Maternal health in Kenya is often spoken about in statistics, yet behind every number is a woman, a family, and a future forever changed. The latest Kenya National Bureau of Statistics report places our maternal mortality ratio at 355 deaths for every 100,000 live births. It’s a shocking figure, but numbers alone cannot capture the fear, the delays, the gaps in care, and the human cost that women face every day. These are not abstract deaths happening somewhere far away — they are happening in our villages, our counties, and our communities.
In many parts of Kenya, especially in rural settings, pregnancy and childbirth remain deeply risky journeys. The biggest threats are well known: severe bleeding, high blood pressure disorders like eclampsia, infections, prolonged labour, and complications from unsafe abortions. Yet what pushes these medical conditions into life-threatening emergencies is often the long chain of delays — delayed decisions at home, delayed transport, delayed treatment upon arrival. It is a chain that can be broken, but only if systems work, facilities are equipped, and women are empowered to seek care early.
Kadzo’s story brings this reality into painful focus. At nine months pregnant, she went into labour on a night of heavy rain. Her husband was working in Mombasa, and the only way to the nearest health centre was a long, slippery murram road nearly 20 kilometres away. With the storm keeping boda boda riders off the road, Kadzo and her mother walked to a small dispensary that had one light flickering in the darkness. Inside, a single nurse tried their best, but the facility had no capacity to handle complications. When Kadzo started bleeding after delivery, they discovered the dispensary had run out of oxytocin, the essential drug used to control haemorrhage. There was no blood for transfusion and no doctor on duty. The ambulance took hours to reach them because it had been dispatched from far away and the roads were flooded. By the time Kadzo arrived at the referral hospital, her condition had worsened. Doctors managed to save her life, but only by removing her uterus. She woke up alive, but with chronic pain, the loss of future fertility, and hospital bills her family struggles to pay.
There are thousands of women like Kadzo across the country — women who survive but with lifelong consequences, and others who never make it home. For every maternal death, many more women suffer severe complications that affect their physical health, mental wellbeing, livelihood, and dignity. They experience obstetric fistula, chronic anaemia, infertility, and trauma that can silently shape the rest of their lives. These realities are rarely talked about with the urgency they deserve, yet they reflect the daily inequalities in access to quality reproductive healthcare.
Maternal mortality in Kenya is not just a medical problem; it is a systems problem. It is about whether a facility has skilled staff, whether essential medicines are stocked, whether blood is available, whether an ambulance arrives when called, and whether a woman has the autonomy and resources to seek care when she needs it. Too often, care is delayed because of cost, distance, or social norms that keep women from making quick decisions about their own health. And yet, we know what works. Emergency obstetric care, consistently stocked supplies, trained midwives, strong referral networks, accessible antenatal care, and community awareness can dramatically reduce deaths and complications. These are achievable, practical solutions that save lives when implemented consistently and funded sustainably.
The number 355 should not numb us; it should motivate us. Kenya has already made progress over the years, but it is clear that the journey is far from over. Every mother deserves to go into labour without fearing for her life. Every family deserves to welcome a child without imagining a tragic outcome. Every community deserves health systems they can trust. As we continue discussing maternal health, telling stories, building data, strengthening facilities, and demanding accountability, we honour women like Kadzo — not by pitying them, but by ensuring that their experience becomes a catalyst for change.
Maternal death should never be the price of giving life. The fact that it still is, for hundreds of families every year, tells us how much work remains — and how urgent that work truly is.
Written by Ramwaka Nyadzuwa