Ng’ikalei Loito was walking out of the warm waters of Lake Turkana on a sunny afternoon, having just finished swimming with her two sisters-in-law, when she suddenly felt the crushing force of a crocodile’s bite on her legs.

In excruciating pain, she instinctively clung to a partially submerged tree that was within reach and screamed for help, as the crocodile tried to drag her under the water.

Loito’s thoughts raced to her five children. She wondered who would take care of them if she died. “When a crocodile attacks, it feels like death is certain,” she said.

As shouting villagers waded into the water, eventually the crocodile let go of Loito’s legs, which were now bloody and badly mangled. She was carried out and taken to hospital, a three-hour drive away, in a police vehicle.

Attacks on people living along Lake Turkana in north-west Kenya have become common in recent years as rising water levels shift the habitats of Nile crocodiles – predators that can grow up to six metres (20ft) long and weigh up to 900kg (2,000lb) – closer to human settlements.

The attack on Loito took place in December 2024 in Lowarengak town on the western side of the lake, near the Ethiopian border. Medics at the hospital plastered one leg and put an external fixator on the other. However, the following afternoon they found that both her legs were turning green and only one of her toes was responsive, so they decided to amputate them.

“The legs were completely destroyed,” the 33-year-old recalled in an interview earlier this month that took place at her home in Kalokol town, her tricycle parked nearby.

Loito used to cook and sell mandazi, a fried dough, in the town to support her family. She now depends on assistance from her mother and other relatives she lives with. “My life has totally changed. I am not able to do anything now,” she said.

Lake Turkana, the world’s largest permanent desert lake, is one of eight major lakes along the Kenyan part of the Rift Valley, a geographic depression stretching 4,000 miles (6,500km) from Lebanon to Mozambique. In 2021 a government report found that the lake’s total surface area had expanded by about 10% over the previous decade.

Many rely on Lake Turkana, the world’s largest alkaline lake, to catch fish for consumption and sale inside and outside Kenya.

The rising water levels in many of Kenya’s Rift Valley lakes have displaced tens of thousands of people and submerged homes, schools, farms, hospitals and infrastructure.

Researchers have attributed the rise to various factors. The same 2021 report said the primary explanation was increased rainfall caused by the climate crisis. It also linked the phenomenon to tectonic movement in the Rift Valley.

Another report that year, by the UN environment programme, said climate change may make the flooding of Lake Turkana more frequent over the next two decades.

Elijah Chege, county warden for Turkana at the Kenya Wildlife Service (KWS), said the overflow had brought crocodiles closer to human settlements. The animals have now established new nesting and hunting grounds along the altered shorelines, which has increased the likelihood of attacks on people, he said.

Traditional fishing practices, such as the use of logs as boats, also expose communities to heightened risk of attacks, Chege added.

Chege said that to address the problem, KWS conducts awareness campaigns in communities to teach people about high-risk areas and crocodile behaviour, adding that the agency also recruits local scouts to monitor crocodile movements.

“We have to teach the community to coexist with these animals,” he said. “We need to balance conservation and the safety of the community. Because the crocodiles, at the end of the day, have to be there. They are in their habitat.”

Chege also said KWS relocates “problematic” crocodiles and, in the worst-case scenario, kills them. Despite these efforts, the attacks persist. In the past year, KWS recorded seven deaths and 15 injuries due to crocodile attacks, according to Chege.

Achiro Kephas, referrals and emergency coordinator at the Turkana county’s health ministry, said most victims are fishers, most deaths go unreported and most survivors end up with permanent disabilities.

Testimonies of crocodile attacks can be heard in many communities surrounding the lake.

Just across the road from Loito’s home, Ng’ispaan Long’olan sat on a wooden chair selling water and charcoal, with two crutches next to him. Long’olan recalled how he lost his left leg to a crocodile attack in Natirae village one morning in 2018, just a day after his youngest child was born.

He was untying a fishing net in the lake when a crocodile bit his legs. A struggle ensued and, feeling his right leg starting to break, the thought of death crossing his mind, Long’olan poked his middle and ring fingers into one of the crocodile’s eyes.

The animal let go but Long’olan’s left leg, now crushed and detaching from the rest of his body, was stuck in the net. Some fishers came over in a boat but were unable to free the limb. So he instructed them to cut it off using a traditional Turkana wrist knife. “I was in so much pain and the leg was torn and completely damaged,” he said.

The 44-year-old now has a metal rod in his right leg, and the two fingers that he used to attack the crocodile are numb. The only way to end the attacks, he said, is for KWS to shoot the crocodiles dead.

Partially submerged palm trees, electric poles, fences and buildings, some miles from the shore, could be seen on a recent journey by boat across the choppy waters between Kalokol and the Long’ech peninsula.

“This used to be a popular club,” said Kephas, pointing towards the top of a structure poking out of the water with wooden frames and a collapsed iron roof.

On the peninsula, families are reeling from recurrent crocodile attacks and the loss of land.

Ayanae Loong’orio lost her eight-year-old daughter, Esther Ikimat, in 2024 when a crocodile attacked her as she was swimming in the lake during a school lunch break.

“My legs failed me,” Loong’orio recalled of trying to reach the scene. “I ended up crawling towards the lakeshore, screaming for help and asking people to save my child.”

A video later posted to social media showed the animal dragging her – her head and hand hanging out of its mouth – further into the lake. “Oh, my God! Where is the gun? I wish I had one! Bring the gun now,” a voice is heard saying in the Turkana language as the animal swims away.

A fisher in an engine-powered boat chased after the animal and hit it on its back with the boat. The crocodile released Ikimat’s lifeless body and it was recovered.

In less than two years since the attack, the water has encroached further, meaning Loong’orio can no longer pinpoint where it happened.

Felisters Dapat lost one of her children in the same circumstances. Daniel Lotaruk was swimming with friends when a crocodile bit him and carried him away.

Residents later found his legs on the shore. His other body parts have never been recovered. Dapat, 31, often goes to the site where Lotaruk was swimming, hoping she will find the remains.

“What can we do?” she asked. “Even if people kill the crocodiles, the animals will still reproduce.”

People angered by the attacks sometimes take matters into their own hands. Last October, residents of Kalokok town killed a crocodile that they said had been terrorising them.

On a recent hot afternoon in a thatched structure on the lakeshore, about a dozen fishers sat and listened attentively to Kephas.

He was holding an awareness forum on crocodile attacks, touching on subjects such as the human behaviours that may cause attacks, the force of a crocodile’s bite and the importance of immediate medical attention for victims.

He asked a participant to hold up an image of a crocodile for him, its sharp teeth prominently visible. “When this crocodile bites you, your chances of survival are low,” he said. “All of us who depend on the lake should try to avoid those behaviours that put us at risk of crocodile attacks.”