Twenty-three-year-old Grace Wanjiku from Kiambu still remembers the whispers that followed her and her teenage mother everywhere they went – to the market, at church, even while boarding matatus to town.
Grace, alongside two other young Kenyans, is breaking the silence about what it's like growing up as children of teenage mothers in a society that rarely forgives young girls for early pregnancies. Her mother was just 15 when she gave birth, facing rejection from family and neighbors who saw her pregnancy as a community shame. The three, now adults aged between 20 and 25, share stories that echo across counties from Kisumu to Mombasa, where teenage pregnancies continue to spike.
Michael Ochieng from Kisumu County says his mother was 17 when she had him, and the stigma shaped his entire childhood. "People would call me 'mtoto wa kesho' – the tomorrow child – because they said my mother had no future," he recalls. The young woman dropped out of Form Three, never to return to school, and struggled to find work that could pay for even the most basic needs like school fees and medical cover.
Sarah Mutindi from Machakos tells a slightly different story. Her mother was 18 and had just completed Form Four when she got pregnant. While technically an adult, the community treated her like a child who had made a terrible mistake. "My grandmother refused to send M-Pesa for hospital bills when I was born," Sarah shares. "She said mama had chosen her path and should walk it alone."
All three young adults describe growing up watching their mothers work multiple jobs – from selling vegetables in local markets to doing laundry for neighbors – just to keep food on the table. Grace's mother eventually became a house help in Nairobi's suburbs, sending money home whenever she could. The children learned early that every shilling counted, that education was a luxury they had to fight for, not a right they could take for granted.
The stories reveal a harsh truth about Kenya's approach to teenage pregnancy – while we focus on preventing it, we often abandon the mothers and children who become statistics. These young people grew up resilient but scarred, watching their mothers rebuild lives that society had written off as ruined.
Their experiences raise uncomfortable questions about how we treat our most vulnerable families. As teenage pregnancy rates climb again post-COVID, especially in rural counties, are we ready to support these young mothers and their children – or will we continue pointing fingers while another generation grows up in the shadows?