On a chilly Monday morning in Nairobi, seven-year-old Rakeli Kendi puts her backpack on and holds onto a smaller bag containing snacks and a change of clothes. Her mother, Miriam Kiambati, waves goodbye, knowing that she will not see her daughter again until late in the evening.
After a long day of classes, Rakeli heads straight to aftercare, staying until 7.30 pm. By the time she gets home, she is too tired for anything other than dinner and a quick hug before bed.
This is Kendi’s weekly routine. For her family, school has quietly become a second home.
Many parents face a similar dilemma to Kendi’s family. Longer working hours, time spent in traffic (in an urban setting), and the cost of living leave parents with little room to manoeuvre. For some, sending their children to boarding school as early as Grade Four becomes the solution.
For others, the answer lies in tuition, holiday camps, or church-based aftercare programmes. In all these cases, the balance shifts: children spend more waking hours with teachers, caregivers, or peers than with their parents.
“I only get to really ‘parent’ on weekends,” Miriam admits. “During the week, I feel like I am outsourcing my child’s upbringing.”
The rise of the ‘outsourced childhood’
This scenario is not a Nairobi phenomenon only. In smaller towns such as Nakuru, Thika, and Meru, after-school tuition has become the norm. A recent spot-check by the Kenya National Union of Teachers (KNUT) revealed that many children now leave home at 6 a.m. and return past 7 p.m., often juggling three different learning environments: formal school, tuition, and extra-curricular clubs.
David Ominde, an education psychologist, warns that while structure is important, “We are raising children who are technically well-schooled but emotionally under-parented. They are absorbing discipline, manners, and even identity from institutional settings more than from home.”
Indeed, children themselves are beginning to echo this reality. “Sometimes I feel like school is my house,” says Brian Omondi, a 12-year-old boarding pupil in Kisumu. “I see my mum only when she comes on visiting day. My dorm mates feel more like brothers than my real cousins.”
Family coach and counsellor, Catherine Mugendi, says for many parents, this arrangement is not negligence but survival. Dual-income households are the new norm, and even single parents must keep jobs to sustain rising costs. Boarding schools, tuition centres, and aftercare programs step in as safety nets.
“My husband and I leave for work before 6 a.m.,” explains Lydia Mwikali, a bank officer in Eldoret. “The after-school program is a lifesaver. At least I know my children are safe, supervised, and learning.”
Experts acknowledge this pragmatic side. Structured environments often shield children from harmful alternatives such as idle time on the streets or excessive screen use at home. Boarding schools, in particular, can instill resilience, independence, and a sense of community.
But the flip side is stark: parents risk becoming visitors in their children’s lives.
What children miss when parents step back
Mugendi notes that children thrive not only on academic achievement but also on emotional grounding.
“When parenting is outsourced, children miss out on spontaneous bonding such as conversations during supper, helping with chores, watching how parents handle conflict, and even laughing over silly jokes. These are the building blocks of resilience and empathy.”
Studies by UNICEF Kenya suggest that children who experience consistent parental presence, even in small doses like shared meals or bedtime stories, develop stronger emotional regulation and social skills.
A 15-year-old Form Two girl in Ngong shared her longing: “I love my school, but I wish my mum didn’t always say, ‘We’ll talk over the weekend.’ Sometimes I need her on Tuesday, not Saturday.”
The question then is not whether schools should play a role in raising children because they always will. Rather, it is how parents can reclaim their central place without guilt or burnout.
Ominde says some families are experimenting with “micro-rituals” to keep bonds alive, maintaining a 10-minute nightly check-in before bed, a Saturday cooking together, no matter how simple, or a weekly family walk, phones left at home.
“Parenting is about presence, not perfection,” Ominde reminds. “Even if you outsource for survival, make sure there are anchors at home that remind your child: This is where I belong. This is who I am.”
A shift in culture
Interestingly, grandparents are also stepping in to fill the gap. In rural Siaya, retired teacher Mzee Ouma Onyango looks after his three grandchildren while their parents work in Nairobi. “I teach them proverbs, stories, and even how to till the shamba. They may go to boarding school later, but at least they know where home is.”
Urbanisation has disrupted the traditional “village parenting” model, where neighbours, uncles, and aunties acted as secondary parents. Today, the role is being taken over by structured institutions. The challenge for parents is to ensure that this outsourcing does not erase identity or weaken family ties.
So, what does this mean for parents like Miriam in Nairobi, Lydia in Eldoret, or Brian’s mother in Kisumu? It may mean redefining success, not in grades or polished discipline, but in raising children who feel seen, heard, and deeply rooted in family values.
It may mean saying “no” to one extra tuition class in favour of a Sunday afternoon outing. It may mean sacrificing one business meeting to attend a school play. Or it may simply mean slowing down at bedtime to listen to a child’s rambling stories about the day.
Because, as experts put it, when schools become a second home, the real danger is not the learning – it is the slow fading of the first home, the place where unconditional love lives.