By Duncan Waswa -Bungoma
In the shadows of tradition, where cultural beliefs often dictate life and death, one woman chose love over fear. Her name is Carodan Bulimo — a mother, a gospel singer, and a reverend whose life story is a quiet revolution against a practice that could have cost her everything.
I travel to Cheptais, nestled in the hills of Mt. Elgon, to meet Carodan. It’s a peaceful village, but behind the serenity lies a history of survival, sacrifice, and unwavering faith.
Carodan was only 16 when she got married. At 17, she gave birth to twin boys — a moment that is typically celebrated as a double blessing. But in the Teso community where she had married, twins were anything but a blessing. Especially if the first twin was born head-first — a traditional sign, they believed, of a curse.
According to the custom, such children were to be eliminated. If left to live, elders warned, they would bring death to the father or doom upon the family.
The young couple faced a heartbreaking ultimatum: conform to custom and sacrifice their newborns, or risk being cast out by their community.
“I was a girl with no job, no income, and now a mother of twins that no one wanted,” Carodan recalls, her voice steady but eyes clouded with emotion. “But I knew I couldn’t let them die. I just couldn’t.”
Her husband, standing by her side, made the difficult decision to support her choice. And with that, the community turned against them.
They were banished — chased from the village with their newborn sons. With nothing but their faith and each other, they fled to Cheptais, a quiet corner on the slopes of Mt. Elgon, where they began their lives from scratch.
Life in exile was brutal. They survived by doing menial jobs. Some days, food was uncertain. Nights were long and cold. But even in despair, Carodan found light — in music.
At a small village church, her voice found a home. She began singing in the choir, slowly building confidence and reconnecting with the joy she had once known. Church elders took notice of her gift and encouraged her to train in ministry. It was a turning point.
“I believe God used music to heal what life had broken in me,” she says.
Years passed. Carodan became a trained reverend. Her music touched many — and through her songs, she shared not just her faith, but her story. The twins she once feared losing grew up strong, gifted, and resilient.
Today, 25 years later, they are among Kenya’s rising gospel music producers.
“I remember being told not to breastfeed them, to just let them die,” she says, tears filling her eyes. “Every time I see them now — healthy, talented, God-fearing — I know it was only grace.”
But not all scars have faded.
It took her 12 years to conceive another child. Doctors said the trauma and psychological wounds had affected her body in ways medicine couldn’t fix. Yet, she never gave up hope.
Cultural expert Dr. Isaac Misiko, based in Bungoma, warns that such harmful traditions still exist in parts of Kenya.
“These beliefs are rooted in fear and ignorance,” he says. “Every child, whether born alone or as a twin, has a divine purpose. No human being has the right to determine who deserves to live.”
He adds that silence around such practices is part of what keeps them alive. “We must tell these stories. That’s how change begins.”
Indeed, Carodan’s story is no longer just hers — it is a beacon for many others trapped between love and culture, between truth and tradition. She now works with young mothers, teaching them their worth and advocating for the protection of children against cultural violence.
And while her journey was marked by suffering, she insists it was not in vain.
“I lost everything — home, family, acceptance — but I found faith, purpose, and the purest form of love: a mother’s love that would rather suffer than surrender.”she says.
Carodan Bulimo’s life reminds us that true strength is often quiet. It hides behind the tears of a mother, the hymns of a choir singer, and the refusal to give up even when tradition threatens everything.
In a country where some customs still endanger women and children, voices like Carodan’s are needed more than ever. Not to shame cultures, but to awaken them — to inspire transformation that preserves heritage but protects life.
Because no tradition, however old, should ever demand blood to remain alive.
