Fresh out of media college many years ago, I began my career as a radio broadcaster at Pamoja FM, a community radio station based in Kibera, Nairobi. I produced a program called Focus on Kibera, inspired by the BBC’s Focus on Africa. Kibera was then a mirror of neglect: poor sanitation, weak infrastructure, lack of running water, high insecurity, and invisible citizens.
My goal was to highlight what residents needed and what the state had ignored. It was during those productions that I truly began engaging persons with disabilities.
Our journalism curriculum never taught disability reporting back then (a gap I am relieved to see closing today).
That silence was telling. But the conversations I had were louder than any lecture. I learned that stigma wasn’t just a concept; it was a wall.
Discrimination does not begin with the state; it starts at the breakfast table, follows you into friendships, and peaks at the workplace. Getting a job is harder. Keeping it is harder. Accessing the building itself can be impossible.
The Numbers and the Reality
We have come a long way since the promulgation of the Constitution of Kenya (2010), which fundamentally shifted how we view the rights of Persons with Disabilities (PWDs). Yet, we remain miles away from the finish line.
According to the United Nations Fund for Population Activities (UNFPA) Kenya, PWDs constitute roughly 2.2% of our population (0.9 million). Women make up the majority of this group at 57%.
Whether it is mobility (42%), visual (36.4%), or cognitive (23.2%) disabilities, the barriers remain shockingly similar. Over 80% of these Kenyans live in rural areas, where the reach of the law is often at its weakest.
And yes, data remains imperfect. Many disabilities go unreported. Many families hide them. So even our statistics likely understate reality.
What the Law Demands
Whereas Kenya has a robust legal framework, many citizens, employers, and even the Government (which is supposed to be the custodian and enforcer of the said framework) perpetually ignore it.
Article 54 of the Constitution explicitly states that PWDs are entitled to be treated with dignity and respect, to access educational institutions and facilities integrated into society, and to reasonable access to all places, public transport, and information.
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The Persons with Disabilities Act (No. 14 of 2003) mandates that both public and private sector employers reserve 5% of jobs for PWDs.
The Data Protection Act (2019) further protects their sensitive health information from being used as a basis for discrimination.
Despite these statutes, the reality is a digital and physical divide.
On paper, Kenya is progressive. In practice, buildings are still approved without ramps. Offices still lack accessible washrooms. Digital platforms are built without screen readers in mind, and public hospitals still lack adjustable delivery beds for women with disabilities.
The matter is not a policy gap but an enforcement failure.
Disability is Not a “Reserve” for Others
There is a dangerous myth that disability belongs to “other” people, people born into it, somewhere far away from us.
That myth is false. Disability is a condition any of us could enter at any moment, through illness, accident, or age.
Westlands Member of Parliament Tim Wanyonyi, for instance, was not born with a disability. A traumatic accident changed his life. Disability, therefore, is not charity territory but a shared human vulnerability.
And yet, in parts of this country, children born with disabilities are abandoned. Mothers are blamed. Families hide their own kin indoors as if disability were shame.
When I was in primary school, there was a home near my school where a child was kept inside all day. She had mobility, speech, and cognitive challenges. Years passed. Nothing changed. She grew into adulthood still confined. Tragically, she died in that same isolation.
Hiding or abandoning a child is nota tradition or culture. It is a human rights violation.
Moving From Performance to Action
If we are serious about inclusion, we must move beyond slogans. From performing justice to actually delivering it.
First, count properly. We cannot design a policy for people we refuse to see. Disability data must be disaggregated by gender, age, and location.
Second, stop speaking about persons with disabilities without speaking with them. Programs must be co-designed with representative organizations. Nothing about them without them.
Third, train frontline workers, teachers, healthcare providers, and administrators. Access to dignity should not depend on finding the “nice nurse” on duty.
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Fourth, embrace digital inclusion. USSD codes, toll-free lines, accessible platforms, and information on Sexual and Reproductive Health and Rights must reach everyone, including those in rural areas and those using assistive technologies.
Fifth, emergencies expose inequality. During crises, people with disabilities suffer first and recover last. Emergency planning must explicitly include accessibility, dignity kits, and psychosocial support.
The Bottom Line
Families must stop hiding their own out of shame.
Employers must respect labor laws not as a favor, but as a legal obligation.
The bodies mandated to enforce disability clauses, such as the National Council for Persons with Disabilities (NCPWD), must be more aggressive in their oversight, not ceremonially.
The principle of “Leaving No One Behind” is not just a catchy UN slogan; it is a constitutional mandate.
Until our buildings have ramps, our websites have accessibility features, and our attitudes shift from pity to equality, our talk of progress will remain exactly that, and we have enough of that already.
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