---

By Salim Mbogo

September 19, 2015

I often sit in matatus or stand in long queues at Huduma centres and watch the faces around me. Most of them are young, my age or younger. They’re scrolling on their phones, staring into space, or whispering dreams to friends. If you lean close enough, you’ll hear the same story repeated in a hundred different ways: “Hakuna jobs,” “Nataka kujaribu biashara,” “Wanaona sisi tu maboys wa mtaa.” It’s like a national chorus. Yet hidden inside these voices is a spark, a hunger to build, to belong, to be respected. 

What if, instead of giving us weapons during campaigns, leaders gave us tools? What if, instead of tossing us handouts at rallies, they gave us jobs? And what if, instead of treating us with suspicion and fear, they gave us respect? I often wonder how Kenya would look if that shift were to happen. Let me tell you what I see when I imagine it. 

Tools Instead of Weapons 

If you’ve ever been near a chaotic political rally, you’ve seen the dark side of our youthfulness. Children our age are handed a few notes and “tools” of destruction: stones, pangas, placards. Some don’t even know who they’re fighting for. They’re just desperate. But what if the tools we were given were designed to build things instead of breaking them? 

When I talk about tools, I’m not just talking about hammers or spanners. I’m talking about skills, knowledge, mentorship, digital access. Imagine a young man in Turkana who learns how to install solar panels instead of wielding a machete. Imagine a young woman in Kibera who codes websites instead of carrying stones at a protest. Those are tools that open doors. They turn frustration into innovation. 

Kenya already has places like iHub, Nailab, GrowthAfrica, and incubators where young people learn, network, and create. But for many of us in rural counties, those places might as well be on Mars. We need more local centers, county-funded labs, and mobile training units. We need affordable internet, laptops that don’t cost a kidney, and mentors who come to the ground and teach in languages we understand. These are the tools that turn a “dangerous youth bulge” into a creative powerhouse. 

Tools also mean voice. If youth councils, school boards, and local assemblies genuinely included us, we’d feel we owned our communities. When we’re part of decisions about water projects, markets, and health centers, we don’t vandalize them; we protect them. We see them as ours. 

Jobs Instead of Handouts 

Handouts are like rain in a drought. They help for a moment, but they don’t grow anything. Jobs are like seeds. They take time, but once they sprout, they feed you for a lifetime. Every election cycle, we’re promised “millions of jobs.” But mostly what shows up are “youth funds” you can’t access, tenders you can’t win, and internships you can’t afford to attend because they’re unpaid. It’s exhausting. 

Yet we’re not lazy. Look at the boda boda sector. Look at the thousands of small food kiosks, mitumba stalls, and online hustle shops. We’re already working. We’re already innovating. We just need fair ground. Imagine if counties simplified licenses for small traders, if microfinance loans were truly low-interest and non-predatory, if training on financial literacy came before loans. Imagine if companies committed to hiring and training local youth instead of importing labor. 

Jobs also mean dignity. A job says, “I’m contributing.” It lifts your self-esteem. It reduces crime. It strengthens families. And not every job requires a formal setting. Support agriculture cooperatives in Garissa, fish farming in Kisumu, creative arts in Mombasa, and digital freelancing in Nyeri. Let youth turn their talents into livelihoods. Give us the infrastructure and we’ll do the rest. 

And for those of us who want to solve social problems like waste management, mental health, and education, create a pathway for social entrepreneurs. Contract us to run local projects. Pay us decently. Please don’t make us volunteer forever. Involving youth directly in solving community problems turns dependency into ownership. 

Respect Instead of Fear 

This one cuts deepest. You can give me a tool, you can give me a job, but if you still treat me like a criminal, my spirit withers. Respect is invisible, but it’s everything. Without it, we walk like ghosts in our own country. 

Too many of us have stories of being harassed by police, stopped for no reason, asked for bribes, or beaten during protests. It’s like we’re guilty for being young. This creates fear of uniforms, of offices, of systems. But imagine a Kenya where police genuinely protected us, where community policing meant partnership, where abuses were investigated transparently. Imagine walking home at night without clutching your ID like a passport in a foreign country. 

Respect also means recognition. When a young person starts a successful small business, leads a clean-up drive, writes a book, or mentors others, celebrate them. Put them on TV for positive reasons. Give them awards. Tell their stories. Show us role models who look like us, not just imported billionaires. 

And respect begins at home. In many Kenyan homes, the elders’ word is law. Respect for elders is good, but it shouldn’t silence us. We need intergenerational dialogue; parents, teachers, pastors, chiefs listening to youth ideas without dismissing them as “upuzi ya vijana.” Respecting youth opinions doesn’t make elders weaker; it makes the community stronger. 

What It Would Take 

Dreams are easy. Building them is hard. Giving tools, jobs, and respect will require real work from the government, the private sector, civil society, and even from us as youth. Here’s how I see it: 

Policy that matters. Youth-specific investment funds that are transparent. Legal frameworks that protect small businesses. Streamlined business registration. Paid internships and apprenticeships. Educational curricula aligned with today’s job market. Digital infrastructure in rural areas. Police reforms tied to constitutional rights. 

Real money, not token budgets. Ministries that deal with youth must be adequately funded. Counties must allocate real percentages to youth programs and show results. Partnerships with private companies should be transparent and open. Youth in rural areas must feel the impact, not just youth in Nairobi. 

Partnerships everywhere. Companies can offer mentorship, internships, and hiring quotas. Universities can open labs to community youth. NGOs can monitor rights and deliver training. Faith groups can run counseling and entrepreneurship classes. We all have a role. 

Leadership and political will. This is the biggest one. Politicians must stop using young people as campaign tools and start investing in us for the long term. Police must be accountable. Policies must be enforced, not just written in glossy documents. Youth must be included in decision-making bodies at all levels. 

Why It Matters 

We cannot afford to ignore these questions. Kenya’s median age is under 20. We’re not the future, we’re the present. How the country treats us shapes everything. 

Security. Unemployed, voiceless youth are easy targets for crime and radicalization. But youth with opportunities protect, not destroy. They become stakeholders in peace. 

Economic growth. Youth are Kenya’s workforce. If we’re skilled and employed, we drive innovation, build businesses, and expand exports. A youth-driven GDP is inclusive and resilient. 

Social justice. Marginalized youth in rural counties and informal settlements often feel left out. Giving tools, jobs, and respect creates inclusion. When youth see that their dreams matter, identity politics weakens, and national unity strengthens. 

Real-Life Snapshots 

Picture this: In Kisumu, a digital training center supported by the county government and private tech firms trains hundreds of youth in coding, web design, and solar installation. Graduates walk out with real projects in their portfolios and real job offers. 

Picture this: In Garissa, youth-run agricultural cooperatives invest in cold storage and solar irrigation, funded by transparent grants. They become farm entrepreneurs, not just farm laborers. 

Picture this: In Kibera, youth councils work with local administration and NGOs to redesign waste management. Youth get paid roles, leadership positions, and public recognition. The community becomes cleaner and safer. 

Picture this: In Mombasa, police hold monthly forums with youth, discuss security issues openly, and handle complaints transparently. Trust grows. Fear declines. 

These aren’t fantasies. They’re entirely possible if we shift priorities. 

Challenges We Must Acknowledge 

We can’t be naïve. There are real obstacles. 

Corruption can steal our future. Tools can be distributed on paper, but siphoned off in reality. Cultural resistance can block youth voices. Training can be misaligned with market demand. Politicians can promise everything and deliver nothing. 

But these risks aren’t excuses to give up. There are reasons to design better programs, including youth involvement in oversight and our demand for transparency. There are reasons for us to stay awake and active, not passive. 

What You and I Can Do 

This isn’t just about government. It’s about us, too. 

Youth: Organize, demand inclusion, build skills. Mentor each other. Hold leaders accountable. 

Parents and elders: Listen. Encourage. Give safe space for youth ideas. 

Educators: Align curricula with markets. Teach critical thinking. Expose students to real opportunities. 

Private sector: Hire responsibly. Invest in youth programs. Mentor. 

Government: Legislate. Fund. Enforce. Measure impact. Include youth voices. 

Media: Change the narrative. Highlight youth success stories. Stop sensationalizing youth crime. 

A Kenya That Believes in Its Youth 

Sometimes, late at night, I picture a Kenya where these things are normal. A Kenya where a young person’s first encounter with government isn’t a police chase but a training opportunity. A Kenya where internships are paid, where microloans are fair, where community meetings actually welcome youth input. A Kenya where elders see youth not as a problem but as partners. A Kenya where our leaders stop handing out T-shirts and start handing out toolkits. 

What if we gave our youth tools instead of weapons, jobs instead of handouts, respect instead of fear? We would see our villages, towns, and cities transformed. We would see less anger and more innovation. We would see hope replacing despair. 

This isn’t a utopia. It’s a choice. And it begins with each of us refusing to accept the old script. It starts with leaders daring to invest in youth for real. It begins with us, the youth, believing in ourselves and demanding better. 

Because when youth flourish, Kenya flourishes. And when Kenya flourishes, the world sees that we are more than our problems; we are our possibilities. 

---

More Reads from Guest Writers

🇰🇪 June 25 Protest: A Nation’s Wound Reopened One Year Later 

Modern-Day Slavery? Kenya’s Youth Export Crisis and Political Turmoil