Unable to access her documentation, Esther* found herself trapped in a spiral of abuse typical of Kenya\u2019s child labour problem<\/p>\n
By Caroline Kimeu<\/p>\n
As a preteen, Esther*, now 20, says she could not wait for the weekdays to come around. Going to school meant an escape from the dark, tin-roof home she shared with her mother in a poorer part of Makadara, a high-density neighbourhood on the south side of Kenya\u2019s capital, Nairobi.<\/p>\n
She disliked that their house sat directly in front of an open sewer and had walls so thin she knew exactly what her neighbours were up to. But it was the boredom between naps and chores she dreaded the most.<\/p>\n
At school she had friends, a routine and could imagine a better life for herself and her mother, Mueni*, an informal worker who left the house each morning in search of the odd job, unsure whether she would return with cash or empty handed.<\/p>\n
But in 2014, Esther\u2019s grade six teacher announced that students would need to bring in their birth certificates to register for national examinations. The seemingly minor requirement morphed into an obstacle that would later push Esther out of education altogether.<\/p>\n
Her estranged father had her birth certificate and the prospects of finding him were poor, while her mother\u2019s attempts to get a copy from government offices ran up against bureaucratic obstacles. Officials sent her back and forth between their offices in Nairobi and Kitui \u2013 nearly 185km from the capital \u2013 as Mueni struggled to pay the bus fare on her meagre daily wages.<\/p>\n
Lack of documentation is a common problem for women, rural families and people with poor literacy skills, according to a recent UN report<\/a>, which warned it was depriving them of basic services such as education, and pushing them into informal employment.<\/p>\n