My views on Kenyan FGM Profile: Lessons for Togo

by Grace Victor

Reading A Profile of Female Genital Mutilation in Kenya offers a rich and sobering picture of how deeply FGM is entrenched in social norms, how progress is uneven, and how hard the path to abandonment really is. The report states that in Kenya roughly 21 % of women aged 15–49 have undergone FGM, with about 4 million girls and women affected in total.. What is striking is how much variation there is across regions, ethnic groups, and socio-economic background: in some counties, prevalence approaches nearly universal levels, while in others it is almost negligible. 

One key insight from the Kenyan profile is that FGM is not merely a health issue but a question of social expectation, identity, gender control, and status. The practice is upheld by powerful norms: girls may be cut to uphold family honour, conform to community definitions of “womanhood,” and meet expectations of marriageability.  In many communities, resistance to FGM can invite ostracism, stigma, or questions about a family’s virtue. The Kenyan report also shows how the decision to cut a girl is often shaped by the interplay of mothers, elders, and broader kinship pressures. 

Another aspect is how the age and form of cutting shift over time. In Kenya, many girls are cut between ages 10 and 14, though some as early as 5–9 years. There is evidence that some communities prefer less severe forms (e.g. “snip” or “prick”) instead of full excision, sometimes as a way to mitigate health risks or escape scrutiny. The Kenyan profile also cautions that legal prohibition, while essential, is not sufficient: enforcement is spotty, and clandestine continuing of the practice is common under the radar.

The Kenyan case also demonstrates the value and difficulty of combining legal measures with community engagement and alternative rites of passage (ARP). Some Kenyan programs have promoted culturally sensitive substitutes to the cut, involving education, initiation ceremonies without harm, and public pledges. But the report warns that ARP must be credible and well supported, lest communities view them as superficial or impotent. 

Reading this, I reflect on how Togo’s context compares, and what we in Togo can learn from Kenya’s successes and challenges. In Togo, FGM prevalence is much lower nationally (around 3 %), and the practice is concentrated in particular regions such as Centrale and Savanes. (In Kenya, though, prevalence is highly regionally differentiated.) The Kenyan profile reminds us that even where prevalence is declining, pockets of high-risk communities may remain stubbornly resistant. If we focus only on the national average, we might miss those pockets.

Secondly, the Kenyan experience underscores that for legal bans to be meaningful, enforcement must reach into rural areas and border zones. Togo has laws against FGM, but enforcement is weak and documented prosecutions are rare. We must push for local capacity police, courts, health institutions, community dispute systems to know, detect, and act on FGM violations.

Third, the Kenyan case shows that social norms are strong and adaptive; they evolve, shift, or hide underground. Togo must invest heavily in community education, consciousness-raising, dialogue with elders and traditional authorities, and empowering girls to know their rights. Without that normative transformation, people may simply shift the practice to younger ages, secret locations, or adopt medicalized but still harmful variants.

Fourth, the idea of alternative rites of passage in Kenya is appealing. In Togo, if there are communities with initiation traditions tied to FGM, we could collaborate with those communities to create meaningful rites that preserve cultural meaning without harm. But the Kenyan caution is important: these ARPs must be seen as legitimate by the communities themselves, not imposed top-down.

Finally, the Kenyan profile reinforces that progress is uneven and fragile. Gains can stagnate or regress if momentum is lost, or if external pressure (such as pandemics, migration, or social disruption) weakens monitoring. Kenya’s experience during COVID-19 showed risks of reversal. Though I did not analyze that deeply here, Kenya’s broader literature indicates that disruptions can set back gains.

In sum, A Profile of Female Genital Mutilation in Kenya is a potent reminder that eliminating FGM is a long game. Togo may not mirror Kenya’s scale or geography, but many of the underlying dynamics social norms, legal gaps, enforcement weakness, the possibility of hidden practice are relevant. As a young humanist in Togo, I feel both resolve and caution. We must not let our low national prevalence be an excuse for complacency. Instead, we should study good practices, vigilantly protect gains, and proactively engage communities. Only then might we see a future where no girl in Togo lives under the threat of a cut in the name of tradition.