Sour survival: Street children hawking sweets to stay alive
By Lavender Kusimba, July 18, 2025The Ministry of Labour and Social Protection is seeking an increased budget allocation of Sh300 million to rehabilitate street children across the country.
Despite government pledges to rescue and rehabilitate street families, progress has been slow and inconsistent.
Efforts by the Street Families Rehabilitation Trust Fund (SFRTF) have made some progress in placing children in shelters and reuniting them with families, but challenges remain including overcrowding, limited funding, and lack of long-term follow-up.
At the heart of Nairobi’s buzzing CBD, between blaring matatus and hurried pedestrians, 12-year-old James stands quietly at the edge of a pavement, a clear plastic bag of sweets in hand. As cars slow down at the traffic light near Archives, he approaches a window, smiling and tapping gently.
“Nunua tu sweet moja, tafadhali (Please buy one),” he begs.
The driver shakes his head, and James walks back without protest. For many city dwellers, these children are easy to ignore as just another face in the crowd. But for kids like James, selling these sweets is more than just a hustle. It’s the only way to earn a meal, stay out of trouble, and sometimes, survive another night on the street.
James is part of a growing group of street-connected children in Nairobi who have turned to hawking sweets, biscuits and chewing gum to make ends meet. Unlike others who beg with open hands, these children offer something in return, a smile, a few kind words.
“I start my day at 6am,” says Brian, a 10-year-old boy who has lived on the streets for the past two years. “We go to a guy who sells us the sweets in bulk. Ten packets go for Sh200. If I sell each packet for
Sh30, I make Sh300 and keep Sh100,” he adds.
That Sh100 is often stretched to cover food, water, or a shared place to sleep. But it’s never enough.
Precarious living
Their daily routine is tough, unpredictable, and often dangerous. They walk for hours in the sun, dodging rude pedestrians, harsh county askaris, and impatient drivers. Some days are good—they sell everything. Other days, they go to sleep hungry.
“Watu wengine hutufukuza wakidhani sisi ni wabaya (Some people chase us away because they think we are delinquents),” says Aisha, an 8-year-old girl in a torn yellow T-shirt. “But we just want to eat. I wish I was in school like other girls.”
Most of these children live in temporary shelters made of plastic, cartons, and old clothes. Some sleep under bridges, others in alleyways or near dump sites. For girls, the streets are especially dangerous.
Their innocence is visible even in how they interact. One offers a sweet without asking for money.
“Sometimes, I imagine myself owning a big sweet shop in town,” says James, smiling shyly.
While the children try to stay hopeful, their reality reflects a deeper national crisis. For children like Brian and Aisha, policy debates and programme names are mere words.
As the traffic light turns green, James turns away from another window, still holding his sweets. He takes a deep breath, moves to the next line of cars, and tries again hope folded into each tap on the glass.