The 14-year-old girl's slender frame seems overwhelmed by the growing life within her. Mina* is seven months pregnant, the result of a marriage to a 17-year-old boy last year. The baby she carries was conceived to conceal the shame Mina says she felt every month before her pregnancy.

As we enter her manyatta home in Illeret village, Marsabit County, Mina sways rhythmically, folding cowhides to wear when the sun sets. She sits on a woven mat, boiling beans over a crackling fire that fills the hut with smoky scents, while swirling a calabash of white liquid to make sour milk. In an instant, she transforms from a young girl into the ‘woman’ of the house.

After gaining consent from Mina and her mother, we interview her through a translator, as she only speaks the Daasanach vernacular. When we broach the topic of menstrual cycles, she recoils but agrees to proceed.

“I approached my now-husband. I chose to marry because I saw many of my peers getting married after the traditional ceremony among the Daasanach, where a goat is slaughtered when a girl gets her period. I was embarrassed when I first got my period, so immediately after our wedding, I got pregnant to stop my blood flow," Mina reveals.

Her revelation adds another layer to the reasons behind early child marriages – period shame – rarely explored compared to economic and cultural factors.

While the age gap between girls and their husbands is often wide, in most communities that practise child marriage, Mina’s husband, at 17, is still legally a child.

“The peer pressure of seeing my friends marry was too much. When I turned 13, I had to use bundled pieces of cloth during my menstrual cycle. Many peers told me pregnancy would stop my periods," Mina adds, drinking from the thickened sour milk in a calabash.

Famished, she drinks from the calabash, which swallows up her entire face, leaving only her dainty hands, the colourful beads adorned on her neck that drop down to her protruding belly, and her short, thick hair visible. When asked if discussing periods is embarrassing, Mina nods shyly.

“For the past seven months, I've been happy not to think about my periods or the cramps. NGOs bring menstrual hygiene products like sanitary towels, but I don't use them because I don't understand them, and it would be embarrassing to keep them in the house."

Dr Diana Ondieki, a gynaecologist and lecturer at the University of Nairobi, remarks on the risks of teenage pregnancies.

“A teenage girl's body is still developing, and the pelvis is not fully developed. This means the baby must navigate a narrower passage during delivery, increasing complications for both mother and baby.

“The teenage girl may experience obstructed labour and may, therefore, need a caesarean section,” she says.

In another manyatta, we can hear a baby cooing. We walk in and find 15-year-old Sofi* cradling her eight-month-old baby, a child carrying a child. Her face does not convey the experiences she has gone through.

After consent from her mother, Sofi explains as she rocks her baby back and forth in her arms, "I got my period at 11 and was extremely embarrassed. I didn't know what was happening or have any protection from the blood. A friend told me pregnancy would stop my period, so I was happy to get married and pregnant immediately."

This is Sofi's second child; she had her first at 13. Both Sofi and Mina say they didn't know marrying before 18 was illegal, but wouldn't change their decision.

“In our culture, it's a big shame to get your period while under your mother's roof. Among my peers, it's said pregnancy stops your period for some time, stopping the shame,” Sofi says.

We ask Sofi if she ever wished to go to school.

“I might have gone to school if I hadn’t had children but because this is the path I chose, it is my responsibility to take care of my children, not look for an education,” she says.

Sofi's mother, Mama Sofi, was against her daughter's early marriage but can't advise her now that she's seen as a grown woman. She confirms that among the Daasanach, the topic of menstrual cycle has always been shrouded in embarrassment.

“If it were up to me, my daughters would have gone to school before marrying and having children, but they felt peer pressure. If they'd studied first, they might understand menstrual cycles better.”

Although she puts on a brave front, Sofi admits giving birth at her age was overwhelming.

"Giving birth comes with a lot of pain. It's a process I wouldn't wish upon anyone." Dr Ondieki explains, “Sometimes, young girls experience spontaneous symphysiotomy – injury to the front of the pelvis that separates to allow the baby to pass through. If labour is prolonged, the baby may develop birth asphyxia. A pregnant teenager is also more likely to develop high blood pressure, anaemia, preterm births, and low-birth weight babies.”

Like Mina, Sofi has heard of menstrual hygiene products but prefers the traditional method of bundling pieces of cloth when menstruating. The young girls, like many of their peers as well as the women in their community, gave birth through the help of a traditional birth attendant (TBA) at their homesteads.

Both young mothers gave birth with the help of TBAs at their homesteads, a practice the government discouraged in 2013 because of high maternal mortality rates, especially among pastoralist communities like Marsabit, where more than 70 per cent of children were born at home. In that year, Kenya had the highest mortality rates in the world with 488 maternal deaths per 100,000 live births.

“Delivery in health facilities is recommended to reduce maternal and neonatal deaths, which is of even greater importance for teenage mothers since they are at a higher risk of developing complications that require interventions only possible in health facilities,” Dr Ondieki notes.

The good news is that this measure seems to have worked, with the 2022 Demographic and Health Survey showing a reduction in maternal deaths.

However, data shows North-eastern counties, including Marsabit, scored lower on women's ability to wash and change in privacy during menstruation.

Senator Gloria Orwoba, known for her advocacy in breaking period stigma, recalls distributing sanitary towels in Marsabit.

"For many women, it's taboo. It was the first time many discussed menstrual cycles. They said they wouldn't prioritise buying sanitary towels, not in the family budget. The moment girls hit puberty and start their periods, the priority is to pass that burden to another man (the husband)."

In another manyatta, 15-year-old Khadija, married to 19-year-old Irianyi Nyameto, says, “I got my period while living with my mother and felt embarrassed. Besides that, I got painful cramps. The only way to end the humiliation and pain was to get pregnant.”

Had Khadija known what she knows now, she wouldn't have got pregnant.

“I discovered I was anaemic after developing pregnancy complications and had an emergency birth. Giving birth was extremely painful.”

"Most pregnant teen girls don't access health facilities for antenatal care, missing opportunities for counselling on proper diet and supplements. If they're anaemic, they miss out on iron supplements, risking persistent headaches, fainting, and heart failure for the mother, and restricted growth for the baby,” Dr Ondieki explains.

Married life wasn't what Khadija expected. “I felt like my husband was always limiting my freedom and opinion. I was always afraid. It's only recently that he has relaxed from being so harsh."

In Ileret, which currently lacks a ward administrator, the chief declines to comment on the matter, citing unauthorised media interaction. Mokoro Koriye, the former Illeret Ward administrator, however, acknowledges the issue.

“Many young girls get pregnant to hide menstrual shame, and families pressure them into marriage to avoid children out of wedlock. It’s deeply cultural, and the girls’ ages are decreasing,” he explains.

He links it to economic factors, saying, “Previously, residents had property and livestock. But with prolonged drought, they sought new income sources. Culturally, when a man gains community recognition, he desires multiple wives and children. The Daasanach community is socialised this way.”

Koriye highlights law enforcement challenges, adding, “Police face difficulties apprehending suspects due to a culture of silence within the community. They try their best alongside churches, chiefs, and NGOs, but it’s difficult.”

Anonymous police officers corroborated the challenges, stating the journey from Illeret to Marsabit court takes a day, and they lack resources to facilitate this arrests.

Gloria explains, “For many women in marginalised communities, the only way they know to take care of themselves is by saying, 'Let me become someone's wife.'

“They move from their father's house to the husband's home, believing that the man will take care of them. Furthermore, most of them understand that having a child will stop their menstrual cycle. There is limited knowledge about sexual and reproductive health in these communities. Again, due to deeply rooted cultural taboos, no one is willing to discuss these topics with the women.”

In the quest to find out more about period shaming in the community, we venture into an uncharted territory. Seeking the Daasanach men's perspective on menstrual taboos, our translator appears uncomfortable as she asks the questions on our behalf. We first speak to Khadija’s husband – 19-year-old Irianyi Nyameto.

“It's quite an embarrassing topic for everyone involved. Culture has taught our women to be secretive; they don't speak about it or any of its symptoms. Maybe because I'm younger, but I don't understand why that should be hidden from a husband. I was taught it is taboo to ask a woman how she's coping with her menses, so I don't ask."

Nyameto explains that while married life has its challenges, he and his wife have eased into a more synergised routine. He hopes his child will have more education to understand bodily changes, as he can't discuss it.  “I hear NGOs bring sanitary towels and other menstrual hygiene items, yet many women are ashamed to use them because it's humiliating for a husband to find them in his house.”

As the sun sets, we meet 70-year-old Oganyin Nyamuta lying on a mat in the shadow of his manyatta. He explains the historical aspect of the menstrual taboo.

“It was indeed a sin for a girl to have her period under her mother's roof without first going through the traditional Daasanach ceremony. Any young girl who didn't go through this ceremony was considered an outcast and a custodian of sin. They would be marked as people who should not be married. There was also a belief that the mother and father in that family would die as a result," he says with a sharp look in his eyes and a deep voice, shaking with advanced age.

The old man’s sentiments add depth into the stigma that young girls face about their menstrual cycle, which has been embedded over generations.

Nyamuta believes the ceremony should continue despite the disintegration of cultural practices.

“A number of people in the community started shunning these practices, but I believe they should still go on to ensure parents live.”

Shem Nyakutu, the Secretary at the Directorate of Children’s Services, highlighted efforts to address menstrual health education and child marriages in the country.

“Many young girls decline to attend class due to shame associated with their menstrual cycles,” Nyakutu tells nation.africa.

“We’re partnering with Unicef to demystify this topic, teaching girls and boys that menstruation is normal and natural.”

Nyakutu emphasises the illegality of child marriages, saying, “It’s illegal to marry someone under 18; that’s the law. However, we find these harmful cultural practices occurring in different areas, which we aim to sensitise the public about, so they understand it’s a crime, not a civil issue.”

The Directorate plans a multi-agency approach involving chiefs, civil organisations, media, and others to help stop these practices. In 2019, the Ministry of Health developed the Menstrual Hygiene Management Policy, finding knowledge gaps about menstruation compounded by taboos, myths, and stigma.

We ask nominated Senator Orwoba whether the government is making strides in ensuring these are sealed and that young girls and women have access to menstrual products and proper hygiene.

“Kenya zero-rated all menstrual hygiene products until mid-last year. However, there were import taxes on some raw materials used in them, which we fought to remove. So, why are sanitary towels still expensive? At bulk, the product should be able to be shelved at Sh30. But the industry players have been able to silently control the market," she comments on government efforts.

On a separate visit to the Daasanach community, our attention is drawn to four bright-eyed and cheery girls, aged between 12 and 14.

Hanging from the cow shell belts around their waists are bunches of uncoordinated metal objects – padlocks, chains, and cow bells – jingling as they move. They are singing the traditional Daasanach song that marks the end of their girlhood and their advancement into womanhood after getting their first period.

As we watch them, we can't help but wonder if they, too, are having conversations similar to those of the young girls we spoke to a few days earlier, like Mina and Sofi, who got married and pregnant at an early age to avoid the shame and stigma associated with menstruation. We hope not.

Before bidding us goodbye, Mama Sofi, Sofi's mother, expresses her hope and prayer: “It is my wish that my grandchildren will break these harmful cultural practices. The solution to period stigma is not to marry and get pregnant at a young age but to accept menstruation as a normal process. Some of these cultural practices are there to hold young girls back, not push them forward.”

Her words resonate, highlighting the need for a shift in attitudes and traditions that have perpetuated the stigma surrounding menstruation, leading to detrimental consequences for young girls in the community.