A tragedy

It raised the critical question: is violence a legitimate, even necessary, aspect of male circumcision rituals? As a new initiate, Kanyonyo’s circumcision marked the beginning of a month-long period of seclusion – a doorway to his rebirth as an adult. During this time, his parents would not speak to him or, ideally, even see him. Across the nation, thousands of recently circumcised boys were healing from their wounds under the close supervision of initiated older youths, who acted as ‘mentors’ responsible for their care. While the events inside these seclusion huts remain closely guarded, it is widely understood that new initiates learn about social, moral, and sexual matters that parents avoid discussing. This process of transformation from boyhood to manhood requires non-family members to take on the role of separating the initiate from maternal (and sometimes paternal) bonds, seen as sources of childishness.

Mothers are believed to jeopardise the process of separating the man from the boy. Interactions with women and girls are considered inauspicious, except for specific encounters, often sexual, between young females and initiates nearing the end of their seclusion. Despite this, mothers and sisters play a central role in providing the large quantities of food deemed necessary for the physical recovery of the recently circumcised. This provision often sparks complaints, and sometimes serious arguments, between the mentors, their entourages, and the boys’ families. Shortly before Kanyonyo’s death, a serious altercation arose between his parents and the mentors over the size of a chicken they had demanded as part of a traditional ‘payment’ for their services.

The following day, when Kanyonyo’s mother knocked on the door of the small mud-brick house, built specifically for her son’s new life as an adult, the silence struck her as odd. Normally, she would hear jocular banter from inside, as her son’s mentors talked and joked. The youths would usually send her off as soon as she had left large pots of food at the threshold, knocked on the door, and collected the dirty dishes from outside. These seclusion huts, as they are called, are male-only spaces which females are not allowed to enter. The uninitiated and other members of the family are also barred from entry. But on this occasion, Kanyonyo’s mother sensed something was wrong. Defying cultural norms, she entered cautiously, only to make the painful discovery of her son’s lifeless body. A swift police investigation revealed that Kanyonyo’s death was likely caused by older youths entrusted with his care. Digital media and TV reports highlighted the tragedy, lamenting the loss of a ‘star’ and the dimming of a ‘bright future’. Many news stories focused on how Kanyonyo had overcome poverty to excel in his primary school examinations and secure a coveted place in a national boarding school. While botched circumcisions have been reported in Kenya for decades, discussions of hazing as mistreatment or bodily violence have been comparatively rare. Public tolerance of things ‘going wrong’ during traditional male circumcisions often legitimised violence as a socially normative way of shaping the character of irresponsible boys and turning them into exemplary men.

However, increasing awareness of human rights discourses in Kenya – especially children’s rights – has reframed ideas about bodily integrity and protection from cultural harm (Fagan 2017; Koomen 2014). Legislation such as the 2011 anti-FGM Act has strengthened the argument that some cultural practices can be ‘good’ or ‘bad’ from the perspective of individual rights. Kanyonyo’s tragic death crystallised these concerns about cultural harm, sparking national debates on the state’s role in regulating circumcision practices.

As the story gained national attention, local mothers expressed long-standing concerns about the safety of their sons under the care of traditional circumcision mentors and their entourages. The primary concern was safeguarding their sons from violent hazing, but the mothers I spoke with in 2018 were divided on the issue of pain. Some valued it as an essential part of initiation, while others sought to pay for an anaesthetic administered by the circumciser to numb the pain. In communities that practise genital cutting as part of initiation, pain is valued for its capacity to build character in the initiate. Historically, it was not only genital cutting that imbued pain with cultural significance, but also practices like tooth removal, ear piercing, and scarification, all of which were widely practised in Kenya (Kratz 1994:93–5). Pain is a common value across both male and female genital cutting, said to instil masculine ideals of autonomy and feminine ideals of resilience (Heald 1999:60). Jean Davison’s oral history of northern Kikuyu women of Mutira includes a quote from one woman who said that she ‘purchased her maturity with pain’ (Davison 1989:42). Public discussions about the relationship between pain, violence, and the masculinisation of boys have brought new concerns to light. These debates focus on the rights of boys as vulnerable individuals entitled to constitutional protections, such as freedom from violence. Echoing the discourse on VAGW, there are new ethical discussions about how boys may learn violence from their experiences of cultural harm. And while these emergent ethics are taking root in everyday life, through media and education, they are often at odds with the civic virtues espoused within Kenya’s ethnic communities.

Young Kanyonyo’s death was treated as a one-off personal tragedy. But court records reveal a more disturbing reality: dozens of homicide and assault cases are logged by the police every December and April when many Kenyan adolescents undergo circumcisions in their home communities. Some observers argue that it is time to acknowledge that something has gone wrong. As Kenyan social and political institutions tackle the complex questions raised by the new constitutional framework of 2010, the balancing of human rights with cultural rights is producing new arguments and political activism, especially towards the young and socially vulnerable (see Hughes and Lamont 2018).

As the son transitions into adulthood following circumcision, a key symbolic shift occurs. Except for providing food, which a mother will do for an initiated adult son until he marries, her material and emotional responsibilities cease. After circumcision, the boy is symbolically cut off from his mother’s care. He is expected to limit interactions with her and assume responsibilities previously managed by his mother. This shift marks a significant moment in the separation of the mother-son bond, underscoring the son’s new status as an adult. In this context, food – as a form of provision and a symbol of a mother’s lingering social authority over her son – plays an important role in the broader social framework of circumcision and the son’s passage into adulthood.

Conflicts resulting in injuries or deaths among young initiates in Kenya often arise from disputes over money and food, often fuelled by alcohol. Court homicide records frequently indicate that arguments about these provisions trigger violent interpersonal crimes. While the role of mothers in these recurring incidents has not been extensively studied, analysing their changing role in the initiation of boys in Kenya is crucial for understanding the complex dynamics of cultural practices and state regulation.

Recent changes in Kenyan law aimed at further regulating male circumcision cannot be fully understood without considering the activism of women and mothers regarding genital cutting, despite the significant influence of WHO policies on male circumcision as a form of global governance (Njoroge et al. 2022). Additionally, it is vital to examine how legislation initially used to regulate and eliminate FGM/C during colonial times can illuminate current law-making regarding male circumcision. The roles of women – first as mothers and later as politicians – must be taken into account.

Kezia Njoroge’s (2014) ethnography on male circumcision and the shaping of masculinities in Muranga, Kenya, is one of the few studies that highlights the significant role of mothers in their sons’ circumcisions. Noting the institutional role of churches in regulating circumcision in this region, Njoroge was surprised to find that meetings about the upcoming circumcisions were attended by mothers (ibid.:106). Where were the fathers? Although Njoroge leaves this question open, she suggests that men felt stigmatised for bringing their boys to church groups for medical circumcision. The fear of betraying their ‘culture’ led some to abdicate their responsibility to circumcise their sons as they themselves had been circumcised: by a traditional circumciser at ‘home’ in the presence of a mentor (ibid.:189).

The transfer of authority over circumcision from domestic spaces to churches has left many rural men feeling stigmatised for abandoning their ‘traditions’. This tension is exacerbated by the long-standing efforts of churches to medicalise, moralise, and regulate genital cutting practices. The shift has also intensified conflicts between church leaders and neo-traditionalists in central Kenya, with the media often framing these clashes as a ‘culture war’ between modernists and traditionalists.1 Omondi (2023). Francis Omondi, ‘The Illusion of the Kĩama kĩa Ma’, The Elephant, Nairobi, 21 February. https://www.theelephant.info/analysis/2023/02/21/the-illusion-of-the-kiama-kia-ma/ [Accessed 17 October 2025].

The adoption of Kenya’s 2010 Constitution, which enshrined cultural rights, facilitated a resurgence of registered cultural associations (Hughes and Lamont 2018). Such organisations had been banned during earlier regimes, including Daniel arap Moi’s presidency (1978–2002). Moi viewed groups like the Gikuyu-Embu-Meru Association (GEMA) as vehicles for fostering ethnic-regional blocs and advancing ethnic political agendas. He labelled them tribalist and used the ban to consolidate centralised authority and suppress ethnic-based opposition (Branch and Cheeseman 2008; Haugerud 1995; Lonsdale 1994).

The constitutional changes led to the establishment of neo-traditionalist organisations, including the Kikuyu Council of Elders Association Trust (2014) and the Agĩkũyũ Council of Elders (2018). These groups pose new challenges to mainstream churches by contesting their definitions of morality within a broadly Christian framework. Neubert’s (2023) rare analysis of Kenya’s middle class highlights neo-traditionalists as an actively political demographic inspired by ‘rural investment and close links to the home area’ and micro-nationalism (ibid.:50). Members of neo-traditionalist groups, such as the Kikuyu Kĩama gĩa Athuri and Kĩama gĩa Ma, tend to recruit men who value ancestral ethnic homelands, rural ties, customary law, and traditional gender roles (ibid.:50–1).

As neo-traditional councils of elders increasingly attract male support, churches have responded by elevating women’s roles in shaping and enforcing moral frameworks, including the regulation of male circumcision. This dynamic underscores the shifting interplay between religion, tradition, and cultural identity in contemporary Kenya.

Despite this separation from both parents, Njoroge observed that mothers are typically more involved in organising their sons’ circumcisions. A key aspect of this involvement is selecting the young, circumcised men to serve as mentors for their sons. In Kikuyu culture, being asked to mentor someone else’s son through the circumcision process is seen as both an honour and a significant responsibility – one that carries considerable risk. Mentors are acutely aware of the potential for complications, including botched circumcision, infections, or even violence. Choosing a mentor requires careful planning, as there is always a risk that the mentor may not maintain control over who visits the initiate, or what actions they take in the event of a medical emergency due to infection or injury.

While violence may be effectively managed in a medical clinic, what occurs in the seclusion house at the hands of mentors and visitors is completely beyond parental control. Aware of the prevailing violence and the risk that their sons may be bullied, beaten, and otherwise harmed, the issue of institutionalised bullying during circumcision – first reported in the courts and more recently covered by the national media – has now been legislated against. Interpersonal violence is often dismissed as a necessary aspect of masculinisation, tied to ‘cultural rights’ by those who defend circumcision practices and resist further state regulation over male bodies and parental authority. The prevailing notion is that enduring pain and violence is part of the psychosocial making of men, and that this domain should remain outside the realm of rights discourse.