From war to fear: Children seeking asylum still at risks at Kakuma refugees camp

Lucy cradles her six-month-old son against her chest, her thin arms wrapped around him as if he were the only anchor left in her fractured world. Exhaustion clouds her young eyes, and beneath the weariness lies a deeper pain that no seventeen-year-old should carry.

Thousands of kilometres from the only home she once knew in the Democratic Republic of Congo, Lucy is raising a child while trying to stitch together the remnants of her own stolen childhood. As the baby stirs, her gaze drifts. The same question returns every day, heavy and unanswered: What will she tell her son when he grows older and asks about his father? She has no answer.

Lucy’s life fractured long before her son was born. As a small child in Goma, North Kivu, violence erupted around her family. They fled their home in terror. In the panic, she was separated from her mother and never saw her again. A woman known to the family took her in, offering shelter in exchange for household chores. Yet when fresh fighting surged, everything scattered once more. Lucy lost contact with her guardian just as she had lost her own relatives.

More than a decade has passed, and she still does not know whether her mother is alive or dead. Her father, she says quietly, was claimed by the war.

Her memories of the journey remain fragments: movement through Congo, passage through Uganda, and finally, in 2011, crossing into Kenya. “People were fleeing war,” she recalls, her voice low. “It was bad—people were being killed and injured in broad daylight. It was horrifying. I just remember a bus was brought, and I found myself here.”

That bus delivered her to Kakuma Refugee Camp. ,At first, the camp offered a reluctant kindness. Without parents or blood relatives, Lucy struggled to find her place within a foster family. School became her quiet rebellion against despair. Then, one ordinary night, even that fragile hope was shattered.

She had finished her schoolwork and fallen asleep without locking the door to the small room behind her foster family’s shelter. A noise woke her. At first she thought thieves had come for her sewing machine. Instead, two men forced their way in. They held a knife to her, covered her face with a vest so she could not see them, and gang-raped her before vanishing into the darkness. “I was alone, frightened and confused,” she says, tears slipping down her cheeks.

Weeks later, she learned she was pregnant. Still in Grade Six, Lucy reported the assault through her school. The perpetrators have never been caught. Now a young mother, she carries both her baby and the weight of that night. She dreams of returning to school to complete her primary education and sit for national examinations.

Daily life remains a grinding struggle. She receives a monthly stipend of 9,000 Kenyan shillings, yet without family she feels profoundly alone. “I do not have a family,” she says. “I do not have anyone to confide in. Even if I wanted to leave this camp, where would I go?”

Lucy believes many children in foster care suffer similar violations in silence. Some fear being dismissed as stubborn or blamed rather than protected. War, displacement, family separation, and sexual violence have marked her young life, yet she refuses to surrender. She holds tightly to her dreams for herself and her son.

Her story echoes across Kakuma, where hundreds of children who fled conflict and instability have found new forms of danger. The camp has become a place where old traumas meet fresh threats—gender-based violence, exploitation, child labour, trafficking, and forced marriage.

Many carry deep psychological scars, collecting new ones while seeking food, education, or safety. Brenda, another teenager, lives under a constant shadow of fear. Extended family members have allegedly tried several times to abduct her, intending to force her back to South Sudan for marriage to her brother-in-law because her elder sister cannot bear children.

Her teacher, Atom Laus, finds the case particularly heartbreaking. “She fled conflict that claimed her mother’s life while she was still a child,” he says, “yet there are people who want to take her back simply because they expect her to bear children.”

The threats have left Brenda depressed. Her schoolwork has suffered, but Laus continues counselling her.Children make up at least 69 percent of those seeking asylum at Kakuma and neighbouring Kalobeyei Integrated Settlement, which together host more than 316,000 refugees and asylum seekers. They arrive from many countries, carrying little but survival and scars.

In the early years, child protection was delivered almost entirely by humanitarian organisations. Since 2019, however, the State Department for Children Services—supported by UNICEF and in partnership with UNHCR—has deployed government children’s officers to the camp. These officers now work alongside humanitarian agencies to identify vulnerable children, monitor their welfare, and respond to abuse.

Elijah Jakait, a Children’s Officer with the department in Kakuma, emphasises that once children are within Kenya’s borders, they are entitled to the full rights guaranteed under the Constitution and the Children Act, regardless of whether they live in a refugee camp or integrated settlement.

Unaccompanied or separated children undergo a structured process. They are identified at reception centres, registered by the Department of Refugee Services and UNHCR, and assessed by child protection agencies. Those found to be alone are placed with vetted foster families while efforts continue to trace relatives. Foster care has become one of the most important interventions, granting children access to education, health services, and protection.

Humanitarian organisations and government agencies run child protection programmes to meet the scale of need. At the Child Friendly Spaces, laughter sometimes rises as children of different ages and nationalities play, draw, sing, and interact under the watchful eyes of counsellors and protection officers. These centres are lifelines where vulnerable children are identified, heard, and connected to help.

Caren Onyango, Child Protection Coordinator at Save the Children in Kakuma, knows every child arrives with a unique story. “Our work is to ensure every child who needs protection is identified, heard, and linked to the right support.” Counsellors provide psychosocial support. Teams conduct home visits, train volunteers, and watch for behavioural changes during activities. Common challenges include trauma, gender-based violence, defilement, child marriage, teenage pregnancy, child labour, and lack of basic necessities such as food, clothing, and school supplies.

When a case surfaces—whether reported by a child, parent, neighbour, or volunteer—a case worker listens carefully and builds a plan with the child. Survivors of sexual violence receive emergency medical care first, then legal referrals. Family issues prompt household engagement, while parenting sessions promote positive skills and discourage harmful practices. Save the Children and UNICEF work closely with the State Department for Children Services.

Peter Ogindo, Assistant Director of Children Services, affirms that refugee children are entitled to healthcare, education, adequate food, protection from abuse, and other fundamental rights. “The law is very clear. We safeguard and promote the rights of all children in Kenya, whether they are Kenyan citizens or foreign nationals.”

He acknowledges possible delays during registration for new arrivals, but protection systems remain active throughout.

Despite these efforts, risks persist. Authorities continue to record cases of defilement, child labour, substance abuse, sexual harassment, trafficking, and attempted child marriages, with some girls reportedly abducted by relatives and taken across borders.

“Sex for survival” has emerged as a growing concern, driven by worsening economic hardship after reductions in humanitarian assistance. Some children have turned to gold mining and other dangerous labour to support their families. “We are increasingly receiving complaints related to sex for survival because families are struggling to meet their basic needs,” Jakait says.

Lucy’s hands tighten gently around her sleeping son. She has survived horrors that would break many. In her quiet determination to return to school and build something better, she embodies both the fragility and the remarkable resilience of children living in exile.

Their lives in Kakuma are testaments to profound loss, but also to an enduring will to keep moving forward, one uncertain day at a time.