By Benadeta Mwaura - Kenyan based Journalist, Business Development Consultant and Digital Media Entrepreneurship Trainer.
Kenya, 29 May 2026 - A while back, our househelp, who had worked with us for years, travelled home for a break. Since she would be away for almost a month, she arranged for another lady to temporarily help us around the house.
Because I trusted her judgement completely, I did not see any problem with it.
The new help settled in well. She was calm, respectful, and there were no issues at all during the first few days.
Then one afternoon, after several weeks, she asked if she could take my two daughters out for a short walk.
I agreed.
My girls were excited because they are never allowed outside the compound unaccompanied by a relative.
They stayed out slightly longer than I expected, and when they finally came back, they rushed directly to me, smiling and holding a small stress ball.
At first, I assumed the househelp had bought it for them.
Then my six-year-old daughter innocently said:
“Mummy, a stranger gave it to us.”
For a moment I thought I had misheard her. So I asked again carefully. That is when my three-year-old daughter excitedly added:
“We were walking, then a stranger man stopped us and smiled and said hi to aunty and gave me this ball.”
My heart skipped.
I froze.
I trembled.
I was terrified.
I immediately called the househelp and asked her where exactly the children got the toy from.
She repeated the same story casually, almost as if nothing was wrong.
That terrified me even more.
The first thing I did was throw the ball away; then I sat everyone down and had one of the hardest conversations I have ever had about children’s safety.
But what disturbed me most was not even the stranger.
It was the fact that the adult accompanying my children saw absolutely nothing wrong with a stranger approaching little girls and handing them gifts.
“The man looked nice,” she said.
And that sentence has haunted me ever since.
Because that is exactly how many of these stories begin.
With someone looking “nice.”
With someone smiling.
With someone pretending to care.
With someone pretending to help.
And by the time reality catches up, another child has disappeared.
Something deeply disturbing is happening in Kenya.
Children are disappearing, not once in a while, not in isolated incidents.
But repeatedly, consistently and terrifyingly often.
Every week there is another poster.
Another missing child alert.
Another CCTV clip.
Another grieving parent.
Another desperate social media appeal asking Kenyans to help trace a missing son or daughter.
Some children are found alive, some are found dead, some are never found at all.
And perhaps what is most disturbing is how normal this crisis is slowly becoming.
Recent reports from child welfare organizations and missing children advocacy groups indicate that thousands of child disappearance cases are reported annually in Kenya, with children between the ages of 6 and 14 emerging among the most vulnerable targets.
Why this age bracket?
Because these are children old enough to walk alone, trust easily, respond to gifts, run errands and interact socially, but still too young to fully detect danger.
Predators understand this psychology very well, and unfortunately, many parents do not.
The stories emerging across the country are painfully similar.
Children being approached near schools.
Children being lured with sweets, snacks, toys or promises.
Children being followed.
Children disappearing in broad daylight.
Children being targeted in estates once considered secure.
In Nairobi’s Kangemi area recently, concerns exploded after reports emerged of a woman allegedly selling ice cream near schools while suspiciously mixing unknown substances into the products.
In another shocking incident, two university students were reportedly arrested while in possession of more than ten children under suspicious circumstances.
A separate CCTV case from Githurai showed a teenage girl allegedly involved in luring children before later admitting she had been promised a mobile phone in exchange for helping abductors.
Think about that for a second.
A child helping kidnap other children.
Not because she fully understood the consequences.
But because someone manipulated her.
Many suspects arrested in such cases repeatedly mention one disturbing phrase:
“I was sent.”
“There were other people waiting.”
“They promised me money.”
“They promised me a phone.”
Meaning the people physically seen taking children may not even be the masterminds.
They are often just links in a much larger and darker network.
But the biggest question we should all ask ourselves is, ‘’What Are These Children Being Used For?’’
This is the question many Kenyans are too afraid to ask openly.
Because the answers are horrifying.
Globally, child disappearances are often linked to, human trafficking, forced labour, sexual exploitation, illegal adoption networks, forced begging rings, online exploitation, organ trafficking allegations, and ritual-related crimes in some regions, as well as criminal recruitment
Authorities rarely confirm many of these links publicly unless investigations are complete, but the patterns emerging across Africa continue raising alarm among child protection organizations.
And yet despite the growing fear, public communication around this issue in Kenya still feels weak, fragmented, and reactive.
Parents are largely left to protect themselves.
But what is the government saying about this whole calamity?
This is perhaps the most frustrating part.
The silence, or worse, the normalization.
Kenya has held countless press conferences over politics, taxes, demonstrations, and elections.
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But where is the sustained national emergency response on missing children?
Where is the nationwide child safety campaign?
Where are the emergency awareness programs in schools?
Where is the public national database updated daily and aggressively circulated?
Why are parents relying mostly on WhatsApp groups, Facebook posts and TikTok videos to find missing children?
Why does it feel like citizens are carrying this burden alone?
May 25 is marked globally as International Missing Children’s Day under the theme:
“Every Child. Every Name. Never Forgotten.”
Organizations such as Missing Child Kenya Foundation have continued documenting cases, posting photos of missing children, and creating awareness despite limited visibility and support.
Some children on those pages have been missing for months, and others for years.
Imagine that pain.
Imagine waking up every single morning not knowing whether your child is alive.
Imagine watching your child’s age mates graduate, grow up and move forward while your own child remains frozen in uncertainty.
Imagine carrying that wound for the rest of your life.
No parent ever truly heals from that.
There was a time when children belonged to the community.
A neighbour could discipline your child, and another parent could intervene.
Communities watched over one another and people knew each other deeply, while suspicious strangers stood out immediately.
Today, we barely know who lives next door.
We are raising children inside isolated compounds, behind gates, behind screens and yet somehow they are less safe than ever.
Have we become too distracted? Too trusting? Or even, too disconnected?
Have economic pressures weakened family supervision?
Are social media and digital culture exposing children too early?
Are some parents outsourcing parenting entirely without fully understanding who is around their children?
Or are we simply no longer having enough difficult conversations with our children about danger?
Because many parents still teach children:
“Respect adults.”
But very few teach children:
“You do not owe strangers obedience.”
But how safe are they within the so called, ‘community?’ Should We Lock Children Indoors?
This is the painful dilemma modern parents now face.
Should children stop playing outside? Should we fear parks? Schools? Walks? Neighbours? Househelps? Drivers? Delivery riders? Even fellow children?
Somewhere along the way, society normalized something that should deeply worry us: children moving through the world alone far too early.
Every morning across Kenya, countless young children walk to school unaccompanied, board boda bodas alone, squeeze into PSVs by themselves, or sit quietly in tuk-tuks while parents rush to work trying to survive an increasingly difficult economy.
And while the pressure of life has forced many families into this reality, one painful question remains:
how safe are our children in these spaces?
Who is watching them?
Who notices when something feels wrong?
What happened to the society that once collectively protected children?
There was a time when an entire neighbourhood knew which child belonged where and who they were walking with. Today, we barely notice a frightened child crossing the road alone because everyone is too exhausted chasing survival.
Yet predators understand these gaps very well.
They study routine.
They study vulnerability.
They study distraction.
And perhaps that is the painful truth Kenya must confront: that as economic pressure grows, parental absence increases, community bonds weaken, and public vigilance disappears, children become even more exposed to danger in the very spaces we now consider normal.
Because that is the terrifying reality many parents are quietly living with today.
And the emotional burden is enormous.
Children deserve freedom.
They deserve play.
They deserve community.
But society is becoming increasingly cruel and unpredictable.
This crisis cannot continue being treated casually.
We need: mandatory child safety education in schools, nationwide awareness campaigns, estate and community child protection systems, verified child emergency alert systems, faster police response units for missing children, more CCTV coverage in residential areas as well as,
Background verification for domestic workers and school transport operators
Digital child safety training for parents, and open conversations with children about strangers, gifts and manipulation
Parents must teach children to, never accept gifts from strangers, never approach vehicles alone, never keep “special secrets” with adults and to always report uncomfortable interactions. Above all, Say NO, RUN and TELL!
And perhaps most importantly:
Children must know they can talk to parents without fear.
Because silence is what predators rely on most.
The most terrifying thing about child disappearances is not just the crime itself.
It is the uncertainty, the endless wondering, the guilt. the self-blame.
The sleepless nights replaying every moment repeatedly.
“Could I have prevented it?”
“What if I had said no?”
“What if I had walked with them?”
“What if I had noticed earlier?”
That battle never truly leaves a parent.
And maybe that is why this issue deserves far more national attention than it currently receives.
Because when children stop being safe, society itself begins collapsing quietly from the inside.
And perhaps the question Kenya urgently needs to ask itself is this:
Are we protecting our children enough, or are we only reacting after another child disappears?
The writer is a Kenyan based Journalist, Business Development Consultant and Digital Media Entrepreneurship Trainer.
The opinions expressed in this article are those of the writer and do not necessarily reflect the views of Dawan Africa.
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