When former Nairobi Governor Mike Mbuvi Sonko erupted in anger in a video that quickly went viral online, it was not the theatrics Kenyans have come to associate with him.
This time, the fury had nothing to do with politics. It was the raw pain of a father who believed his daughter was in danger. He was confronting his son-in-law over allegations of domestic violence against his daughter Salma.
The confrontation becomes so tense that, at one point, one of Sonko’s bodyguards slaps the husband, and Salma, caught in the middle, pleads for her husband to be left alone.
That reaction to shield the alleged perpetrator despite enduring violence is familiar to many.
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Online analysts were quick to label it, trauma bonding.
Trauma bonding describes the emotional attachment that victims develop toward their abusers, often rooted in fear, confusion, and kindness.
According to Dr Sarah Alsawy-Davies, a psychologist and relationship coach, trauma bonding is reinforced by intermittent positive reinforcement amid the abuse.
“Abusers might alternate between periods of kindness and attack and/or neglect, creating a cycle that keeps the victim emotionally invested, hoping for the return of positive behaviour,” she notes.
Dr Sarah breaks down the dynamics of what exactly happens. The pattern begins with intense love bombing, where one partner showers the other with excessive attention and idealised promises of a special, “magical” future.
As trust and dependency form, their lives become intertwined.
Once commitment takes hold, emotional distance, neglect, and subtle criticism gradually emerge, escalating into direct personal attacks.
Manipulation follows, catching the victim off-guard and eroding their sense of identity until they surrender control.
It is one of the most powerful and misunderstood dynamics in abusive relationships. “Many people assume that if someone is being abused, the solution is simply to walk out,” says counsellor Judy Sheilla.
“But trauma bonding traps victims psychologically. The abuse is followed by apologies, affection, or promises to change. That cycle creates a powerful emotional dependency that is incredibly difficult to break,” she adds.
Sonko’s own social media post captured parental anguish in simple language: “Instead of having an abusive relationship or marriage, it is better kuwa na divorce decree kwa nyumba than an eulogy booklet for your daughter or son.”
Days after the Sonko incident, another case emerged from Mombasa involving a black-belt boxer accused of assaulting his girlfriend for three years.
Trauma bonding may sound clinical, but its victims are everywhere.
According to Centre for Rights Education and Awareness (CREAW-Kenya) report of 2022, out of 3,762 cases of GBV reported, women accounted for a staggering 2,985.
The Kenya Demographic Health Survey (KDHS) found that over 40 per cent of women have experienced physical or sexual violence from intimate partners at least once in their lives.
The threat is not abstract; for four out of every ten Kenyan women, it is a lived, terrifying reality. The victims are often stuck in a cycle of isolation.
The KDHS 2022 report notes that among women aged between 15 and 49 who have ever experienced physical violence, 42 percent never sought help and never told anyone.
Domestic violence counsellor Joseph Ouma encounters these cases almost on a daily basis in his practice.
He remembers a scenario of a young teacher who sought his help after being assaulted several times by her partner, but she always returned.
“She kept saying, ‘But when he is good, he is really good.’ That phrase is common among trauma-bonded victims. They cling to the good moments, even when the relationship is destroying them,” he says.
Psychologists argue that the emotional entanglement created by trauma bonding is one reason victims rarely seek help.
“Shame is a weapon,” Sheilla says. “Victims are made to believe the abuse is their fault. They hide the violence to protect their abuser or to avoid being judged.”
In rural Kenya, where cultural expectations often pressure couples to “stay together no matter what,” trauma bonding can become generational.
Ouma recalls families where daughters are told to “persevere like their mothers,” normalising abuse as a marital rite of passage.
In affluent urban homes, abuse is often concealed behind polished Instagram lives the curated holidays, matching outfits, and smiling photos that mask darker realities.
Another case, shared by a counsellor, speaks to this hidden layer. ‘Kevin,’ a 29-year-old Nairobi man, experienced years of emotional and financial abuse from his partner, who controlled his earnings and isolated him from his family.
“He would say, ‘I just want to make her happy. I don’t want to lose her,’” the counsellor recounts.
In his case, the trauma bond was intensified by fear of stigma around male victims of abuse. “Men are taught to tough it out,” he adds.
“Most male victims are ashamed to share because of societal stigma that comes with ridicule, especially in Africa, where there’s a belief that men should not go through certain things which is very demoralising,” says Sheilla.
Across these stories runs a common thread: the mixture of fear, hope, shame and attachment that binds victims to their abusers.
Psychologists insist that breaking this cycle requires more than public outrage. It calls for accessible mental health support, legal protection, community awareness, and economic empowerment.