In Kenya, “attachment” means something very different from what it suggests in therapy. For most students, it’s not about emotional connection. It’s about being sent into the job market to gain “practical skills”, usually without a desk, a mentor, or, most critically, a single shilling in compensation.

Every year, thousands of university and college students are required to undergo industrial attachment as part of their academic journey. On paper, it’s a noble idea: bridge the gap between theory and practice, give students hands-on exposure, and help them discover what working life looks like. In reality, it often becomes a poorly structured, unpaid survival test that leaves young people emotionally exhausted and financially drained.

Let’s be honest, Kenyan youth have attachment issues. And the main one is this: they’re not being paid.

A typical intern in Kenya wakes up at dawn, battles two hours of traffic, arrives at the office early, and is immediately tasked with everything from running errands to preparing presentations that are signed off by someone five pay grades above them. They sit through meetings, attend corporate events, and contribute actual work to the company’s output. At the end of the month? Not even “tea money.” Just “keep working hard, your time will come.”

But this is not an isolated experience. It’s a systemic problem. Many organisations, both private and public, have normalised unpaid internships. They treat interns as disposable, temporary labour. After three months, they’re rotated out, and the next batch comes in. It’s a rinse-and-repeat cycle of free labour with zero job security, zero mentorship, and often, zero gratitude.

And while we’re here, let’s address the other elephant in the room: the connection economy. In Kenya, not all attachments are created equal. Some interns are placed because they excelled in class, while others are placed because they excelled in family relations, a cousin to the boss, a friend to the HR manager, or someone’s “daughter who just finished campus”. It’s no surprise that access to meaningful attachment opportunities is often a matter of who you know, not what you know.

Worse still, many interns are told, “You’re lucky to even be here.” As if working without pay is a privilege. It’s as if youth should be grateful to be exploited. This mentality, unfortunately, perpetuates a culture where young people are made to feel disposable, easily replaced, rarely valued, and often forgotten once their letter is signed.

But let’s not ignore the facts: Kenya has a youth bulge. Over 75 percent of the population is under the age of 35. According to the Kenya National Bureau of Statistics, youth unemployment stands at about 67 percent. That’s not just a number, it’s a national emergency. And while internships were meant to be a gateway to employment, they have instead become a limbo, neither here nor there, neither learning nor earning.

Some efforts have been made. The Public Service Internship Programme, for example, offers stipends and structured mentorship in government institutions. That’s a start, but it only reaches a limited number of interns. Most young people are still left to hustle for unpaid, unstructured roles that barely teach them anything new, apart from how to survive Nairobi with nothing but hope and Wi-Fi.

Young people are not asking for six-figure salaries. They’re simply asking to be treated with dignity. Kenya can’t claim to empower its youth while normalising unpaid work that leads nowhere. It’s time to fix the culture. It’s time to admit that the system is broken.

The writer is a digital marketer, brand strategist, and founder of the Pride of Kenya Awards, an initiative focused on youth empowerment and innovation.