For over two years, Lilian Wanjiru (not her real name) has lived in the shadows of a crime she did not commit. Her digital identity was stolen and used in transnational transactions that left her reputation in ruins and her life at a standstill.
After months of pleading with authorities and writing unanswered letters to the Directorate of Criminal Investigations (DCI), she finally found a listening ear, not from the detectives who should have handled her case, but from the Commission on Administrative Justice (Ombudsman).
“When the Ombudsman acknowledged my complaint, I felt a small but powerful sense of relief,” she says softly. “It meant someone finally believed that my story mattered.”
A glimmer of hope
The Ombudsman’s acknowledgment has given Wanjiru a renewed sense of hope. For the first time in years, she feels that justice could be within reach. Yet, she knows from experience that acknowledgment does not always translate into action.
“It’s a good start,” she says. “But acknowledgment without follow-up is just another broken promise. I can only hope the DCI will now cooperate and release the information that proves I’m innocent.”
Her journey reflects the silent agony of many victims of cybercrime, people whose lives are derailed by digital fraud while systems move too slowly to protect them.
Kenya has made strides in drafting digital protection laws such as the Computer Misuse and Cybercrimes Act, 2018. On paper, the law gives citizens recourse when their online identities are compromised. But enforcement remains the weakest link.
“The laws exist, yes,” Wanjiru remarks. “But they are rarely implemented effectively. Investigations drag for years, evidence disappears and the victims are left to clean up the mess alone.”
She explains that the problem becomes even more complicated when crimes stretch beyond Kenya’s borders.
“Cybercriminals move fast and cover their tracks quickly,” she says. “Our systems are not designed to move at the same speed.”
Beyond the legal struggle, Wanjiru’s ordeal carries a heavy emotional and social toll. Her name has appeared in documents, transactions and networks she never joined. The effect has been devastating.
“It’s painful when people start doubting your integrity,” she says. “Your name becomes a source of suspicion instead of pride.”
Professionally, her credibility has been shaken. Opportunities have vanished and her social life has shrunk. She describes the constant fear of being misidentified in systems she can’t access or control.
“You wake up every day wondering what’s been done under your name overnight,” she says. “It’s like living under a shadow you can’t escape.”
Will DCI finally respond?
According to Wanjiru, the DCI holds the evidence that could clear her name including communication logs, digital trails and investigation reports. Yet, her attempts to access this information have been met with silence.
The Ombudsman’s involvement now places the DCI under renewed scrutiny. Whether it will act or maintain its silence remains to be seen.
“I’m not asking for sympathy,” Wanjiru insists. “I’m asking for justice. The DCI has a duty to clear my name and help me reclaim my life.”
Wanjiru believes her case is just one among many. She calls for stronger inter-agency coordination, better victim support systems and faster response mechanisms. She says the country cannot continue to treat digital crimes as isolated incidents when they are part of a larger pattern.
“Identity theft isn’t just a personal issue anymore,” she explains. “It’s a national security problem. When people lose trust in systems, the whole nation suffers.”
Despite everything, Wanjiru remains determined. Her resilience, she says, is rooted in faith that persistence eventually forces change.
“To every victim out there, don’t give up,” she says. “Document everything, no matter how small. Speak out even when it feels useless. Someone will eventually listen.”
Her words echo the hope of countless others who feel forgotten by a justice system slow to adapt to digital realities.
For now, she continues to wait, but with renewed courage. The Ombudsman’s acknowledgment may only be a first step, but for victims like Lilian Wanjiru, it’s a sign that justice, though delayed, may finally be finding its way home.
