There is a swahili saying that goes, “Elimu ni taa” meaning, education is the light of life. But what happens when that light never reaches certain corners of society? When legal knowledge, which could prevent family disputes and protect property, remain hidden from those who need it the most?

For this reason, our team journeyed to Ibisil, Kajiado, to empower the Maa community with essential knowledge on the law of succession. We began with a baraza on January 22, 2025, where we engaged community members in discussions on inheritance rights and the significance of succession planning. A week later, on January 29, we returned to host a legal aid clinic, providing one-on-one legal assistance to those facing succession disputes.

The school provided some funds for our trip, but it wasn’t enough. To bridge the gap, we chipped in from our own pockets to ensure everything ran smoothly. Each of us had a crucial role to play.

The treasurer meticulously managed the budget, ensuring all expenses were covered and payments were made on time. The secretary handled communications with the assistant chief in Ibisil, overseeing logistics for the baraza, securing tents and chairs, and finalizing the venue. Our photographer documented the event, capturing key moments.

Other students took on specific responsibilities. some managed supplies, ensuring we had enough manila papers and marker pens for presentations, while others handled refreshment, making sure juice and biscuits were available for the community members attending the sessions.

Just a day before we left, there was an unexpected change. The advocate assigned to us was replaced, and we were introduced to Ms. Winnie. She called for a virtual meeting that evening.

“How prepared are you?” she asked. “What’s your dress code? This is a patriarchal community.” “Have you thought about the language barrier?”

She had valid concerns, but we had already considered them. We had translated our materials into Swahili, making them easier to understand. To ensure that everyone in the community could follow along, we had also arranged for two translators to interpret everything into Maa. Understanding the cultural setting, we had planned for a modest dress code and discussed how to address male elders respectfully.

The baraza was set to begin shortly after our arrival, but things didn’t go as planned. When we got to the venue, the tents were still being set up, chairs were scattered, and there was little sense of urgency.

To complicate matters, our key contact, the assistant chief, had recently lost her mother. Understandably, this meant the event’s sensitization hadn’t been as effective as we had hoped. Adding to the challenge, a prominent community leader had passed away, drawing most residents to his funeral. With a sparse crowd and an unprepared venue, we had to think on our feet.

Exchanging anxious glances, we quickly decided to take matters into our own hands. We headed to the town center, weaving through shops and local stalls, personally inviting people to attend.

Most responses were polite but dismissive:

“We are going for the funeral.”

“We hadn’t heard about this event.”

“Is this affiliated with FIDA?”

With each response, the weight of the situation became clearer. We had a tough task ahead.

The mention of FIDA (Federation of Women Lawyers) was significant. Some men seemed hesitant, assuming we had come solely to advocate for women’s rights. While women’s inheritance rights were an important part of our session, we needed the community to understand that succession law protects everyone, men, women, and children alike. Realizing the personal approach wasn’t working, the chief brought in a public address system and started playing music, drawing attention from people passing by. Soon, the microphone was used to call people over, explaining that the session was about succession law and how it affected them.

The turning point came when an elderly Maasai woman arrived and sat under the tent. At first, she was alone, watching us. Then, more people trickled in. Young men, elders, and women, curious to know what was happening. Within minutes, the area was nearly full, and the baraza could begin.

With the audience settled, we divided our presentation into key legal areas, ensuring that even those with little formal education could follow. The session was conducted in Swahili, and our two translators ensured everything was interpreted into Maa for full understanding.

Many were surprised to learn that verbal declarations do not automatically determine inheritance unless made within three months of death and witnessed by two people, as provided under Section 9 of the Law of Succession Act. This challenged the common belief that a man’s spoken wishes would be followed, leaving many elders deep in thought.

A heated debate arose when we discussed inheritance rights for women. Under Maasai customary law, sons, particularly the eldest, inherit most of the land and livestock, often leaving widows and daughters with little to nothing. When we explained that under Sections 35, 38, and 39 of the Law of Succession Act, all children, regardless of gender, have equal rights to inherit intestate property, some men disagreed.

“That is not how we do things here,” one elder said. “Land belongs to the men. Women get married and live with their husbands.”

Before we could respond, a Maasai woman stood up and shared how, after her husband’s death, his family evicted her and her children, claiming she had no right to the land because her dowry had not been fully paid. The discussion escalated, with men defending the customary system while women demanded fairness.

We clarified that a widow is legally entitled to inherit under Section 29 of the Law of Succession Act and that children, whether their mother’s dowry was paid or not, cannot be disinherited. The assistant chief intervened to maintain order, reminding everyone that this was an educational session.

To ease tensions, we steered the discussion toward solutions. We emphasized the importance of writing wills to avoid disputes and encouraged the use of Alternative Dispute Resolution (ADR) to settle conflicts within families. As the session ended, we distributed refreshments, and many people stayed back to ask further questions. Some community members, especially women, thanked us for the session, requesting that we return for more legal awareness programs.

A week later, on 29th January 2025, we returned to Ibisil for the legal aid clinic. Unlike the baraza, which focused on general legal education, this was a structured one-on-one consultation where community members shared their specific legal issues.

We set up five legal aid stations, each manned by two law students, with our advocates, Ms. Winnie Onyango and Ms. Rebekah Ajigo, available for complex cases. Despite the rainy weather, the turnout was impressive. Many community members had pressing concerns, eager to understand their legal options. While we had anticipated most cases to be about succession, many people also sought advice on criminal matters, land disputes, and contract issues.

One of the most common concerns involved widows and children being disinherited. Some women had been evicted from their marital homes after their husbands’ deaths, while others were denied access to land simply because they were female. We explained the provisions of the Law of Succession Act, particularly Section 29, which recognizes widows and children, whether or not their mother’s dowry was paid, as rightful heirs.

Land disputes were also prevalent. One man shared how his uncle had secretly transferred his late father’s land into his own name. We advised him on placing a caution under Section 76 of the Land Registration Act to prevent further dealings on the land while the matter was resolved. Another client, an adopted daughter, was being denied inheritance despite having been raised as a legitimate child. We clarified that under Kenyan law, adopted children have equal inheritance rights.

By the end of the day, we had spoken to over 20 people, documented cases that required follow-up, and referred several individuals to the Pro Bono Institute of Kenya (PBIK) for further legal support.

As we drove back to Nairobi, we reflected on what we had achieved and what still needed to be done. The Law of Succession Act, in many ways, does not fully address the realities of pastoralist communities like the Maasai. Legal reforms, and more awareness campaigns are necessary to ensure that succession disputes are resolved fairly.

As the Maasai say, “Enkare olaitoki olaitoki olokila ilariak”, loosely translated to small streams fill a river. This was just the beginning of change, a ripple in what we hope will become a tide of awareness and empowerment. As we packed up, we made a promise to ourselves. We would return.

Article written by Naomi Awinja Nyonje, 3rd Year Bachelor of Laws (LL.B) Student