'Harvest seasons, disco matanga': Where GBV strikes most

When the harvest season begins in Uasin Gishu, the violence often follows. For one woman, the change is predictable and terrifying. 

“When harvest time comes, we witness a lot of physical violence compared to when we are planting,” the woman whose name is withheld told a GBV Technical Working Group (TWG), her voice steady but resigned. 

For her, what should have been a time of abundance instead becomes a season of tension, money disputes, labour pressure, alcohol use, and rigid gender roles colliding behind closed doors. 

Within households and communities, economic stress spills over into physical abuse, turning ordinary domestic spaces into dangerous ones.

Across counties, these experiences are not isolated. They point to what experts describe as situational hotspots specific places and periods where women and girls face heightened risk of sexual and physical violence, not because of who they are, but because of where they are and when.

In Kakamega County, the school calendar has quietly emerged as one such hotspot. Data shows spikes in defilement and sexual violence during school opening and closing periods, times when children are in transition, unsupervised, or lingering in unsafe environments.

“Between January and April 2025 alone, 380 cases of sexual violence and 92 cases of physical violence have been reported,” a key informant explained.

 “The early arrival increases their exposure to risks, including sexual violence, as they may wait unsupervised in unsafe environments such as isolated areas near the school or on their way there.”

For many girls, the journey to school is not just a commute it is a daily negotiation with danger. Gaps between policy and practice on official school hours leave children vulnerable, exposing a failure of protection at the very moments they need it most. 

According to the report submitted to the president on January 26, these transitional periods meant to signal growth and learning become windows of opportunity for predators.

For school-going children and working women alike, public transport is another overlooked enabler of gender-based violence.

Matatus and boda bodas was cited as sites of harassment and exploitation, particularly in the early mornings and late nights. 

In Kajiado County, survivors spoke of boda boda riders who prey on schoolgirls’ dependence on motorcycle taxis.

“These boda boda riders sometimes use gifts, money, or favours to coerce or manipulate vulnerable girls into exploitative or abusive relationships,” one survivor shared with the Taskforce. 

“This exploitation contributes to increased cases of teenage pregnancies and school dropouts.”

What begins as a ride to school can quickly slide into coercion, silence, and shame, the report notes.

“Poverty, lack of alternatives, and weak child protection systems intersect here, creating a breeding ground for abuse that often goes unreported,” it says.

In these spaces, movement itself becomes risky, especially for girls navigating adolescence with limited power or protection.

For women whose livelihoods depend on night shifts, markets, or informal work, danger often comes with the job.

Marketplaces, bars, and entertainment spots spaces of economic survival and social interaction—double as hotspots for sexual harassment and assault. 

Women working as vendors or bar attendants, and girls attending funeral vigils known as disco matanga, are particularly exposed.

A key informant from Vihiga County described a grim pattern: “Whenever there is a disco matanga, we almost always see a spike in violence especially against women, girls, and even sodomy of young boys,” he says.

“These gatherings often turn into hotspots for sexual and physical abuse, fuelled by alcohol, drugs, and lack of supervision. It has become a serious concern for our community.”

The report indicates that what is meant to be communal mourning or social bonding frequently devolves into chaos, where alcohol and impunity strip away safety. 

Taken together, these narratives from Uasin Gishu, Kakamega, Kajiado, and Vihiga reveal a troubling truth: gender-based violence is not random.

It clusters around predictable times, places, and conditions , harvest seasons, school transitions, transport routes, night economies, and communal gatherings.

For many survivors, the question is no longer if violence will occur, but when. And until these hotspots are confronted head-on, everyday life itself will remain a risk women and girls are forced to carry.