Kenyan Circumcision: Culture,Tradition, Rite of Passage or Barbaric?”....the cost of the cut

In Kenya circumcision is more than just a medical procedure. It is a rite of passage. It marks the transition from childhood to adulthood, carries religious and cultural meaning, and shapes how a young man is viewed by his family and the community.

For some Kenyans, it is a medical decision, particularly because research has shown that medical male circumcision reduces the risk of heterosexual HIV acquisition.

But somewhere between tradition, medicine and social expectations is a question that deserves greater attention:

What happens when a procedure involving someone's body is no longer entirely their choice?

The scientific evidence is more complicated than that.

The medical argument

One of the strongest pieces of evidence comes from Kisumu, Kenya.

A randomized controlled trial involving men in Kisumu found that medical circumcision reduced the risk of heterosexual HIV acquisition by approximately 60%. This is one of the reasons the World Health Organization recommends voluntary medical male circumcision as part of comprehensive HIV prevention in areas with high heterosexual HIV transmission.

But there is an important word in that recommendation:

Voluntary.

That word matters. Circumcision is supposed to be a choice. But in Kenya, what looks like a choice on paper can look very different in real life.

When a boy is told that being uncircumcised makes him less of a man, when refusing means facing ridicule, shame, family pressure or rejection, where does choice end and pressure begin?

No one has to hold you down for you to feel that you have no real option.

And yet, we excuse all of this because of the medical benefits, forgetting that circumcision does not provide complete protection against HIV. A circumcised man can still acquire HIV and can still transmit it to someone else.

So it is not accurate to say that circumcision prevents HIV.

It provides partial protection.

That distinction really does matter.

And circumcision is nonetheless surgery

It is often discussed as though nothing significant happens during the procedure.

But something does.

The foreskin is surgically removed. Like any surgical procedure, circumcision can result in complications.

Think about peeling the skin off your knee or your fingers. Now imagine that tissue being deliberately removed from one of the most sensitive parts of the body.

A Kenyan study of more than 2,000 males undergoing medical circumcision found that approximately 2% experienced a moderate or severe adverse event within seven days. By 60 days, the figure had fallen to 0.16%.

This is an important distinction when discussing circumcision in Kenya.

The question is not simply whether circumcision is dangerous.

It is:

Who is performing it? Where is it being performed? How is it being performed? And what happens if something goes wrong?

But traditional circumcision tells a different story

This is where the Kenyan conversation becomes particularly important.

Traditional circumcision is not one standardized procedure. Different communities have different practices and ceremonies across Kenya.

Research conducted in Bungoma, Kenya, compared traditional and medical circumcision, and the difference was significant.

Among the boys studied:

• 35.2% of those traditionally circumcised experienced an adverse event.

• 17.7% of those medically circumcised experienced an adverse event.

• Traditional circumcision was associated with approximately 2.5 times the odds of experiencing an adverse event.

The complications included problems such as infection, bleeding, wound-healing problems and incomplete circumcision.

That does not mean every traditional circumcision is dangerous. That is another story by itself, especially when we take consent out of it.

But it does mean that the conditions under which circumcision takes place can dramatically change the risk.

A procedure performed with sterile equipment by a trained medical professional is not equivalent to a procedure performed under completely different conditions.

That distinction should be part of the Kenyan conversation.

Now from the frying pan into the fire: circumcision in public

But what happens when circumcision becomes pressure?

Imagine being a teenage boy in a community where circumcision isn't simply something people do.

It is what men do.

Your friends are doing it.

Your relatives expect it.

People are asking when you will do it.

And refusing means being called names, mocked or treated as though you are not man enough.

This actually happens.

At this point, we have moved beyond medicine.

We are talking about social pressure.

Research involving adolescents in western Kenya has documented stigma, ridicule and social pressure surrounding circumcision. Some uncircumcised boys experienced negative social consequences because they had not undergone the procedure.

This becomes even more complicated when the person being circumcised is a child or adolescent.

An adult can decide:

“I want to be circumcised.”

A child does not have the same ability to make an independent decision about an irreversible procedure.

Kenyan researchers studying adolescent voluntary medical male circumcision found problems involving consent, including cases where adolescents reported being circumcised without proper parental or guardian consent.

The researchers also reported concerns involving consent documentation and communication.

That does not mean that all circumcision programmes in Kenya ignore consent.

It means that consent cannot simply be assumed because circumcision is culturally accepted.

A procedure can be normal but did the individual actually have an opportunity to say no.

Honestly, this is where the conversation becomes uncomfortable.

And yes, this might make it sound like I have a stance. Maybe I do.

Because at some point, we have to be willing to call out what is happening in front of us.

There was a widely circulated video in Kenya showing a young man resisting during a circumcision. He was naked, surrounded by people, and being physically restrained and hit.

Whatever cultural meaning circumcision may hold, watching someone resist while being held down and beaten is disturbing.

And this is an issue that deserves careful discussion because, in many Kenyan communities, circumcision is associated with public or communal ceremonies.

imagine what happens in private if this is in public.

we have to protect and stand with our children...

but communal circumcison can be meaningful. I won't take that away from anyone.

But there is a difference between community participation and public exposure or humiliation.

From a medical perspective, performing a procedure in front of people does not automatically make the surgery more dangerous. The medical risks depend more on things such as hygiene, equipment, surgical technique, anesthesia, bleeding control and the skill of the practitioner.

But public circumstances raise another set of questions:

Privacy. Dignity. Embarrassment. Coercion. Consent.

A young person may technically have the ability to refuse.

But if refusing means being laughed at by hundreds of people, being labelled weak, being rejected by your peers or being told that you are not a man, how free is that decision?

That is not a surgical question.

It is an ethical one.

When culture becomes a test of masculinity

Remember what circumcision represents in many communities: a transition into adulthood.

That symbolism carries enormous weight.

So resisting the procedure can become more than simply saying “I don't want this.”

It can be interpreted as:

You're scared.

You're weak.

You're not ready to become a man.

You're not one of us.

And this is where we have to be careful.

Because we can respect what circumcision means culturally while still questioning what happens when cultural meaning is treated as biological fact.

Circumcision can represent manhood without being what biologically creates manhood.

An uncircumcised man is still a man.

And a circumcised boy does not automatically become mature simply because a procedure has taken place.

And this is where the idea of manhood becomes dangerous.

Because once circumcision becomes the test of whether a boy is “man enough,” refusing it is no longer  a personal decision. It becomes failure. Weakness. Shame.

A boy can be perfectly healthy, responsible, respectful and mature, but somehow the absence of a piece of skin becomes enough for people to question his manhood.

How did we get there?

And this is where I think we need to separate identity from anatomy.

Circumcision can carry cultural meaning. It can be a powerful symbol of adulthood, belonging and identity. I am not taking that away from anyone.

But a symbol is still a symbol.

It does not change someone's biology. It does not suddenly give someone wisdom, responsibility or emotional maturity. Cutting off the foreskin does not teach a boy how to become a good man. once we accept that, we have to ask another uncomfortable question:

Why are we so willing to pressure boys into something permanent in order to prove something that could never be measured by the procedure itself?

Because the consequences of getting it wrong are not always temporary.

Circumcision can go wrong.

There can be excessive bleeding. Infection. Poor wound healing. Tissue damage. Incomplete circumcision. In severe cases, permanent injury or death.

And I know this is not just a statistic.

I lost a friend who went to get circumcised.

That is why I cannot sit here and pretend that the risks are something that only happen to “other people.”

They don't.

Someone's son can go in expecting to come home.

Someone's friend can go in expecting to celebrate.

And sometimes, they don't come back.

That does not make circumcision wrong.

But it should make us ask whether we are doing it right.

Because if we accept that circumcision is surgery, then we have to accept everything that comes with calling something surgery.

Surgeries require trained hands.

They require sterile equipment.

They require proper pain management.

They require someone who understands what to do when the bleeding doesn't stop.

They require aftercare.

And most importantly, they require the person undergoing the procedure to have a say in what happens to their own body.

Consent should come before culture. Safety should come before ceremony. And a human life should come before tradition.

There is nothing disrespectful about wanting a cultural practice to become safer.

There is nothing anti-Kenyan about saying that a boy should not die because of a rite of passage.

And there is nothing wrong with saying that if circumcision is going to happen, it should happen properly with informed consent, qualified medical professionals and the medical standards we would expect from any other surgery.

Because preserving culture should never mean preserving preventable harm.