The International Drug Trafficking Dilemma: Law, Justice, and the Human Cost

By Fwamba NC Fwamba

When news broke that Margaret Nduta, a Kenyan national, had been sentenced to death in Vietnam for drug trafficking, emotions ran high.

Her story is heartbreaking—a woman who, for reasons known only to her, ended up on the wrong side of the law in a foreign country with one of the harshest penalties for drug-related crimes.

For her family, this is not just a legal issue; it is a nightmare. A daughter, a mother, a friend—someone they once laughed with and depended on—now faces the most severe punishment imaginable.

The calls for government intervention have been loud, with many Kenyans pleading for diplomatic efforts to save her life. But while the human instinct is to sympathize, the legal realities are unforgiving.

Kenya, like many other countries, has long been battling the scourge of drug trafficking. The Narcotic Drugs and Psychotropic Substances (Control) Act of 1994 provides for severe punishment, with traffickers facing life imprisonment and heavy fines.

While Kenya does not impose the death penalty for drug-related offenses, other countries—including China, Indonesia, Saudi Arabia, and Vietnam—do.

In such jurisdictions, being caught with narcotics often means there is little room for appeal. Vietnam, where Margaret Nduta’s fate now rests, has zero tolerance for drug traffickers.

Its laws prescribe the death sentence for anyone found in possession of more than 600 grams of heroin or 2.5 kilograms of methamphetamine.

For those arrested, there is little hope of diplomatic intervention, as drug laws in these countries are considered matters of national security, and no government wants to be seen as compromising its legal system for the sake of a foreigner.

While Kenya has in the past pleaded for clemency in such cases, success has been rare. The government can make diplomatic appeals, but it cannot force another country to change its laws.

The reality is that Margaret’s fate is no longer in Kenyan hands—it is in the hands of the Vietnamese judicial system, which historically has shown little leniency in such cases. Margaret’s case exposes the difficult moral dilemma surrounding drug trafficking.

On the one hand, she is an individual who made a choice—whether out of desperation, coercion, or greed—to engage in a dangerous and illegal activity.

On the other hand, she is also a human being, possibly exploited by a much larger network that profits from sending couriers like her into harm’s way.

Many Kenyans caught in drug trafficking cases abroad are not the masterminds; they are often the mules, the lowest in the chain, yet the ones who suffer the most severe consequences. Drug lords rarely handle narcotics themselves. Instead, they recruit vulnerable individuals—many of them young, unemployed, or in dire financial situations—to transport the drugs.

These individuals are promised quick money, fully paid trips, and a chance at a better life, only to find themselves facing death sentences or life imprisonment in foreign prisons.

Margaret’s story raises uncomfortable questions: Did she fully understand the risk? Was she deceived? Did she act out of desperation? These questions do not excuse the crime, but they make it difficult to ignore the human cost of drug trafficking laws.

At the same time, we must not forget the victims of drug abuse—the countless families broken by addiction, the young lives lost to overdoses, and the communities ravaged by crime and violence linked to the narcotics trade.

Governments impose harsh penalties on traffickers to protect their citizens, and there is no denying that drug networks destroy societies. But when someone like Margaret finds herself caught in this trap, we are reminded that justice is not always simple. Kenya itself is no stranger to the drug problem.

The coastal region, particularly Mombasa, has long been identified as a key transit point for international drug networks.

Over the years, the country has seen several high-profile drug cases, including: the Akasha Brothers Case (2017), where Baktash and Ibrahim Akasha, two Kenyan drug lords, were extradited to the U.S. after running an international trafficking empire.

Their conviction in a New York court was hailed as a major victory in the fight against drug networks; Josephine Wangui & Others v Republic (2018), where three Kenyan women caught smuggling heroin were sentenced to life imprisonment, setting a precedent for strict enforcement of Kenya’s drug laws; and Ali Punjani (2019), where the businessman was under investigation for drug-related activities, but his case revealed how loopholes in prosecution sometimes allow suspects to evade justice.

These cases demonstrate that Kenya, too, has little sympathy for those found guilty of drug trafficking.

However, while its penalties are severe, they are not as final as those in countries like Vietnam. For those calling on the government to intervene in Margaret Nduta’s case, there are limited options. Kenya and Vietnam do not have an extradition treaty, meaning there is no legal avenue for transferring her case to Kenyan courts.

However, the government could make a diplomatic appeal for clemency, asking Vietnam to commute her death sentence to life imprisonment; seek a prisoner transfer agreement (if Vietnam allows it), so that she can serve her sentence in Kenya; or engage international human rights bodies to advocate for more humane sentencing policies for foreign nationals.

However, it must be acknowledged that such appeals are often unsuccessful, as drug laws in these countries are enforced with little room for negotiation.

Margaret’s story is not unique. Over the years, many Kenyans have found themselves facing harsh penalties abroad for drug-related offenses. Some have been executed, others are serving life sentences in foreign prisons, and many more remain missing.

The focus now must shift to prevention—ensuring that young Kenyans, especially those struggling economically, are educated about the dangers of drug trafficking. Public awareness campaigns, stricter monitoring of travel patterns, and better law enforcement cooperation with international agencies are all necessary to stop more people from falling victim to trafficking networks.

Kenya must also go after the real culprits—the drug lords, the cartel financiers, and the corrupt officials who facilitate the trade. As long as the masterminds remain untouched, there will always be another young Kenyan willing to take a risk, believing they can escape detection.

Margaret Nduta’s case is a tragedy on multiple levels. It is tragic for her and her family, who now face the unbearable reality of losing a loved one in a foreign country.

It is tragic for Kenya, as it reminds us that our citizens are vulnerable to international criminal networks. And it is tragic for the countless families battling drug addiction, who have lost their children, siblings, and parents to the devastating effects of narcotics.

The law must take its course, but Margaret’s fate should serve as a wake-up call. Beyond legal penalties, we must address the social and economic factors that drive people into such desperate decisions.

If we do not, we will continue to hear these stories—each one as painful as the last

Fwamba NC Fwamba is the Chairman of the National Alternative Leadership Forum