Underneath the stunning blue skies of Nairobi, where warm breezes rustle the branches and kiss the brows of pedestrians, life carries on as usual. But for people living with albinism, like Gideon Mwakina, “usual” is a far cry from safe. Mwakina, a popular radio host on Kibera-based Pamoja FM known by locals as “Man Gidi,” knows this all too well, as he is often targeted due to the color of his skin. This is the grim reality faced by many–being targeted by skin: the grim reality they live with every day.
One afternoon, as he walked through his familiar neighborhood, he was suddenly ambushed by three men. “Leo tunakupeleka Tanzania (Today we will take you to Tanzania),” one of them said, illustrating the grim reality faced by those targeted.
At first, Mwakina thought it was a joke. It wasn’t.
The chilling threat references a well-documented but horrifying reality — the trafficking of people with albinism across borders, especially into Tanzania, where their body parts are sold for use in witchcraft rituals. According to the UN and human rights organizations, albino body parts are believed by some to bring wealth and good fortune — a superstition that fuels brutal attacks and killings.
Mwakina was lucky. Residents who knew and loved “Man Gidi” stepped in. A mob quickly formed, surrounding the assailants. The attackers were beaten and nearly lynched before Mwakina himself intervened, pleading for their release.
But many others are not as fortunate, often facing the grim reality of being targeted for their skin.
A Life Lived in Fear
In East Africa, particularly in Tanzania, Malawi, and parts of Kenya, people with albinism face not only social ostracization but also the very real threat of being hunted, mutilated, or killed. The lack of melanin in their skin — a genetic condition called albinism — has become a death sentence for many.
The United Nations has described this as a “human rights crisis.” In Tanzania alone, over 70 people with albinism have been murdered since 2000, though many cases go unreported. The grim reality is that they are being targeted by skin color alone.
Discrimination begins at birth. In some communities, children born with albinism are rejected by their families or even killed in infancy. Those who survive face a lifetime of stigma: children bullied in schools, adults excluded from employment, and women sexually assaulted under the dangerous myth that intercourse with an albino woman can cure HIV.
Racism Within
Albinism challenges entrenched ideas of racial identity. In predominantly Black African societies, albinos — often called pejorative names like “zeru zeru” (ghost) in Swahili — are considered outsiders. Their whiteness is both feared and fetishized. They are neither fully accepted by the Black community nor embraced by those outside of it.
“I am Black, but people see me as something else,” says Grace, a Kenyan mother of two living with albinism. “It’s like I don’t belong anywhere.”
This layered discrimination is not just social but institutional. Many albinos struggle to find jobs due to biases around their appearance and perceived disability. Vision problems and sensitivity to sunlight, both common in people with albinism, are rarely accommodated in schools or workplaces. Access to healthcare and sunscreen — which is essential to prevent skin cancer — is limited and often unaffordable.
Fighting Back
Despite the challenges, there are those fighting to turn the tide in this grim reality African albinos face.
Organizations like the Albinism Society of Kenya, Under the Same Sun, and Standing Voice are working to provide education, healthcare, and advocacy for people with albinism. Activists are pushing governments to do more — from distributing free sunscreen and protective gear to enforcing harsher penalties for attacks, as these measures aim to combat the grim reality that they are targeted by skin color.
There is also hope in representation. Figures like Gideon Mwakina are helping to shift public perception simply by being visible and successful in the media. Political representation is growing, with albino leaders like Isaac Mwaura, a Kenyan senator, speaking out for their communities.
What Passes for Normal
For Mwakina, what is considered normal is knowing that he might be hunted for his skin. For Grace, it’s shielding her children from insults and whispers. For thousands of others with albinism in East Africa, it’s walking a tightrope between survival and fear.
As the sun beats down on yet another cloudless Nairobi afternoon, people with albinism carry on with their lives — walking boldly in bodies that others treat as cursed or magical, but which are, in truth, simply human.
Until society sees that — and protects them as such — “normal” for East Africa’s albino community will remain an unsettling and dangerous illusion.
