Painful injustice as snakebite victims left behind

Kakamega County General Hospital workers view a Gaboon viper that bit a 13-year-old. [File, Standard]

At only 8.30am, the heat in Tharaka South, Tharaka Nithi County, already feels unforgiving.

Our vehicle jolts over dusty, potholed roads as we travel from Marimanti towards Kararani village.

The sun hangs heavy as residents move about—many on motorbikes—sharing roads with goats, packed old Probox cars, and swirling dust. Beneath this scorching landscape lies an invisible threat.

In Tharaka South, people live alongside some of Kenya’s most dangerous snakes: puff adders, black mambas, boomslangs, carpet vipers and even egg-eating snakes. Scorpions also creep into homes. For many families, the risk is constant, and fear has become part of daily life.

Leading the response is Evangeline Kajira, a Community Health Promoter in Mangrub Sub-Location, overseeing over 70 households. She works closely with scientists from the Kenya Snakebite Research and Intervention Centre (K-SRIC) under the Kenya Institute of Primate Research (KIPRE).

In this dry, rugged terrain, snakebite is not a statistic—it is painfully real. Kajira recalls in 2019 when her 13-year-old son was bitten by a non-venomous snake, leaving a lasting mark.

Walking through sun-baked farms, Kajira shares stories of neighbours injured—or worse. These are not isolated incidents; snakebites here are a daily hazard.

Pastor Elijah Gichari Rumuri, 51, knows this well. “When I see a snake, I see the devil. I kill and burn it,” he says.

His cow was bitten in 2023, and a carpet viper struck his goat in 2020. Over the years, he has encountered puff adders, carpet vipers and boomslangs near his home. For him, killing snakes is both protection and conviction.

He rejects conservation advice urging people not to kill snakes. “Why should it be in my home?” he asks.

Frustration is compounded by what he sees as government inaction. “They collect data, but nothing happens. Many people here, my friends, have been bitten or maimed. The government has done nothing,” he says.

This anger is widespread across Kararani and neighbouring areas. Local officials acknowledge the challenge, but say they are constrained.

Josphat Murungi, Assistant Chief in Gituma Sub-location, Chekariga Sub-County, admits the problem is severe. “People in Tharaka North and South are affected, but numbers are surging in the north,” he says. He also criticises the broken compensation system: “Most people bitten by snakes get no compensation—nothing.”

Poverty compounds the challenge. Many families cannot afford treatment, while others do not report bites, convinced nothing will be done. The harsh, dry terrain worsens the risk.

Murungi notes most bites occur during the rainy season when snakes are more active. At Marimanti County Level 4 Hospital, 15 to 20 cases have already been recorded this month. Yet compensation remains rare. He calls for a fair system to weed out false claims and verify genuine ones using modern tools, such as DNA testing.

The data is worrying. Between 2020 and 2025, Tharaka Nithi County recorded 1,013 snakebite cases, around 54 per 100,000 annually, with Tharaka North and South suffering the most, at 127 and 582 cases respectively.

Local figures mirror a national crisis. KHIS reports about 23,000 snakebite cases annually in Kenya, with 112,709 in five years. Snakebites are a major public health issue, especially in rural areas. Ministry of Health data shows Kenya accounts for roughly 15,000 of the global 5.4 million bites annually, resulting in 1.8 to 2.7 million envenomings. Around 4,000 die yearly, and 7,000 suffer permanent disabilities, including paralysis or amputation.

Globally, WHO estimates 81,000–138,000 deaths from snakebites each year, with many more disabled. In sub-Saharan Africa, WHO reports 435,000–580,000 bites and 32,000 deaths annually.

When snakebites were first included in Kenya’s wildlife compensation scheme in 2013, expectations soared. But false claims proliferated—people staged injuries, misrepresented encounters, or harmed themselves to seek payment.

John Wambua, Senior Warden Director, Eastern Region, KWS, says the burden became unsustainable. Snakes were removed from the compensation list. He acknowledges community anger but stresses that a return requires credible verification. “With new scientific tools, we can differentiate venomous from non-venomous bites,” he says.

KIPRE is leading this work, and if credible systems are implemented, compensation could return—but only through Parliament.

To reduce reporting barriers, KWS is piloting an insurance-based compensation model in six counties, including Meru and Taita Taveta.

Wambua describes it as promising: if successful, it may become the future of wildlife compensation.Parallel to policy reform, prevention remains essential. Wambua urges communities to keep compounds clean, wear shoes, use torches at night and avoid holes or bushy areas.

But KWS faces logistical challenges: only two trained snake handlers cover both Tharaka Nithi and Meru counties. As a result, rangers often kill snakes due to lack of specialised training. This is beginning to change as more handlers are trained at Manyani.

Wambua also envisions wildlife as an opportunity. Communities could establish snake parks, rescue centres or conservancies that conserve wildlife while generating income.

At the heart of the struggle is KIPRE under the Ministry of Health. Since 2017, it has combined research, community education and conservation.
Geoffrey Maranga, a senior herpetologist with K-SRIC, emphasises collaboration with KWS. Training rangers and community members builds trust and awareness. KIPRE has trained rangers in Marsabit, Kilifi, Baringo, Busia, Kakamega, Taita Taveta and now in Meru and Tharaka Nithi.

Maranga warns that hospital data underestimates the true burden. Many cases go unreported. Some victims rely on traditional healers; others see no point in reporting when there is no compensation. He estimates the true number of bites could be two to three times higher than recorded.

Tharaka’s ecology drives part of the risk. Homes often encroach on forested or bushy areas. Proximity to Meru National Park increases human–snake interactions. Seasonal shifts add danger: in dry spells, snakes enter homes in search of water; in heavy rains, their burrows flood, pushing them into human spaces.

Maranga highlights an unintended consequence of removing compensation: widespread snake killing. Fear and misunderstanding lead people to kill snakes on sight—a behaviour that can provoke bites or disrupt ecological balance.

KIPRE promotes education and livelihoods to reduce conflict. Communities are taught to identify snakes, prevent bites and coexist safely. They are encouraged to form conservancies or snake parks that could attract tourists or serve as educational hubs.

At K-SRIC’s lab, Valentine Musabyimana, a biomedical research fellow, is developing a potentially transformative diagnostic kit to identify the exact snake species involved in a bite. Currently, clinicians rely on patient descriptions or symptoms—an imprecise method that risks misdiagnosis, overuse of antivenom and wasted resources.

Her team is developing two diagnostic tools: a DNA-based kit using swabs from bite wounds to detect trace genetic material and an antigen–antibody test, still in early development, but prone to cross-reactivity.

They have sequenced venoms from Kenya’s medically significant snakes. The goal is a rapid, accurate, affordable kit. While not built specifically for compensation, it could support fair verification if the system returns.

“It takes time… but if we succeed, we can dramatically improve clinical care. And in the long run, it could support fair compensation,” she says.

In Marsabit County, Corporal Erick Kirimi of KWS has spent 15 years responding to snake incidents. He is both teacher and first responder. During a recent training with an Indigenous community, he explained venomous versus non-venomous snakes, building trust and reducing fear.

Kirimi’s experience is hard-earned: he was once bitten during a training session at Manyani Training School when a trainee mishandled a snake. “It was humiliating and painful, but that’s part of the job. You get back up” he says.

In 2025, he documented 216 snakebite cases in Marsabit, including two fatalities. He believes underreporting is widespread due to traditional beliefs, cultural practices and stigma. Among the Borana, for example, some casualties are excluded from records due to taboos.

Kirimi supports diagnostic verification before any compensation. “There must be proof. That way, genuine victims are protected and the system is fair,” he says.

The Wildlife Conservation and Management Act, 2013 limits compensation to ten species: elephant, lion, leopard, rhino, hyena, crocodile, cheetah, buffalo, hippo and wild dog. Poisonous snakes were once included, but a 2018 amendment removed them—a decision later upheld by the courts.

For families in high-burden counties, the exclusion feels unjust.

Kirimi points out the contradiction: livestock killed by snakes may qualify for compensation, yet human victims receive nothing—not for injuries, disabilities or funerals. This fuels anger and conflict.

Meanwhile, the government continues to spend billions on compensation for other wildlife species. In 2024, the Ministry of Tourism, Wildlife and Heritage disbursed Sh908 million to families affected by wildlife attacks. Former Cabinet Secretary Penina Malonza noted that outstanding claims had reached Sh2.8 billion and could rise to Sh5.1 billion.

She also announced Sh800 million to pilot a new wildlife compensation insurance scheme, inviting public input.

Kirimi advocates for shifting mindsets. He suggests establishing snake farms where venom can be safely harvested for antivenom production, creating local jobs. “Without snakes, there is no antivenom. Without snakes, we unbalance the ecosystem,” he reminds communities.

Kenya is home to around 140 snake species, of which 13 are medically significant. Dangerous species found in rural Kenya include puff adders, black mambas, boomslangs, carpet vipers and spitting cobras. In Tharaka Nithi specifically, residents commonly encounter puff adders, black mambas, egg-eating snakes and vipers. Local knowledge, combined with KIPRE’s scientific work, helps map risk zones—an essential tool for prevention.