They called her crazy. But she was brilliant. A doctor. A woman of purpose. A soul whose voice once carried healing into broken rooms. Dr. Susan Kamengere wasn’t mad — she was maddeningly alive in a world that punishes women for refusing to be quiet. Her story didn’t begin with the tragedy that ended her life. It began in a world that teaches women to shrink, to second-guess their reality, and to remain polite even when they’re being destroyed.

According to reports, her husband didn’t just betray her — he humiliated her. He brought other women into their shared home in Kileleshwa and allowed them to mock her. A house meant to be a haven became a theatre of emotional warfare. And when she resisted, when she tried to hold on to her dignity, he pushed her to the wall and called her crazy. Just like that — violence disguised as frustration. Abuse masquerading as conflict. A life reduced to a whisper, and then, to silence.

But we are not here to be silent.

Dr. Kamengere’s story is not isolated. It joins a growing archive of global femicide — women killed not by strangers in the dark, but by the very people who once promised to protect them. This isn’t just a Kenyan issue. It’s an everywhere issue. From Nairobi to New Delhi, from apartments in Kileleshwa to kitchens in Kentucky — women are dying. And far too often, they’re dying because no one listened when they said they were afraid. No one believed them when they said they were not okay.

We live in a world where love has become a dangerous gamble. Where women are expected to endure emotional bruises with grace, and physical ones in silence. But we are not here to romanticize resilience. We are here to name the wound.

To say: You were not crazy — you were cornered.

And to every woman reading this — who’s ever been gaslit, laughed at, minimized, or told that her pain is imaginary — hear this: You are not too sensitive. You are not asking for too much. You are not weak for crying, for leaving, for breaking, or for staying too long. You are human. And your emotions are not liabilities. They are evidence that you feel, and feeling is not a crime.

We write this in honor of Dr. Kamengere, but also for every woman who didn’t make the news. For the quiet ones. The ones who died inside years before anyone noticed. The ones still alive but no longer living. We write for the daughters growing up in households that teach them to make themselves small. For the women who are told to “be strong” but never allowed to break.

Let this article be more than a memorial. Let it be a mirror — one that reflects your worth back to you, even when the world tries to erase it. Let it be a call to feel, to rage, to mourn, and to remember: we are never truly alone in our pain.

Dr. Kamengere’s name will not fade into silence. We will carry it in our voices, in our art, in our fight. We will tell her story and every other story like it until the world is forced to change.

Because we are not just mourning — we are rising.

And this time, the silence will not win.