The hidden reality of forced pregnancy tests in schools

Dear parents, are you aware that when you drop your teenage daughter at school, she could be subjected to intrusive, unconsented searches—frisked inappropriately by teachers under the guise of looking for ‘illegal’ items? 

Worse still, did you know that just a week after reporting back to school, many teenage girls are forced to undergo humiliating pregnancy tests? These tests are often done without the knowledge or consent of either the child or the parent, violating privacy, dignity, and the law. 

School administrators justify it as a crude method of curbing teenage pregnancies or abortions but behind it lies a system of control, shame, and punishment. 

Stephanie Laura’s voice trembles slightly as she recalls her four years at a secondary school in Nyanza.

“Every term when we returned to school, Saturday was set aside for pregnancy tests,” she says. “They would seclude one dormitory, line us up in bathrooms with the matron and boarding mistress watching. You had to urinate in front of them, carry your sample to the front, dip the testing kit, and wait as the matron determined whether you were pregnant or not.” 

Like her peers, she was a minor subjected to medical procedures without parental consent—a clear violation of both the Children Act and medical ethics. 

“It wasn’t normal,” Laura reflects. “We never felt like it was right, but what could we do? They told us it was school policy.” 

Culture of shame

The practice extends beyond pregnancy tests. Laura describes invasive body searches where girls were forced to open their blouses for bra inspections and lift their skirts for underwear colour checks.

“If you wore anything other than white or black underwear, you were in trouble. They said we were seducing male teachers,” she says. 

The consequences of this culture of shame and secrecy can be fatal. Angie*, a 17-year-old student in Samburu, recounts a tragic incident from March this year. “We had noticed some changes in one girl, and rumours were going around that she might be pregnant,” she says. “During prep time while we were going to our dormitories, she started bleeding out in class and fainted. We informed the teachers.” 

The outcome was devastating. “Later on, we were told she passed away the next day as she bled out because she was trying to abort. She had taken some pills.” 

While Angie’s school doesn’t conduct pregnancy tests, the tragedy illustrates how the broader culture of shame around teenage pregnancy drives desperate, often fatal decisions. The girl died alone, too afraid to seek help, in an environment where pregnancy is treated as a moral failing. 

A principal from a Nyanza school, who spoke on condition of anonymity, provides a different perspective on this controversial practice.

She argues that early detection through testing once helped prevent dangerous self-induced abortions. “When those tests were done, it used to save a lot of early deaths. Because when a girl discovers she is pregnant, the first thing she thinks about is abortion. But when it’s known early enough, she undergoes counselling.” 

However, she acknowledges the financial burden: “Each test kit costs Sh60. When you take tests for maybe 2,000 students, how much is that? It’s a lot of money, and it’s not in the budget.” 

The principal reveals disturbing patterns behind teenage pregnancies in her school. “Most of these pregnancies are as a result of rape, defilement in the family, in the same compound. Most girls are being sexually molested by relatives.” 

The practice of unconsented pregnancy tests on minors violates multiple legal provisions. Eunice Kilundo, Child Protection Advocacy Manager at ChildFund Kenya, is unequivocal: “It’s against the law because this is infringing on the child’s right to privacy as provided by the Children Act.” 

Kilundo emphasises the psychological trauma involved: “This child may be pregnant but may not even be aware. When found pregnant, several things happen, shock, stigma, fear of dropping out of school, and having to inform parents.” 

National Parents Association (NPA) Chairman Silas Obuhatsa echoes these concerns: “NPA has never come across a policy that gives power to school principals to administer pregnancy tests to female students. It’s only a medical doctor with the authority of parents that can take students through medical checkups, including pregnancy tests.” 

Obuhatsa warns of legal consequences: “Parents have the right to sue school managers who end up risking the lives of their children while in school without their consent. Taking tests that result in information disclosure on such sensitive matters without proper channels remains an illegal process.” 

Parents, when informed about these practices, express outrage and concern. Mama Njoki* a mother of a 14-year-old student in Central Kenya, is categorical: “As a parent, I wouldn’t like the school to do something hidden to my girl without my acknowledgment.” 

She draws a stark contrast with legitimate medical interventions: “I remember when my daughter was in primary school, there was the HPV vaccine for young girls. The school consulted the parents, told us if your girl is aged 10 to 14 years, she’s entitled to get the vaccine if the parent is willing. That’s how it should be done.” 

The contrast between schools is stark. Lucy M Rukunga, a retired principal with 21 years of experience, describes a vastly different approach: “We didn’t have the expertise to conduct pregnancy tests, so we referred students to medical practitioners accompanied by their parents.” 

Rukunga focused on creating an environment of trust and open communication. “Students would come and open up to me, saying ‘Teacher, I am pregnant or I am cramping.’ That’s the confidence they had. We never shamed or condemned them, we taught them.” 

Her approach included comprehensive orientation programmes for Form One students about menstrual health, providing sanitary supplies, and ensuring dignity throughout. “The greatest thing administrators need to do is give a listening ear. Most of the time, the gap is that we fail to listen.”  

Another principal from Nyanza, when contacted, initially denied the practice entirely: “I do not have any information concerning the subject.” However, she simultaneously blamed “the rate of abortions among school girls while in school and how it has endangered the lives of students and put the jobs of principals on the line.” 

This contradiction highlights the complex position school administrators find themselves in—caught between protecting students and protecting their own positions while dealing with societal pressures and inadequate support systems. 

ChildFund Kenya’s Kilundo identifies systemic gaps in child protection: “Sometimes children fall victim to teen pregnancy because of not being assertive. We work with schools on life skills education.” 

The organisation focuses on strengthening community-based child protection mechanisms: “We train community champions who have conversations with parents. Troubled homes, gender-based violence, parents becoming too harsh these factors can lead children to seek love elsewhere.” 

New Bill

Currently before the Senate is the Care and Protection of Child Parents Bill, 2023, which attempts to address these issues but creates new concerns. Clause 10 requires teachers who suspect a minor is pregnant to inform the principal, who then informs parents. Subsequently, the Bill provides that principals can refer children to health institutions for medical examination. 

Eugene O. Owade an advocate of the High court identifies a critical flaw, “The challenge with this Clause is that it gives the principal a lot of powers over and above the minor’s parents or guardian to subject the child to medical examination. Equally, it is based on the false presumption that the child is already pregnant.” 

The Bill’s predecessor, introduced in 2019 by former ODM Senator Beatrice Kwamboka, sought to ensure pregnant students remain in school and return after delivery. However, it contained similar problematic provisions allowing principals to order medical examinations based on suspicion alone. 

Remarkably, while the 2023 Bill suggests children cannot be compelled to undergo examination if they refuse, Owade notes the inherent contradiction: “It is a basic principle of law that children lack the capacity to give informed consent, especially regarding their health.” 

From his analysis, Owade concludes that “Kenya lacks a clear, comprehensive and effective regulatory framework to guide educational institutions and parents on how to address concerns around consent by minors before undergoing any compulsory medical examination.” 

Efforts to obtain responses from the Ministry of Education proved futile, with officials refusing to answer calls or respond to messages.

Willie Kuria, current National Chairman of Kenya Secondary Schools Heads Association (Kessha), did not respond to inquiries.