Politics has long been viewed as a male-dominated arena,
with only a handful of women daring to venture into it.
Even then, women politicians often face dismissal, branded
as mere “flower girls” for party leaders.
In Kenya, where
politics has historically been associated with aggression and at times
violence; the challenge is even greater.
For women with disabilities, the barriers are multiplied.
A fight beyond the
ballot
In Mombasa, Hamisa Zaja has twice vied for the Woman
Representative seat in 2017 and 2022 without success. Yet she insists she is
not giving up.
Hamisa, who has a physical disability and is the founder of
Coast Association of Persons with Disability, says the political space is far
from welcoming for women like her.
“The environment isn’t friendly at all for women with
disabilities due to the violent nature of our politics,” she says.
Resistance began at home. After declaring her interest in
the seat, her family discouraged her.
“Simu zilipigwa, wajua wewe tayari ni mlemavu, wachana na
hii siasa.” (Calls were made telling me, ‘You already have a disability, leave
politics out of your life.’)
Online ridicule followed. At one point, a photo of her weak
leg was posted on Facebook to mock her.
The stigma deepened, with some people arguing that, based on
religion and her gender, she had no place in politics.
“It was as if getting into politics meant I was indulging in
more sins as a Muslim woman with a disability. Siasa ni vurugu mechi,” she
says.
Others dismissed her candidacy, claiming she would only
serve persons with disabilities if elected, a perception she says cost her
votes.
Security and campaign
challenges
Beyond stigma, security posed serious risks.
During one rally, chaos erupted and she was left alone on
the podium as tear gas filled the air.
“Walinibeba juu juu kutoka kwa jukwaa,” she recalls
explaining how her team had to lift her off the stage.
The tear gas affected her for days, halting her campaign.
Terrain was another barrier. Some areas were physically
inaccessible, forcing her to send campaign team members in her place, a move
some voters interpreted as disinterest.
“It’s easier for men to campaign in areas where the
landscape isn’t friendly for women with disabilities,” she notes.
For Sara Mueni, who is visually impaired and vied for an MCA
seat in Changamwe in 2022, finances were the greatest hurdle.
Because of her disability, she needed trusted individuals to
assist her mobility.
“I couldn’t get a stranger to walk with me because that made
me feel unsafe,” she says.
Without strong party backing, she relied on friends and
relatives and took loans to fund her campaign.
But financial strain was only part of her struggle. Some
voters openly questioned her capability.
“You are already disabled, what can you do or give us if we
vote you in?” they would ask.
One incident particularly hurt her. A former headmistress
confronted her and told her she should “love herself” instead of contesting.
“Hata hujihurumii wewe, you’re visually impaired for God’s
sake,” the woman told her.
Mueni says she struggled to understand how an educated
person could hold such views.
Safety was also a constant concern.
“I would sometimes wonder whether someone was leading me in
the wrong direction since I couldn’t see,” she says with a nervous laugh.
At some point, her party persuaded her to step aside,
promising nomination.
“They were just lying. Nomination slots aren’t for those in
the ballot,” she says.
Despite the setbacks and debts she only cleared in December,
Mueni says she would vie again if she secures adequate resources.
Structural barriers
According to Alice Munala, a programme officer at Women
Challenged to Challenge, political violence and the high cost of campaigns
discourage many women with disabilities.
Munala, who has a physical disability and once sought a
senatorial nomination, argues that political parties must do more.
She recommends that parties establish and fully implement
Gender-Based Violence (GBV) policies to curb political violence.
She also proposes a
dedicated fund to support women with disabilities who wish to contest seats.
“The cost of registering as a political party member and
campaigning is high. Most women with disabilities are not economically
empowered,” she says.
Munala also dispels the belief that nomination slots are
free.
“Some pay as much as Sh60,000 and still don’t get
nominated,” she notes.
While many persons with disabilities wait for party
nomination slots, Mueni believes this approach is misguided.
“It’s a fallacy. We should come out and fight for positions
like everyone else,” she says.
Hamisa agrees, arguing that nominated leaders are sometimes
treated as indebted to party leadership.
“They feel like they have favored you, so you can’t say no —
even when your people are being sidelined,” she says.
Political analyst Harman Manyora believes change will come
gradually. He notes that Kenya has made progress in increasing women’s
representation compared to previous decades.
However, he acknowledges that women with disabilities remain
more vulnerable due to the combative nature of Kenyan politics.
“Clearing the hurdles through inclusive policies could
help,” he says.
During the 2022 Kenyan general election, approximately 600
candidates with disabilities vied for various seats across the country.
Only seven were elected — and just one of them was a woman:
Rose Museo, elected as Makueni County Woman Representative.
In the 2017 Kenyan general election, no woman with a
disability who contested was successfully elected.
For these women, politics is not just about competition; it
is about visibility, dignity, and equal participation.
Mueni believes awareness is key.
“The more we vie, the more society will get used to seeing
us,” she says.
For women with disabilities in Kenya, the journey into
politics remains steep and unforgiving. Yet, despite stigma, insecurity and
financial strain, some continue to step forward — testing not just their
resilience, but society’s readiness to embrace inclusive leadership.
