The burden of unpaid care work in Kenya

In the bustling, informal settlement landscapes of Nairobi, a silent and strenuous labour unfolds daily within countless homes. It is the unpaid care work carried out predominantly by women, a burden made heavier when a child requires specialized attention. Raising a child with a disability presents unique challenges, from the ongoing need for medication and therapy to the emotional and social isolation that often accompanies the journey. It is a story of immense strength, profound love, and a struggle against societal norms that devalue this labour and stigmatize those who perform it.

While unpaid care work is fundamental to a functioning society, it remains largely unrecognized in economic terms, perpetuating a cycle of poverty and dependence, especially for women in low-income areas. For mothers of children with disabilities, this care work is all-encompassing, demanding every waking moment and leaving little room for personal or professional pursuits. It is a relentless cycle of feeding, cleaning, therapy, and emotional support that often becomes a full-time job.

For Caroline Awiti, from Huruma, her world changed the moment her son was born. "When I gave birth to him, he did not make any sound," she recounts. Doctors later diagnosed him with cerebral palsy, a condition that has left him unable to walk or speak.

To support his development, Caroline brings him for regular physiotherapy sessions in Mathare, where she has begun to see remarkable progress. “When we first came, he couldn’t even hold his head up, now he can. He couldn’t sit, but now he does,” she says with a smile.

Despite these victories, she still faces immense challenges. Her son’s medication costs KSh 6,000 a month, in addition to food and clothing. As a clothing designer, she often finds her small embroidery business interrupted by the demands of her son’s care. "I lose a lot of time," she admits. 

The social burden is equally heavy. She faces stigmatization from her neighbours and even her own family. “They say that I want to transfer my child’s condition to theirs,” she shares with a broken heart. Her husband, unable to cope with the diagnosis, accused her of witchcraft and left, turning his back on his family. Caroline's plight is a poignant example of how the social and financial burden of care work can fracture a family and leave a woman isolated.

A similar narrative of sacrifice and resilience is shared by Edith Chepkorir Chelagat from Mathare. Her child has a developmental delay and stunted growth. “He is like a three-month-old,” she says of her one-and-a-half-year-old son. Like Caroline, Edith also takes her son for therapy and sees hopeful changes.

However, the psychological toll is immense. “Whenever I see others who delivered at the same time, their kids are grown. I normally ask myself endless questions.” The need for a specific, balanced diet for her son adds a financial strain, and the social stigma is a constant presence, with people questioning her child's lack of growth. A trained salonist, Edith had to give up her job because her son needs her full-time care. 

"You can’t leave them with another person," she says, explaining that she must feed him slowly and carefully. With her husband’s income from casual jobs being inconsistent, Edith longs for a small business she can run from home, a way to multitask and contribute to the family’s well-being without neglecting her son. Her story highlights the sacrifice of personal and professional aspirations that is often required of women in her position.

Providing a critical support system is the Mathare Care Centre, led by Project Manager, Nelson Otieno. The organization offers physiotherapy, psychological support, and a daycare where parents can leave their children. The centre was born out of a deep understanding of the gap in services and the prevalent stereotypes surrounding disability. "We had a lot of stereotypes with regards to children with disabilities," Nelson states, explaining that many believe it to be a result of witchcraft or a curse. The centre's mission is to educate the community and demonstrate that with the right care, children with disabilities are simply “differently able."

Nelson confirms that the majority of parents they serve are women who have been left to raise their children alone. The stigma, he says, can make a parent feel like an outcast. The centre provides a safe space for these women to find community and emotional support, reminding them not to hide their children away. Despite facing financial challenges in running the centre, paying physiotherapists, training caregivers, and providing special diets, Nelson and his team are determined. They are sustained by technical and financial support from various organizations, including Missions of Hope, SHOFCO Kenya, and UN agencies like UN Women and UN Habitat.

UN Women has been at the forefront of advocacy to ensure unpaid care work is acknowledged in policies and development agendas.