity.

“Men experience shame and powerlessness,” he says. “Power is central to a man’s sense of wellbeing.”

He notes that survivors may develop anxiety, depression or post-traumatic stress disorder, with symptoms including insomnia, nightmares, irritability, emotional withdrawal and hypervigilance.

“Scars change how a man sees his body,” Ademba says. “He may feel estranged from himself.”

Children exposed to violence between parents, he adds, internalise unhealthy relationship patterns that may affect their future relationships.

Legal experts say many men suffer in silence due to fear of ridicule and disbelief. While comprehensive national data on male victims remains limited, various studies and surveys suggest male experiences of intimate partner violence are both prevalent and under-reported. Research in the Kisumu slums found that an astonishing 76.1 per cent of men surveyed reported experiences of intimate partner violence (IPV) - encompassing emotional, economic, physical and sexual violence. Emotional abuse was the most common at 47.5 per cent, followed by economic violence at 23.8 per cent, sexual violence at 16.5 per cent and physical violence at 12.2 per cent

Psychological abuse

According to the 2022 Kenya Demographic and Health Survey, about 36 per cent of men report having experienced some form of gender-based violence, with psychological abuse being the most common. Experts believe the actual figures are much higher due to underreporting.

Advocates argue that addressing violence against men should not detract from efforts to protect women, who still experience the highest rates of severe GBV, but should instead be part of a comprehensive approach to reducing all forms of domestic violence.

Awareness campaigns, training for police and healthcare workers, and inclusive support services are among the recommended interventions to ensure no victim is left invisible.

Organisations working in the field stress the importance of gender-inclusive support systems, from counselling and legal aid to community education programmes that challenge stereotypes about who a victim “should” be.

“Violence has no gender,” says Owino. “Recognising male victimisation does not diminish the suffering of women, it broadens our understanding of the problem and compels us to do better for every survivor.”

In a society where gender norms are deeply entrenched, the first step toward meaningful change is breaking the taboo around male victimhood.

Encouraging more men to come forward, supporting them without judgement, and collecting robust data on these experiences would help policymakers craft more effective responses.

Foundation of healing

For the countless men who have been hurt, and too often ignored, that recognition is not just symbolic. It is the foundation for healing, for justice, and for a society where all victims of domestic violence, regardless of gender, can find a path out of silence.

A life forever altered, as Oundo continues to heal, his scars remain visible reminders, not just of a brutal night, but of a silence surrounding male suffering.

“I never imagined I would be counted among men abused in their own homes,” he says.
He looks down at his arms, then away.

“My life changed in one night,” he says. “And I will never forget.”

However, when contacted, Wanjala said the matter was before court and that she has been advised not to speak for her own safety.

“My lawyer instructed me not to talk about the matter, but once I get a go- ahead, I will tell my side of the story,” she said.