A viral TikTok video has thrust Moi Teaching and Referral Hospital’s (MTRH) Riley Mother and Baby Hospital into the spotlight, igniting a fierce debate about the treatment of new mothers in one of the country’s most respected referral institutions.
While MTRH management has firmly dismissed allegations of detaining mothers and serving them leftovers, testimonies emerging from the hospital corridors suggest a troubling reality: poverty-stricken mothers caught in the web of bureaucratic red tape and unpaid medical bills, effectively confined to the hospital against their will.
The Official Position
In a statement released Friday, September 19, MTRH CEO Dr. Philip Kirwa assured the public that “all mothers received care and attention in line with MTRH’s high standards.” He attributed delays in discharge to challenges in completing Social Health Authority (SHA) registration, often due to missing documents such as identity cards or unpaid premiums.
Kirwa dismissed the viral claims as misleading, emphasizing that meals and services met quality standards. He further insisted that vulnerable groups—especially teenage mothers—were supported through temporary IDs, and in extreme cases, reviewed by a hospital credit committee to allow their release.
“We remain committed to treating all patients with dignity and care,” Kirwa said.
The Hidden Struggle Behind the Walls
But beneath the polished reassurances lie stories that paint a different picture.
Jane (not her real name), a 23-year-old mother from Turbo, recalls being unable to leave the hospital for nearly a week after delivery because her SHA premiums were unpaid. “They told me I could not be discharged until my card was active. My husband had no money, and I felt trapped. It was humiliating to beg for clearance while holding my baby,” she said.
Another mother, Grace, a teenage girl from Nandi who gave birth prematurely, described how she was forced to remain in the ward long after she was declared fit for discharge. “They said I needed my ID to complete registration. I am only 17. My parents live far, and I had no documents. I slept in the ward for days even after my baby was well.”
For these women, the hospital corridors became a holding space, not of healing, but of quiet despair. Their accounts echo a long-running debate in Kenya about “hospital detentions,” where inability to settle bills results in patients being held against their will—a practice previously flagged as illegal by the High Court in 2015.
SHA: A Lifeline or a Barrier?
The controversy comes at a time when President Dr. William Samoei Ruto has been championing the Social Health Authority (SHA) as the cornerstone of his universal healthcare dream.
On Friday at State House, Nairobi, the President launched the SHA Sponsorship Programme, offering free medical care to over 2.2 million vulnerable Kenyans. In his speech, Ruto hailed SHA as a “unique lifeline for the ordinary mwananchi”—a guarantee that no one would be denied treatment for lack of money.
Yet, the mothers stuck in hospital wards at MTRH tell a different story. For them, SHA’s requirements—such as ID cards, birth certificates, and up-to-date premiums—have become bureaucratic hurdles that deepen their vulnerability instead of lifting them out of it.
Healthcare activist Ruth Kamau notes, “The government is marketing SHA as a lifeline, but the ground reality is grim. If a new mother can’t leave hospital because her documents are incomplete, then SHA is not serving its purpose. It’s becoming a barrier.”
The Human Toll
For the mothers caught in the middle, the experience leaves scars that go beyond the hospital stay.
Mary Achieng, a mother of two, said she will never forget the indignity. “I had no food, no money, and every day I was asked when I would clear my papers. I felt like a prisoner. A mother should not go through that after bringing life into the world.”
Such testimonies highlight the tension between the hospital’s official narrative of dignity and the lived experiences of mothers who feel trapped by poverty, paperwork, and policy.
Kenya’s healthcare reforms, spearheaded by SHA, were designed to end catastrophic out-of-pocket costs and guarantee equitable access to healthcare. President Ruto has repeatedly framed SHA as the foundation of his administration’s “Bottom-Up” vision for social justice.
But the testimonies from Eldoret raise uncomfortable questions: Is SHA fulfilling its promise of dignity and equity, or is it entrenching new forms of exclusion?
For now, MTRH insists no mother is detained. Yet Jane, Grace, and Mary’s stories expose a troubling gap between presidential promises and hospital realities.
“We are not lying,” Jane insists. “We just want someone to hear us.”
Editor’s Note: The investigation continues. If you have experienced similar treatment at Riley Mother and Baby Hospital or any other facility, reach out confidentially to our newsroom via email siayatoday@gmail.com or Whatsapp 0733602750
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