Child labourers: How Nairobian's are exploiting children to eke a living

As streets get busy with human movements and most offices become empty, the sounds of honking by vehicles grow in decibels. And for a Nairobi City dweller, these are signs that home is calling as dusk approaches. But not for everyone.

In the blur of headlights and honking matatus, tiny voices rise: those of children, some barely five years old, selling candies, biscuits and waffles to strangers. Their world was reduced to worn out boxes, small enough to carry, yet heavy with responsibility in the unforgiving streets of Nairobi in a bid to eke out a living.

To many, children are the true embodiment of hope, continuation and innocence. But in some poor households, the little ones have been turned into economic actors patrolling the streets to fend for themselves and their families.

While their agemates are tucked somewhere in the houses enjoying some hot tea or porridge before being taken through their homework; for this group, it is a different life where everyone is an adult.

Braving cold, unforgiving nights and insecurities in the streets of Kenya’s capital city has become a way of life for the child labourers of Nairobi. For them, when the bell rings to mark the end of classes, another one ushers them to the cruel streets.

The little ones have become a constant fixture in the streets, where they sell sweets and waffles to earn a living, trapped in child labour. These streets, lit by neon lights and shadowed by survival, have become home to a workforce of children hidden in plain sight.

Observations by The Standard reveal that from one street to another, they motion every passerby to buy from them, with every purchase lifting a load from their tiny arms that have been accustomed to holding the small boxes carrying their wares, with scribbling of mobile phone numbers for payment.

When the cold rains sweep through Nairobi’s streets, the reality turns brutal. Bare feet splash through puddles, torn clothes cling to shivering skin, and in the quiet corners of bus stages, children curl up for warmth, some too exhausted to keep their eyes open after a long night of labour.

But they are not on their own. From a safe distance, their mothers or guardians watch over them as they go through the hustle; silent evidence that someone else waits in the shadows while pulling the strings.

Chats with the little ones paint a grim picture of forced child labour in a country where many children from poor backgrounds are involved in adult life against their wishes.

“I am afraid to be in the streets but I must sell to get some money. My brother is not far away. He is a shoe shiner along this street,” a young girl said before cutting short conversation to rush to a potential customer.

The little girl said that she goes to school, but The Standard did not get a chance to know the school and the grade she is currently in. A few metres from where she stood on Moi Avenue, was another little friend.

She is holding the small box with candies on one arm while her other hand is busy trying to serve, and at the same time holding the money.

As her tiny little hands are struggling, this reporter reaches out for a Sh50 note and waits to see if she will manage to give the correct balance.

Despite her young age, she is a veteran in the streets. She was precise with the change after the transaction.

In a brief conversation, she tells the reporter that her mother is somewhere near a corner in the same street, watching over her.

When the reporter tried to convince her to take me to her mother, she was sceptical. We immediately realised she was under instructions not to give details of her mother’s whereabouts.

At this point, the Standard team felt it was drawing attention, given that their guardians are nearby and they may grow suspicious of the small chat with their daughters and blow the cover. We then moved to the next street, Kimathi Street.

Here, we spotted a mother with three little children. Before we got to the mother, we noticed a little girl walking a few meters ahead of us.

She had the same wares as the other child along Moi Avenue. We approached her to buy some candy.

After a little chat, we bought some sweets from her. She revealed how she has been forced to be on the street so as to get some money for school fees.

“My mother tells me that I have to sell the candies so that I get money for my fees,” she said.

But our curiosity did not end there. We gave her a Sh200 note as bait to lead us to her mother. She quickly dashed to the woman, who had three children, to get the balance.

The two had a brief conversation as the mother handed over the change, which she had come to hand over to us together with the sweets.

Bus terminals across Nairobi are also hotspots for child labour. Here, children work tirelessly, weaving through crowds to sell to people rushing home. 

The Standard spent several days on different streets, discovering a sad reality of forced child labour despite authorities charged with ensuring such does not happen being well aware.

Kenya National Bureau of Statistics (KNBS) shows that some 1.3 million children are engaged in child labour.

The data is from a 2024 report by KNBS, supported by UNICEF and the Kenya Institute for Public Policy Research and Analysis.

Some children juggle between being street vendors and caretakers, rocking their younger siblings on their backs in an overwhelming struggle for survival.

Their mothers watch protectively from a distance, not to shield them from the dangers of the street but to guard the earnings.

Asking them about their lives, their dreams, and their struggles; their voices, though soft and hesitant, reveal a striking resilience.

Nearby, their mothers watch protectively, intervening only to make sure the money collected was safe.

This is the reality for countless families from poor backgrounds in Kenya.

One striking and consistent detail that emerged throughout our investigations was the presence of phone numbers scribbled on the boxes in bold ink, taped with care, always visible.

These were not random digits. They are M-Pesa contacts, carefully placed so customers can send money directly.

The details alone reveal a deeper layer of organisation behind the scenes, revealing a shadow economy organised, deliberate, and controlled by adults who continue to exploit the little children.

By the time of the report, our efforts to obtain a response from the Ministry of Gender, through its Child Welfare Department, proved futile.