Mental health experts have long warned that Kenya’s youth are suffering a silent epidemic. A 2022 UNICEF study revealed that 44.3% of adolescents experience mental health challenges, while 12.2% have diagnosable disorders. The World Health Organization (WHO) estimates that 75% of Kenyans with mental illness never receive treatment due to stigma, lack of resources, and cost.
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By Daisy Okiring- Kenyan Science Journalist
When Mark graduated from Kenyatta University in 2017, his village in Nyandarua erupted in celebration. Neighbours gathered, his parents beamed with pride, and his father declared that his son’s degree would “change the family’s story forever.”
Eight years later, that promise has turned into pressure.
Now 30, Mark lives in a cramped one-room bedsitter on the outskirts of Nairobi with his girlfriend, Faith, and their two-year-old daughter. His degree in Business Administration hangs in a cheap frame above a small table.
Since graduation, Mark has been unable to secure a permanent job. He survives on short-term gigs — boda boda deliveries, marketing events, and freelance writing — to make ends meet. “Every day feels like running in circles,” he says. “You wake up, hustle, come home tired, but nothing really changes.”
Faith sells second-hand clothes in the nearby market. Together, they barely earn enough for rent and food. Marriage is still a dream; dowry, a distant luxury. “I love her,” Mark says, glancing at Faith. “But how do I marry when I can’t even buy diapers comfortably?”
Behind his quiet smile, however, lies something darker: an exhaustion that has pushed him close to the edge.
A Mind on the Brink
There have been nights when Mark sat awake staring at the ceiling, wondering if his family would be better off without him.
“I’ve thought about ending it,” he admits, his voice trembling. “When the pressure gets too much, you start thinking maybe death is easier. You just want the noise in your head to stop.”
Mark says he has come close several times. “Once I walked to the river near our place. I sat there for hours, crying. I couldn’t do it. I thought of my daughter. She deserves a father.”
He wipes away tears before continuing. “People think men are strong. But sometimes, strength is just pretending.”
Mark’s story mirrors the silent pain of millions of Kenyan youth crushed under social and economic expectations. According to the Kenya National Bureau of Statistics (2023), youth unemployment stands at 13.5%, with another 21% underemployed. Yet beneath these numbers lies an invisible, deadly, and growing emotional toll.
The Burden of Expectation
For Mark, unemployment is only part of the struggle. His parents still expect him to send money home every month to support his younger siblings in school.
“My father calls and says, ‘You’re the educated one. You must help your brothers.’ But sometimes, I barely have enough for bus fare,” he says. “If I tell them I’m broke, they think I’m lying.”
He feels trapped in a guilt he can’t escape. “They sacrificed everything for my education. Now I can’t even give back. I feel useless.”
Faith has seen him spiral under that weight. “Sometimes he doesn’t talk for days,” she says softly. “When the calls from home come, he switches off his phone. He feels like he’s disappointing everyone.”
Psychologist Dr. Caroline Nduku, who works with young adults in Nairobi, says this pressure is a common trigger for depression. “In Kenyan families, the first educated child becomes the pillar,” she explains. “Parents and siblings depend on them financially, emotionally, and socially. When the economy fails them, they internalize it as personal failure.”
That cycle, she says, often leads to anxiety, self-blame, and suicidal thoughts — especially among men. “They feel trapped between love for their families and the harsh reality of poverty.”
A Nation in Silent Crisis
Mental health experts have long warned that Kenya’s youth are suffering a silent epidemic. A 2022 UNICEF study revealed that 44.3% of adolescents experience mental health challenges, while 12.2% have diagnosable disorders. The World Health Organization (WHO) estimates that 75% of Kenyans with mental illness never receive treatment due to stigma, lack of resources, and cost.
Kenya records hundreds of suicides annually. According to the Ministry of Health more than 400 cases were reported in 2024. Men under 35 form the majority. Mental health professionals believe the real figure is far higher because many deaths are misclassified or unreported due to cultural taboos.
“Mental health is the hidden pandemic,” says Dr. Nduku. “We see young people drowning in depression while society calls it laziness or weakness. Parents tell them to pray harder, not realizing they’re fighting for their lives.”
Cultural Silence and Parental Blindness
In many Kenyan homes, conversations about depression are rare. Parents, shaped by their own struggles, often equate emotional distress with ingratitude. “Our parents grew up believing that suffering is part of life,” says Dr. Nduku. “They expect resilience, not vulnerability.”
Mark’s parents, like many others, don’t understand the concept of mental health. “My mother says, ‘You’re just stressed, everyone is,’” Mark recalls. “She doesn’t know that sometimes I can’t eat or sleep.”
When he once tried to explain how hopeless he felt, his father told him to “man up.” “That broke me,” Mark says quietly. “You start to believe you’re weak for feeling broken.”
The generational disconnect leaves many youths isolated. They can’t confide in parents who dismiss their pain, nor can they afford professional counselling. The result is an epidemic of silent suffering.
Behind the Numbers
Kenya has fewer than 700 psychiatrists and 500 clinical psychologists serving a population of over 54 million. Most are concentrated in Nairobi and Mombasa, leaving rural areas with almost no mental health services.
Public facilities are underfunded, and private therapy sessions cost between KSh 2,000–6,000 per hour — far beyond the reach of unemployed youth. “It’s like telling a drowning man to buy a life jacket,” says Mental 360 counsellor Peter Mwangi.
Yet, glimmers of hope are emerging. Nonprofits like Befrienders Kenya, Mindful Kenya, and Mental 360 now run confidential helplines, offering free counselling and crisis support. Social media platforms such as #DepressionKE and #EndTheStigma have also created digital communities where youth can share their stories without fear of judgment.
Holding On by a Thread
Mark says what keeps him going now is his daughter. “When she laughs, I feel like I still have a reason to live,” he says. He has also joined a small men’s support group in Kayole, where members meet weekly to talk about stress, relationships, and survival. “It’s helped me realize I’m not alone,” he says. “We all feel the same pressure. We just never talk about it.”
Faith believes those meetings saved him. “Before, I was scared to leave him alone,” she admits. “Now, he opens up more. We cry, we pray, but we also laugh.”
Still, she worries about their future. “Sometimes I wonder if love is enough,” she says. “But we keep going because giving up is not an option.”
A Cry for Change
Experts agree that Kenya’s youth depression crisis cannot be solved with words alone. It needs urgent policy action.
Investment in youth employment, affordable counselling, and mental health education in schools could help prevent tragedies.
“Parents also need education,” says Dr. Nduku. “They must learn to listen, to understand that success is not only about money or titles. Sometimes, success is just staying alive.”
The government has pledged to expand mental health services through county hospitals and integrate counselling in youth programs, but progress is slow. A 2024 audit found that only 26 out of 47 counties have active mental-health programs, most running on donor support.
Meanwhile, young people like Mark continue to carry the burden — silently, bravely, and often dangerously close to the edge.
A Generation Deserving to Breathe
Kenya’s youth are celebrated as innovative, resilient, and full of potential. But beneath that optimism lies exhaustion. They are chasing opportunities in a system that constantly moves the finish line.
For Mark, hope no longer looks like wealth or prestige. It’s simply the will to wake up tomorrow. “I’m not asking for much,” he says softly. “Just peace. Just a chance to live without feeling like I’ve failed everyone.”
He looks at his daughter playing in the corner, her laughter filling the small room. “She deserves a happy father,” he adds. “That’s why I’m still here. I fight every day, not because life is easy, but because I want her to see me win, even in small ways.”
He pauses, then says with a faint smile, “Maybe surviving — that’s success too.”
