The first message I got from Rashida Fridah said “Are you on your way? I can’t seem to open the lock, even with the right code”. We had a shift together at Retro Nørrebro, a charity café around the corner from Assistens Cemetery in Northern Copenhagen. We’d never worked together before, and had only met at social events in passing. Both of us were new to the café but as it had so many international volunteers and members of staff it was impossible to know everyone. It was the start of a long and cold Danish winter, and the locks on the doors were frozen. This was Fridah’s first winter in Copenhagen, and she was bundled up with scarves and gloves, trying to force open a café door in an otherwise deserted street.
The second message I got from her was less than a month later. It said “Do you think it’s okay for someone you don’t really know to ask if I use contraception? Just a social question.”
Perhaps this contrast would, for anyone else, be quite stark, but not for Rashida. In that month – maybe even on that Retro shift – she overcame any apprehension she might have had about the new situation she was in and the new people she was with. To be honest, I don’t recall anything we talked about, or if I said or did anything particularly special that would have made an impact. I was used to friendships growing slowly and surely over a period of awkward months, but Fridah was different. Lots of people say this now, that she had this way of meeting people and seeing some light in them. As soon as she found that light, she opened up completely and your friendship with her would be as if you’d always known her, as if she’d always been there for you. We bonded over our love of adventure: she had been so excited to come to Denmark, she had lived in Thailand for 3 months, she had backpacked around Europe, and she had seen much of Africa. I didn’t know it when I turned on the coffee machine and she restocked the fridge, but I had just found the most loyal friend I might ever have. Fridah never fought with me, never argued. Even now with hindsight, looking at situations and disagreements where I was unequivocally in the wrong, Fridah was staunchly by my side, adamant that I could never, ever, even slightly, have been mistaken. She was often outrageous, controversial, and outspoken. Her opinions on “baffling” Danish society were well known. Yet no one was ever offended by anything she said, because when she spoke she had a wicked sense of humour and would smile and laugh so much you believed everything she said was told with the best of intentions. Ultimately, this positive attitude and light-hearted manner would be what made the end so heart breaking, because although we had been warned we didn’t see the full extent of things.
For the duration of our friendship, Fridah had always told me that her husband was cruel to her. She called him insensitive at best, and actively malicious the rest of the time. She told me how her family had begged her not to go to Denmark and how her leaving had caused an irreparable rift in their relationship, and how her husband had never acknowledged this. When I visited her home, I noticed there was nothing whatsoever to suggest an African might live there. Although I said this in jest (what evidence should there be? A hot bowl of joloff rice on the counter?) she admitted she was not allowed Kenyan things in the home and that her husband had control over the apartment’s décor, which was classically Danish. Later, when I showed her photos of my new flat in Glasgow she gushed about my little African details – A Moroccan mirror, Ghanaian textile-covered cushions, a copy of a book by a Zimbabwean author – and how “homely” my colourful flat looked in comparison to the typical all-white hyper-modern Danish apartment. She was clearly uncomfortable there. I never thought much of the fact that he never came to her social events or met her friends, and I only met him once at their apartment, where despite her extravagant efforts at a “special occasion” Kenyan lunch, he ate his own Danish food and left us to the buffet of African dishes.


We had some fantastic times in our friendship, but the memory of her sadness now pollutes them. There was a party at Retro Café on a Friday, and I was hosting a dinner party on the Saturday, and I remember with clarity her apologies that her husband would only allow her to go to one. She chose my dinner party and she stayed overnight, and went out to buy us lunch – southern-style chicken flatbread sandwiches with Philadelphia cheese and salad – the next day. She stood at my window and looked out at my garden, listening to the jazz coming from the Greenhouse Café in the grounds. She said she felt so at peace, and didn’t want to leave. I was 23 and selfish, and so I read no further into the comment than she enjoyed my company and my gorgeous Frederiksberg apartment. I hoped she might spend more time there with me. I didn’t see her as often as I’d like to, and I assumed she turned down most of my invitations out because she was busy searching for a job or trying to save money or was simply busy with her husband or other friends.
On the rare occasions she came out with me and the other Retro members, she was positive and cheerful and gave no indication of inner turmoil. She loved working in Retro with its international community, because she was able to meet people from all over the world and listen to their stories. She loved comparing Kenya and Denmark to other places, and she was always delighted with my stories when it appeared Kenya and Scotland were not as culturally different as she thought they would be. She would tell me I made her feel “more at home” in Denmark and with me she knew she wasn’t insane for believing things should be different in her relationship. I agreed with her that her husband’s behaviour was unacceptable. I was with her when she bought herself a wedding ring – he had never given her one – and she told me she was happier to look at it and think of me instead of him. Outside of her friendship with me, she was very popular with lots of people. She came with our mutual friends and me to SMK Friday, in which the main National Art Museum in Copenhagen opened on a Friday night with music, poetry, performance art, creative workshops, and food and drink stalls. She was a very private woman who rarely posted on Facebook, but I remember she uploaded a video of the 4 of us – me, her, Emil, and a Finnish girl called Maija – sitting on the steps in the modern part of the museum, watching a musical art piece involving a couple wearing suits singing while climbing a ladder. She captioned it “I’m loving this crazy art with my amazing friends!” We loved her enthusiasm, her vitality, her energy. Once, on my birthday, she skipped with me and two other friend down to a running sushi restaurant. After our meal, where she ate more than the 3 of us combined, we went back to Retro and sat in the sunshine of the gallery and drank cheap beers together. She was shoeless and in a red dress. She was vibrant.
She was encouraging too: once I told her I met a former NFL player turned philanthropist who ran a World Education Foundation that aimed to eradicate malaria. I sent her a picture of him and said “Isn’t he gorgeous?” and she said “He’s very good looking. And he seems educated, wealthy, interesting, ambitious, compassionate… I think he would be a good match for you, if he is willing to spoil you.” I didn’t have the heart to tell her I actually wanted him to offer me a job, that of course he had no interest in me, because she was absolutely serious. She thought a top-tier athlete millionaire with his own charity had to work hard for my affections, and that was that. Another instance of her encouragement was when we met at the Copenhagen Fashion Exchange, fundamentally a massive clothes swap, and we rooted through outfits for hours. She left with two big blue Ikea bags worth of clothes to fit her tiny body and I struggled to find anything that looked nice. I’d gained a lot of weight over the summer and felt sweaty and insecure. Yet I genuinely believe she didn’t notice, because everything I tried on she applauded and screamed “YES! YOU LOOK FABULOUS! I JUST LOVE THAT COLOUR ON YOU. WOW!” I left with a small bag of clothes I still cherish today, because she convinced me I looked good in them.


She was a great friend like that, and she made me feel like I too was a great friend. Looking around at her other friends, I began to believe she had fantastic taste. I could see the light from all of them. The last time I saw her was a year ago today, when I visited Copenhagen after the Oslo cruise. We had been speaking online more and more frequently and I was worried. She was telling me to go and explore the world and never get married, to enjoy my youth because she felt like her life was over, that she wished she could come and work for my family as an au pair, that she wanted to walk away and never return, that if she could do it all again she’d never leave Kenya, not for anything or anyone. There was nothing I could say. I didn’t know to what extent she was being controversial and outrageous with her extreme statements, and to what extent she truly felt trapped. I was almost reassured when I saw her due to her laughter and happiness lighting up the café. We went for a walk with her baby around the lake. She proudly introduced me to her neighbours and told them I was the first person she told about her pregnancy. I was surprised – I hadn’t known that. I started to wonder if I was one of her closest friends, and how that could be when I lived abroad in Scotland, because surely a young woman with so much positive energy would have a wide network? The next two times I visited Denmark, she was unable to leave the house due to looking after the baby alone. I couldn’t see her. She was furious at her husband for keeping her stuck at home when he went off to play golf or sit at the pub, at how she was always alone with the baby. “You know,” she said to me “when I get home from work he passes the baby to me as soon as I am in the door. Before I even take off my shoes and coat. Sometimes I am not fast enough and he drops him on the floor.” I was horrified. I told her to call the police and leave him, immediately. She said she had read stories of foreign women losing custody to their abusive Danish husbands and being deported. She began to believe, whether rightly or wrongly, that Denmark did not care for an African immigrant woman whatever might happen to her. Living with him was, she supposed, the price she had to pay to be in Denmark with her baby. “He threw his cutlery at me tonight at dinner” She told me, “I haven’t told anyone else. He got angry at me because I didn’t know the answer to something he asked me”.
All through these alarm bells, she brought happiness to the friends in her life. But it wasn’t enough. Sadly, Rashida and her infant son were found dead in their apartment on Saturday morning at 4am. The day before, she posted on Facebook that she couldn’t deal with her husband any longer – she had found out he was cheating. She posted details of his manipulation and gaslighting. She had the evidence to leave him and stay in Denmark with her baby, but she never got the opportunity. She wanted to see the world, yet she spent the last few years of her life locked inside an apartment, isolated and ignored. Danish police are investigating her death, and currently suspect foul play. While her husband has posted that it was suicide and he is not to blame, I don’t believe this. Even if it was, he is culpable. In fact, the entire system is culpable. Denmark, becoming increasingly closed to immigrants and more far-right in their policies, is complicit in her death. The idea that her life as an immigrant woman had less value and that she, as a non-Danish mother, had less rights to her child than the Danish parent, contributed to her belief that he was powerful and she was powerless. Whether he struck her himself or not, that’s what killed her. Despite this, he has not been arrested, and we her friends are compiling as much evidence as we can of her timeline and her conversations with us that might help shed light on how such a bright girl could meet such a dark end. While we reflect on our time with Fridah, we can learn from her so her death might not be in vain. We can remember her when people mistreat us, and recognise that we deserve better. We can notice the warning signs and know when to leave. We can take Fridah’s positive attitude and bring it to our own lives in times of struggle. We can listen to our friends and refuse to let them be isolated in this way – I will always regret that my leaving Denmark meant abandoning her to this.  We can believe each other’s stories and not disregard them as exaggerated. We can be as loyal to each other as she was to us.


But it wouldn’t be justice. Justice would be his arrest, his confession, his remorse. Justice would be a challenge to the racist ideologies currently saturating Denmark, a country that I love, in hatred. Justice would be a change to the laws regarding immigration status, domestic violence, and national responsibility. Justice would be a national conversation about the treatment of foreigners, of women, of the young and the poor, all things that Fridah was. Justice would be the newspapers reporting the facts and not speculation: current articles in Denmark admit they do not know what happened but suggest “it’s not unusual for women to snap and kill their children in a rage” or that foreign women are known to feel depressed due to their “failure to integrate” or that she might have had “postnatal depression”. Fridah did not fail to integrate. She was fluent in Danish, she worked in a coffee shop, she had a Danish child and Danish friends. She did not suffer from postnatal depression, because from the moment she found out she was pregnant she was solely devoted to the bond between her and her son and the happiness that brought her.
What can we do to bring her justice? We can share her story. We can remember it. And I am going to do what Fridah herself would do, and I will tell everyone, even when it is controversial and offensive and opinionated. Especially then. I will honour her refusal to keep silent – her bravery in talking about her situation.
I will bear her image as a reminder of all of the beautiful and bright things we must fight for.




  1. giray · November 15, 2017

    This is very tragic. How did the police explian the infant boys death?


    • Dan · November 21, 2017

      This is truly sad.The husband must be held accountable!


  2. Esnas · November 15, 2017

    OMG This makes me feel so 😭 😭😭😭😭.


  3. Cate · November 15, 2017

    Thank you elisabeth for this information! It’s explicit that she was in an abusive marriage and it’s evidence that the authorities can use to bring justice to our Kenyan sister and baby!!! Justice will prevail!!!!


  4. Esnas · November 15, 2017

    We Kenyan women don’t easily commit suicide and especially when we have children. We fight to the end. Oh God she fought so many hidden battles.#wewillneverforgetyou


  5. Ciiku Sondergaard · November 15, 2017

    What can we do? There are Kenyans and women outside Denmark who are also suspicious.
    There needs to be a full investigation. All the way in UK, Sweden etc. we know she made comments about abuse by her husband. The conclusion that it was suicide was made too quick. I will share your blog but do let us know what more we can do to get justice for Fridah.

    Liked by 1 person

  6. sheila chelangat · November 15, 2017

    Emotional torture is the worst kind of torture. This man needs to meet his punishment. I have read and seen alot of such similar stories, some didn’t necessarily end the same way but the root is usually the same. we as Africans abroad need to show the true picture of living away from home as so many girls think it’s all rosy. They hook up with just anyone because of what,we leaving here,show as being the ideal life and hiding what we MIGHT be struggling with. Despite saying the above, men all over the world could suddenly turn out to be evil, it’s important to see the early signs. I pray that Fridah and her son get the justice they deserve. may their souls rest in peace


  7. Josephine · November 15, 2017

    Am in alot of tears right now for our friend and sister from kenya here in Danmark. Thankyou Thankyou blogger for enlightening us. We pray for justice. Rest in Peace fridah and kwanza.


  8. Wairimu Murigi · November 15, 2017

    This is too sad. I’m shedding tears in the office. I went to high school with her and you described her exactly the way I knew her. I really do pray that she gets the justice she so well deserves.


  9. njerijacklyne · November 15, 2017

    Thank you, Elisabeth.


  10. Pingback: Fridah – Happiness :-)
  11. Rose Maina · November 15, 2017

    Hi Elizabeth 💞 i can relate alot to your post. I knew her around the same time, i live in Malmö and that ment she would NEVER be allowed to visit me(the notion was that we were out here looking for men). I managed to get coffee, show her how to Clean schools so that she could get some experience. We talked alot about hair and styles we would try, but i was uncomfortable going to her place given Caspers controlling nature. Im angry n sad that i gave up too soon on her, i wish only she managed to have that Hair day together…

    Emotional tortured myself i spoke out to friends who helped me get out Alive and im forever greatful to them, even when i felt like a burden or wasnt listening to their words. They were perssistant…

    Intergration is important it helps us educate ourselves from the laws to personal experiences.

    Hope she found peace…if only she knew how supportive people can be and open up! The shock and unexplained emotion are beyond. I pray for serenity and Justice.



  12. Val Mbugua · November 15, 2017

    A young soul full of life but dimmed by an unloving man!!! All will be well.


  13. PennyShades · November 15, 2017

    Reblogged this on Penny Shades Of Bubbly.


  14. Joseph · November 15, 2017

    Thank you so much for this.
    I feel tears when i read it, and can attest to Fridah’s honest friendship and heart.
    Fridah was a classmate to my small siz when we first met; they were in high school. I remember her hearty conversations , laughs and a so easy person to bond with and be around.
    She used to live reggae music, something that we happened to share and our conversations started by discussing lots of reggae music artists and the message in the songs. She would tell me of reggae events happening around and though we never got to attend one together, reggae became kind of ‘our thing’.
    The love for music would later lead us into an easy friendship where we would call and text regularly and talk about us, family and life at that point or phase in our lives and where we would love to see ourselves in the future. She never, in any of our conversations, say that any of our dreams was impossible .
    We grew closer to apoint my sister thought we were dating. She is beautiful in all aspects, honest and most of all, a friend-something that most men lack in their marriages today. It was just not our time, being young and on different paths in our lives : which she brought to understand and respect.
    When her father passed on, i was among the friends who showed up to condole with her and i remember her taking time in the midst if everything to appreciate, in person , people who attended his burial. They went through a rough time during that period and as we talked about it she remained positive and strong that all would be well.
    Time came for Fridah to settle down and i remember feeling happily sad when she told me abiut the man she was settling down with; not because of his nationality but becasue she was to leave kenya. She assured me she was happy and never had she in her life thought that she would marry a ‘mzungu’ : but she said he was a good man and was taking care of her. All this time she would post pictures of her man and hers frequently and that became my way of keeping in tiuch knowing she was well. Once in a while we would poke on facebook and chat a little: but through my sister i would pass my regards and she her’s since they talked more often.
    Fast forward to the recent past where she neither posted any photos of her nor her husbands; now, no one would question this with all the busy lives and schedules and times changing where people opt to keep their lives out of Facebook, Twitter or Instagram. On 11th, while visiting our parents, my sister suddenly shouted and said “I can’t believe it!!! I knee something was wring when Fridah started posting these kind of posts!!” I asked her what was wrong and all she did was show me screenshots of Fridah’s posts, so shocked that she couldn’t say another word. As i read the posts , it was clear that something was amiss. Little did i know that i went down thorough my sister’s chats with her former classmates, i would find the sad news that she was no more, found dead with her little angel.
    This was not Fridah at all! Whether they call it Suicide or whatever, it is clear, so clear that her husband is responsible for all her woes: if asked, my gut tells me he took the life of his wife and kid.
    1.Looking at his facebook page, you don’t see any post about his wife or child, only golf, beer and some other stuff: but in their death he doesn’t even mourn them, NO! He puts up along post insinuating that Fridah took her life and her child’s.
    2. From a news pull out posted online, neighbours claim that theyvhear a commotion the previous night… Who else was in the hous except Him and Fridah and the Child? Could he have committed the murder and left, the come back later to claim he found them dead?
    3. Police claim to have questioned him and let him go for lack of any evidence, yet from other information online, Fridah’s friends who tried to follow it up with the Danish police were told that the information was confidentia. To whom, the police and the husband?
    4.Fridah was to visit Kenya in December . Would she have taken her own life knowing she and her child had the opportunity of never going back to the hurtful, abusive and prison marriage she was in?
    We hope the Danish and Kenyan Embassies will honestly look into Her death and serve her Justice. She deserves it!

    In my view, i would request that Fridah’s body rests where she would have been happy, her home, her country, where she wanted to run off to , 🇰🇪KENYA. Please bring Fridah home.

    With a sad heart,


  15. Jay Karr · November 15, 2017

    Well done.


  16. george agak · November 16, 2017

    It is so sad we live amidst such storms. a young life lost because authorities don’t care about immigrants. RIP Fridah.


  17. Edwin Nganga · November 16, 2017

    Rest in peace Fridah.


  18. Edwin Nganga · November 16, 2017

    Reblogged this on and commented:
    Justice prevail.Restin peace


  19. Wanjiru · November 16, 2017

    Her life was worth living and her husband will one day pay for his actions.
    My heart goes out to her family


  20. Nick · November 16, 2017

    Thank you Elisabeth for this wonderful but sad story, there is no doubt a lot of humanity and brevity in you. With people like you around, there is hope in the World. Thank you


  21. Nancy · November 16, 2017

    The danish guy should be charged for the death of fridah and her son…… such a sad story….. #I SUPPORT FRIDAH#
    May their souls rest in peace. Thanks for sharing this…..


  22. Tania · November 16, 2017

    Thank you for sharing and bringing awareness to these kind of tragedies. My heartfelt condolences to you. I pray that justice be done.


  23. Jane · November 16, 2017

    Thank you so much for sharing your friendship and experiences with Rashida. As much as I never met her, through your narration i believe she was a beautiful soul who should have been here wth us today. God bless you for seeking justice for her and speaking out against ‘systems that undermine human rights’ rights reserved for the priviledged few who are viewed as humans.


  24. stella nimu · November 18, 2017

    well if they dont do anything for her to find justice karma will find them all even all those authorities refusing to help. we at st francis were bred thro firm catholic faith. may st Michael the arch angel fight for u rashida n ur lovely angel u fought wel but the fight was never urs,seat back in heaven at Christs side and watch away in peace till we meet


  25. gakumo · November 18, 2017

    Reblogged this on Gakumo's Blog and commented:
    Justice For Rashida Faridah|Day No To Domestic Violence😭😭


  26. Kyongo · November 18, 2017

    Reblogged this on skiza sema and commented:


  27. Naomi · November 19, 2017

    I met Frida on several occasions in Denmark. I can’t describe her more everything has been said about her. I pray that real justice will be found for her and baby Kwanza. May their beautiful souls rest with the angels.


  28. Pingback: Kenyans Death in Denmark: Was it Really Suicide? – Mkenya Ujerumani
  29. Caro · November 20, 2017

    Really sad i have a danish bf am scared now😢😢


  30. Elenah Kim · November 20, 2017

    Reblogged this on MY CHRONICLES,MY POETRY and commented:


    • elisabethgray · November 20, 2017

      We gave her a lot of advice, we offered her places to stay, I tried to organise a visa for her to live or work in Scotland, and one of her friends is a lawyer who said she’d aid her in getting custody of her child. Sadly, it’s hard to break through to someone who has been emotionally manipulated.

      Liked by 1 person

  32. phoebe omondi · November 21, 2017

    Its sad how this has ended but I would say that a bad partner is world over not just white guys against black girls I had my cousin who was Kenyan murdered by her Ugandan partner when both were living in Canada.


  33. Nesh Ule Msee · November 23, 2017

    RIP Fridah and Baby Kwanza. I knew you in our church trip to Rwanda 🇷🇼 Dec 2010, all in all, wished you well and sorry for the unfortunate departure, may the angles always watch over you and your son in heaven. May justice prevail.


  34. Liz Njuguna · November 27, 2017

    Hey, is it possible to contact the author of this article. I would love to do a story on this to create awareness of women abuse abroad for the Standard. Please contact me via my email,


  35. Sandra · November 30, 2017

    I hope justice will be found, it’s so sad, I feel for every woman who goes through domestic violence, quiting should always be the 1st option.


  36. caesarowak · December 4, 2017

    Such tragedy.


  37. Kemunto Bear · April 8

    May her soul rest in peace and I hope God will punish the person who is responsible for her death and her son’s too


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