Teenage pregnancies turn school dreams into survival

This story has significance for readers across Kenya and beyond.

What you need to know:

- Poverty, lack of sexual health information and family rejection are forcing many Kenyan teenage mothers out of school.

- For girls who become pregnant, returning to school can remain impossible despite Kenya’s policy allowing adolescent mothers to resume education.

For as long as she can remember, Naya* has loved watching Lulu Hassan, one of Kenya’s most popular television news anchors. While completing chores at home in Kakamega County, western Kenya, she would imagine herself one-day sitting before the cameras.

“To this day, I still admire her and hope to meet her someday,” says Naya, whose heart was set on a career in broadcast journalism.

The admiration has endured, but the path towards emulating Hassan has narrowed. In 2021, Naya was 17 and in Form Two at a day school when she became pregnant by her Form Four boyfriend. The pregnancy brought her education to an end.

The path to that moment had been shaped by hardship at home. Naya’s parents had separated, and her mother was supporting four children by selling food at the roadside. Money rarely stretched to school fees, clothing and regular meals.

“My mother was always stressed and angry,” Naya says. “I understand where she was coming from. There were four of us, and I was the firstborn. She could hardly make enough to buy us clothes, pay our school fees and give us three meals a day. We ate whatever we could, even if it was just porridge, to get by.”

Naya found comfort in her boyfriend. He also offered small amounts of money that eased her daily hunger. “He would give me Sh100, sometimes Sh200. That helped me buy food and other things,” she says.

Naya says she accepted his sexual advances because she feared losing the relationship. Under Kenya’s Children Act (2022), however, she was a child and could not give legally recognised consent to sexual activity.

Behind Naya’s pregnancy is a web of systemic failures: poverty, unequal power and the absence of information that might have helped her protect herself.

Silence, then pregnancy

Biology lessons had taught Naya that intercourse could lead to pregnancy. They had not taught her how to obtain contraception or that emergency contraception could be used after unprotected sex.

“My mother never talked to me about those things,” she says. “In school, we were taught about the structure of a girl’s body and what it means when you start menstruating. We were told that you could get pregnant if you slept with a man, but we were never told what you could do to prevent pregnancy or that you could go to a hospital for an emergency contraceptive pill soon after having sex.”

Three months passed before her mother, noticing that Naya had missed her periods, insisted on a pregnancy test. “In fact, I didn't even know I was pregnant. Missing my periods didn't bother me. I thought it was normal. It was my mother who kept insisting that we go for a pregnancy test. She said she could tell I was pregnant. I don't know how, but when we went to a local dispensary, they found out I was pregnant. I was so scared. My mother was so angry with me.”

The anger quickly became rejection. “She said I had failed her and that I was such a shame to her that she no longer wanted to associate with me.”

Her mother sent her away to live with the boy. His mother took Naya in, supporting her through the pregnancy and after the birth. Her boyfriend completed high school while she entered motherhood without finishing her own education. The consequences fell almost entirely on her.

Research published in the peer-reviewed journal Sexual & Reproductive Healthcare in March 2026 found that adolescents in western Kenya whose parents or caregivers openly discuss sexual and reproductive health are more likely to make informed decisions, including abstaining from sex. For Naya, both home and school had left crucial questions unanswered.

Kenyan law sets severe penalties for sex with children. Sexual activity with anyone under 18 is a criminal offence punishable by up to life imprisonment. Violating a child aged 11 or younger carries a mandatory life sentence. Offenders who abuse children aged 12 to 15 face at least 20 years in prison; those convicted of defiling 16- or 17-year-olds face a minimum of 15 years.

Yet when girls become pregnant, the law does not always translate into protection or support. Girls are often left to carry the pregnancy, the stigma and the cost of raising a child, while those responsible may continue with school, work and life.

The weight of poverty

There are no national data showing how many school-going girls in Kenya leave because of pregnancy and never complete their education. The available evidence nevertheless exposes the connection between exclusion from school, poverty and early pregnancy.

A recent Usawa Agenda report on gender equality in basic education found that four in every 100 school-age girls are out of school. An out-of-school teenage girl is 12 times more likely to experience early pregnancy than a girl who remains enrolled.

“Teenage women in the lowest wealth quintile are more likely to have ever been pregnant than women in the highest wealth quintile,” states the 2022 Kenya Demographic and Health Survey, produced by the Kenya National Bureau of Statistics.

For girls in the poorest households, poverty can increase exposure to sexual exploitation, while being outside school limits access to information, supportive adults and services. When they seek protection, they may find systems weakened by silence, normalised abuse and inaccessible care.

Lika*, a 16-year-old from Korogocho in Nairobi County, knows that pattern. Her mother’s first response to the pregnancy was not a conversation about what had happened, but an insult.

“When my mother found out I was pregnant in September last year, she told me my brain was made of snail mucus,” Lika recalls.

Before that discovery, her mother had never spoken to her about sex or menstruation. “I was in Form Two when I became pregnant by the owner of a shop where my mother used to send me to collect household essentials on credit,” she says.

The offer came when her household was struggling. “One day, he told me he could give me Sh500 as pocket money, and I couldn’t refuse. I wanted to give the money to my mother because she really struggles. We don't have a father. She is on her own and has to travel to Eastleigh to look for domestic work.”

Lika says her mother wanted her to end the pregnancy. Fear of unsafe providers and arrest persuaded her otherwise. “I had heard of girls in the neighbourhood who had bled to death after going to unqualified providers to terminate their pregnancies. People said they were afraid to go to hospital because they believed abortion was against the law and that they could be arrested,” she says.

After Lika refused, she says, quarrels became almost nightly and her mother sometimes denied her food. “I just didn't know that sleeping with the man even once would result in a pregnancy. I only slept with him because I wanted the money to help my mother,” she says.

Now Lika is both a child and a mother. Her education has stopped and, for now, her dream of becoming a dentist has been left behind. She must earn enough to meet her baby’s immediate needs. “My mother told me I had to go out and look for money to provide for my child. So I leave my baby at a day-care centre, where I pay Sh50, and go to do laundry work in Eastleigh,” she says. “Sometimes I earn Sh200, other days Sh300, and when I'm lucky, Sh500.”

Her story shows how poverty can end a girl’s education and place the responsibility for survival and childcare on her shoulders.

Policy without a pathway

Kenya’s return-to-school policy permits adolescent mothers to resume their education after giving birth. But for many girls, the policy remains little more than a declaration. Poverty, childcare responsibilities, stigma and family rejection can make returning to the classroom impossible.

The contradiction persists even as the government pursues a 100 per cent transition from primary to secondary school. Local administrators identify adolescent pregnancy as one of the greatest obstacles to keeping girls in education, but intervention often begins only after a girl has left.

Asia Suleiman, chief of Sarang'ombe in Kibra, Nairobi County, uses public forums to discuss sexual and reproductive health, available services and the reporting of sexual violence.

“We use chiefs’ baraza to raise awareness, and we also work with partner organisations to ensure the same messages reach the community,” she says. “Whenever I have an opportunity to speak at any public forum, I talk about these issues.”

Kibra has numerous organisations providing information and services, Suleiman says. Still, families commonly approach her office only after a pregnancy or birth, seeking sponsors who might pay for a young mother to return to school and support her child.

“In many cases, especially in informal settlements, the mother is the sole breadwinner and is already struggling to provide for the family,” she says. “Supporting a daughter who has become a young mother can become an additional financial burden.”

Nairobi County says it is responding through public forums and community programmes, while acknowledging that awareness remains inadequate in informal settlements.

“To address this, Nairobi County continues to implement community outreach and awareness programmes and public participation forums. Information is disseminated through community health promoters, gender focal persons, health facilities, ward administrators, youth forums, schools, religious institutions and community outreach programmes,” the Office of the County Chief Officer for Gender and Inclusivity said.

“Current programmes include adolescent and youth-friendly health services, sexual and reproductive health education, psychosocial support, gender-based violence prevention and response, and youth empowerment initiatives. The county is strengthening community outreach to ensure more adolescent mothers, particularly those living in informal settlements, are aware of the available services.”

Asked how many adolescent mothers had been helped back into school, the county did not provide a figure. It cited county bursaries for vulnerable learners and partnerships with non-governmental organisations, including Shining Hope for Communities, to promote educational continuity.

“The county acknowledges that more targeted support is needed and continues to explore interventions that improve education outcomes for adolescent mothers,” it said.

Without a beneficiary figure, however, it is not possible to establish how many adolescent mothers are returning to school through these programmes. It makes public accountability difficult.

What makes return possible

Stella*, from Loitokitok in Kajiado County, has seen what can happen when a family helps remove the barriers to education. Married at 10 as a third wife, she never attended school and was widowed at 16. She nevertheless refused to let pregnancy permanently end her daughter’s education.

“My eldest daughter had a child while she was in Form Three, and I encouraged her to return to school. She left me with her three-month-old son and went back,” Stella says. “She eventually sat her Kenya Certificate of Secondary Education examinations and scored a C+. She then received a scholarship and is now in her second year at university, studying for a degree in Public Health Management. My grandson is now four years old.”

Her daughter’s return depended on more than permission to re-enrol. Someone cared for the baby, a scholarship addressed financial need, and a family member treated education as a future still worth protecting.

For many adolescent mothers, however, those conditions remain beyond reach. Without childcare, money and protection from stigma, the right to re-enter school may exist only on paper.

Prevention also matters. The Children Act (2022) guarantees children age-appropriate information about health promotion, disease prevention and treatment, mental health and reproductive health.

Dr Anthony Ajayi, a sexual and reproductive health and rights research scientist at the African Population and Health Research Centre, says studies consistently identify parents as children’s most trusted source of information about sexuality.

Questions about where babies come from can open age-appropriate conversations. When adults refuse, children turn to friends, social media and incomplete biology lessons.

“The school can play a part, but learning about sexuality should primarily come from parents,” he says.

Becoming the adult she needed

Sara Nabwende understands the cost of that silence. She became pregnant by her high school boyfriend, married at 17 and is now a community health promoter in Nairobi County. Through visits to 100 households, she discusses contraception with adolescents and young mothers and directs them to public facilities providing sexual and reproductive health services.

“I find healing in talking to adolescents about how to prevent pregnancy. I had no one to talk to me about these things,” she says. “Now I tell them to focus on their education. I tell them that sleeping with a man or a boy can result in pregnancy, so they should avoid it and focus on their books.”

The questions young people bring her reveal why a trusted adult matters. “I'm always happy when they ask questions because it means they feel comfortable. They tell me that asking their mothers often turns into a hostile conversation, where they are accused of sleeping around when they simply want to understand the risks.”

Sara’s work reaches girls before pregnancy. Stella’s care shows what sustained support can achieve after a young mother gives birth. Together, their experiences show what adolescent mothers need: accurate information, trusted relationships, financial assistance and childcare, before and after pregnancy.

For Naya, that support came too late. She is now raising a child while her dream of becoming a television journalist remains out of reach. “I feel sad sometimes about my life. But what can I do?” she says, before letting out a chuckle that carries a deep sense of helplessness.

*Names withheld to protect the identities of the girls.

Reporting originally appeared via Nation Africa. Read the full source for additional context.