DNA battle: How mistrust turns love and fatherhood into a circus

DNA tests can settle paternity disputes, but trust, honesty and responsibility remain the real test of relationships. [Courtesy]

There are images that merely show a face, and there are those that open a national conversation. Then there is this one.

She sits there behind those enormous spectacles, looking like a beautiful laboratory technician who has just discovered that the entire nation has failed a paternity examination. Her lips are carefully painted, her eyebrows have negotiated their own constitution, her nails appear to have received more coats than a newly elected politician, and the foundation is so meticulously applied that even the original skin may have requested identification.

She is, in other words, a modern Clementina! Only that the paintbrush has moved from Okot p’Bitek’s Song of Lawino into the age of Instagram filters, beauty apps and artificial intelligence.

And then she speaks. “During Mau Mau, most men went into the forest to fight, coming back from war and found their women were pregnant or had given birth; they would raise that kid without any question. They understood their women had needs to be met. Wewe ni nani unataka DNA!!”

Aii! That last question is not a question. It is a declaration of war. Wewe ni nani? Who are you? Who permitted you to doubt the maternity department of the village? Who taught you genetics? Who told you about chromosomes? Who gave you that audacity to walk into a laboratory and ask whether the baby resembles you?

In the old days, apparently, a man went into the forest to fight colonialism and returned to find his wife had fought another kind of battle — resulting in a baby wrapped in a blanket. He looked at the child, the mother and the sky, then reportedly said: “Bring me, my child.”

No DNA tests, cheek swabs, chain of custody, gloved laboratory technicians or WhatsApp family groups announcing: “Guys, results are out.”

But there is one historical problem with this romantic tale: the Mau Mau struggle was far more complex than the caption suggests. Women were not merely waiting at home for men to return. They served as couriers, suppliers, organisers and intelligence gatherers, and some fought in the forests themselves. Recent scholarship continues to uncover these often-overlooked roles.

Some historical accounts suggest that sexual relations in certain forest units were regulated, with fighters expected to abstain during combat. Perhaps, then, we should not recruit the dead into today’s WhatsApp wars. The ancestors have suffered enough.

Beneath the comedy, however, lies a serious question: What are we really fighting about when a man asks for a DNA test? The village falls silent somewhere between “trust me” and “prove it”. Modern relationships face a dangerous fault line. On one side, a woman insists, “You should trust me.” On the other, a man says, “I have trusted you; now I want scientific confirmation.” Between them sits an innocent child who never asked to become Exhibit A.

The question is particularly uncomfortable because public paternity disputes in Kenya have shown how DNA tests can radically alter the story. Take the long-running case involving former Makueni Senator Mutula Kilonzo Junior and Victoria Ndunge Musyoki. The dispute involved claims of paternity and child maintenance. Kilonzo eventually sought DNA testing; the court-ordered test established that he was not the biological father. In 2023, the Children’s Court ruled in his favour over money he had provided in the dispute, and subsequent reporting put the amount at Sh15 million.

That is no longer a joke. That is somebody’s decade. That is somebody’s money. That is somebody’s reputation. That is somebody’s child. And suddenly the question, “Wewe ni nani unataka DNA?” acquires a second meaning. Perhaps the answer is: “I am the person who will spend the next eighteen years raising this child.”

But there is another side. A DNA test should not become a weapon for humiliating women, punishing children or turning every relationship into a criminal investigation. Nor should suspicion become an excuse for violence.

And this is where our modern tragedy enters, wearing muddy shoes. We live in an era when relationships are poisoned by suspicion: money, infidelity, “fare”, secret phones, disappearing WhatsApp messages, mysterious weekend trips and the famous Kenyan explanation: “There were floods.” Meanwhile, the sun is shining so fiercely that even cows are seeking shade.

A man sends Sh1,500 for transport. “Babe, I am coming,” she promises. An hour later, there is a problem at home. Two hours later, her clothes have not dried. Three hours later, her mother has refused. Four hours later, her phone is switched off.

By evening, the man has discovered that Nairobi’s only flood was a flood of excuses. According to internet logic, another man has apparently arrived at the destination.

This is how suspicion grows. When it meets wounded masculinity, alcohol, financial frustration and emotional immaturity, the consequences can be catastrophic.

But murder is never a DNA test. Femicide is not a paternity dispute gone wrong. A child cannot be blamed for the circumstances of conception, and no woman should be killed over suspected infidelity. Equally, a man should not be condemned for seeking clarity about paternity. We need something more sophisticated than romanticised Mau Mau morality. We need adult morality.

Consider a family story. A young woman regularly brought home male “friends”: Brio, Kevo, Jonte and Pato. The names sounded like a committee investigating a missing goat.

Her anxious mother finally asked, “My daughter, who among these boys is your boyfriend?” “Why, Mum?” “I don’t want you people fighting here!”

The mother imagined Brio confronting Kevo, Kevo discovering Jonte and Pato arriving with a chair. What she did not know was that they were all potential suitors. Her daughter had not decided.

Brio had the looks, Kevo the game, Pato the brains, while another had height. Somewhere in the background was the Mubaba, who could produce money whenever romance required lubrication. Why choose one when the marketplace offered several options?

Then came a beautiful baby boy.

When relatives asked whose child it was, the young woman reportedly replied, “I don’t know.

She began her forensic analysis: “The eyes look like Brio. The nose is Kevo’s. The head is Pato’s. The hands...” She paused. “The hands belong to the Mubaba.” Even the grandmother needed to sit down. The village had become a DNA laboratory without electricity.

Beneath the laughter lies an uncomfortable truth. Love without trust becomes surveillance. Trust without honesty becomes exploitation. Suspicion without evidence becomes cruelty, while deception without accountability can destroy lives.

The answer is neither blind acceptance nor turning every pregnancy into a courtroom. It is honesty, responsibility and scientific evidence when paternity is genuinely in question. Above all, violence must never be the answer.

DNA can establish biological paternity. It cannot establish love, character or commitment.

Perhaps that is Kenya’s real examination: not paternity alone, but responsibility. A child deserves the truth, protection and adults mature enough to confront difficult questions without hatred or fear.